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Some Victory

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"He could have performed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra," Sulu says seriously.

Jim eyes him. "There aren't any pianos in the BSO."

Sulu considers this. "Fine, some northeastern hoo-ha—"

"Hoo-ha, seriously?"

"THE POINT," Sulu interrupts, waving his beer around emphatically, "is that he was fucking Uhura, and so he's in our band, and now we can't like, get rid of him because she somehow won him in the divorce."

Jim considers this; most of this shit he knows, because well, he's been there the whole time. But he didn't know that about Spock and Uhura. "She won…him. In their divorce. Which is metaphorical, because they didn't get married."

"You're not nearly drunk enough," Sulu says flatly, and orders Jim another round.

"You're just a lightweight."

"That's not—" Sulu considers.

"It's true. It was true in college, and it's true now."

"You didn't even graduate."

"I was in for political science," Jim points out.

"And yet." Sulu gestures, and Jim ignores him because talking about drinking is totally his forte. Jim is amazing at drinking.

"It was like, an excuse to drink. A lot. A political science major while Bush was in office. It was an excuse to drink. It was either that or slit our wrists. Karl fucking Rove." He contemplates this for a minute.

"Now?" Sulu presses.

"Now I'm a starving artist."

Jim's not, technically, a starving artist. He's got a recording contract, a manager who scares the shit out of everyone, and a strange rivalry going on with Sulu's band.

Okay, mostly that rivalry has to do with Spock, that one night that Jim got really really annoyed and they had this weird electric guitar/piano dueling thing that went viral. MTV ran it, and then McCoy (who is a fucking genius and mean) somehow got iTunes to host it and…yeah.

So now 'Improv 531', by Spock (piano) and Jim Kirk (guitar) is at #57 on iTunes and SNL called them to do a repeat of it.

"You guys can have the stage, and like, you know. Just totally improv the next set," Sirchan, one of the production managers had said.

"If you can get Spock," Jim had replied, "I'm totally on board."

Yeah, it hadn't happened. There's still a standing offer, though.

"You're not a starving artist. We might be."


"Because you're going to steal Spock."

"I'm not stealing Spock. High-maintenance. Not my type."

"Yeah. Because you'd rather fuck groupies."

"I don't understand the bitterness. You've got this, like, new edge thing going on with your band. You've got slutty groupies. I've got like—"

"Jeans that you buy in the girls' section?"


"It's not even a lie."

"Is he legal to drink?"

"He's barely legal period."

Jim lifts an eyebrow. "So the whole not-going-after-groupies-thing…"

"Is absolutely not because I'm hung up on jailbait, thanks. How's the song?"

"Oh my god, shut up."

"How's the manager?"

"How are you not too drunk to talk about this?" Jim demands, looking around for their waitress.

So Jim met Bones on a flight from New York to LA. Bones is actually Leonard McCoy, and he's an EMT tech, technically, but gave it up because he'd rather give Ari Emanuel a run for his money, or something. Look, it's not a perfect metaphor, but whatever.

Somewhere over Colorado Bones had talked Jim into ditching his last semester of college and picking up music full-time. And then Bones got him into clubs. And Jim was willing to play like, on street corners, and Bones was totally willing to harass club owners into letting Jim play, and music festivals into letting him play.

And on the day Jim was supposed to be graduating he was performing at the Federation Music Festival in Golden Gate Park, and there were people screaming for him in the sea of people and he laughed and felt as though he was flying.

And then the reviews came out.

"It could be worse," Bones says flatly. "I mean, there's rehash of your dad—"

"There's like, gallons of ink devoted to him," Jim interrupts morosely, scrolling down Rolling Stone's review.

"Pixels maybe," Bones concedes, and then glares. "Which isn't the point. The point is while they were all fucking creaming themselves over Enterprise, you stole the fucking show! Right out from under that douche."

"What douche?" Jim considers. "Which," he corrects himself.

"John Mayer. Anyway, the fucking point is that now we've got Starfleet, RCA, Atlantic and Universal. Who do you want? Because they'll all fucking suck your cock at this point."

"Oh, thanks, that's what I wanted, the mental image of Clive Davis—"

"Oh my god, man, what is wrong with you?" Bones interrupts, throwing his iPhone at Jim's head and looking completely traumatized.

"You went there first!" Jim shouts, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

"I did not." Bones looks completely pained, and then remembers that Jim is his golden ticket, or something. "Whatever. The point is that Starfleet is offering you a shitton of money, but they just signed Enterprise."

"I have nothing against Enterprise," Jim points out, taking a pull of the beer and handing the other to Bones before settling on the couch next to him.

"You want to fuck their pianist."

"I do not—yeah, okay, I do, but that's not what I have against them."

"You also want to take a piano wire and garrote him with it."

"…Whatever. I don't have a problem with anyone else."

He picks up the guitar and tools around on it, and then looks up when Bones sighs.

"Jim. Are you ever going to have a stable relationship? Because it's excellent if you get the press for being, you know, a slut, but as your only friend—"


"—I am concerned about having to save you from your shitty life-decision-making-skills."

"Fuck off."

Jim meets Spock because he knows Sulu, and Sulu invites him down to their bar to hear his new band.

Jim goes, and smiles at Gaila (he loves friends-with-benefits), and settles down.

And the thing is, Jim's in school for political science and he loves it, but Jim is also George Kirk's kid, and Winona Kirk's kid, and he knows music.

His dad was killed when his bus got hit on Jim's birthday when they were racing (in their tourbus) to the hospital. The Kelvin's entire band had died in the middle of a '85 blizzard in upstate New York.

But his mom is a classically trained violist who performs with the BSO still, and Jim and Sam never avoided music, even though they had to wait until they were teenagers to hear Jovi or Poison or fucking Aerosmith because Mom couldn't handle it.

Jim knows music.

And he knows that Enterprise is fucking sick, but that the pianist, this hipster with long lines and intense eyes, should be like…selling out concerts. The Yo-Yo Ma of pianists.

He's got a haircut like he hasn't really thought about it, but the messy bed-head thing works, and his lips part when he gets really into it. Jim wants to lick the bow of his lip, wants to fucking taste.

"Dude, so what'd you think?" Sulu demands as they come off, and Jim hands him a beer because Sulu's predictable as fuck.

"Fucking amazing," Jim says, hugging him tightly.

"Right? Dude, and you know Pike?"

Jim thinks, and then frowns. "Um, your professor?"

"Yeah, but no—I mean, yeah, but he works for Starfleet Records, and he's gonna be our manager, dude, how insane is that?"

"Pretty…pretty insane, man."

"God you've got to meet Chekov, he's like, 18 and insane, totally totally mad skills."

Chekov looks at Jim with wide eyes and Jim looks at Sulu and says, "He's really 18, right?"

Sulu looks shifty. "We're pretty sure?"

"I am!" Chekov protests. "In four weeks."

"Oh my god you're stealing a baby. No drinks!" Jim shouts, and Chekov, who looks like he should be on fucking Supernatural as a cherub or something, glares. Jim laughs.

"And you know Uhura."

"Yes, I know Uhura. Hi."

"Kirk," she says flatly, but she totally likes him. She just thrives off of the antagonism. That's what Gaila says, anyway, and they room together, so Jim's totally buying that line.

"And this is Spock," Uhura says, smiling at him. He looks down at her, then at Jim.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Jim," Jim says. "I used to be Sulu's roommate back when we were misguided freshmen."

Spock doesn't say anything to that, just nods, and then Uhura drags him away and Jim looks at Sulu.


"He plays piano really fucking well," Sulu says, and takes the beer Gaila offers.

Three hours later Uhura is singing 'Feeling Good' on the bar and Sulu is laughing and plying the underaged Russian child with booze, and Jim is tinkering at the bar piano.

"Piano man!" Gaila shrieks when Uhura finishes. She wraps her arms around him and presses a kiss to the side of his head. "C'mon, baby. Worth a blow job."

So Jim becomes Billy Joel, and plays 'Piano Man.' He's not great at piano; he's decent. He can pull this song off, sure. He's much happier with guitar.

"You are adequate," Spock says, when Jim finishes his last "daaaaaaaaa".

"Wow, thanks so much."

"You're welcome."

Jim eyes him. "Do you like, not have a sarcasm meter or something? Like how some people don't have gaydar? Oh my god, Sheldon Cooper. You're a real-life Sheldon."

Spock narrows his eyes.

"Oh my god, no. You're a hipster who doesn't watch TV and reads Russian literature for fun."

"Hey!" Chekov shouts in slurring protest (yeah, he's so wasted he's slurring single syllables).

"Shut the fuck up it's all depressing and way too many words!" Jim shouts back, because he took Russian Lit (he's not sure why). Then he turns back to Spock. "You do. And you probably speak like, seventeen languages."

"I do not see why any of this is negative," Spock replies with that fucking deadpan and Jim says,

"You know, I totally wanted to fuck you, but then you opened your mouth. So unless you're into gags and shit, this isn't gonna work out."

It was probably merited when Spock hit him.

The annoying thing about Jim Kirk is that he seems not to have any filter. He does not think before he speaks, and so he says outrageous things and yet the world forgives him for it. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, annoying.

When Spock finds out that he is in school to be a politician (or part of that machine), he thinks he will fit well, and any guilt about punching him a year ago in a bar dissipates (Kirk insists he'd just said something; Spock remembers groping fingers between his legs and a lewd kiss to his neck. Of the two of him, he was the only one sober for the encounter).

And then Kirk has dropped out, and he's at FMF and he's just standing there, on a huge stage ready to accommodate arena-playing bands. Just him, the microphone, and his guitar.

Spock has not, before this, heard him sing. Certainly nothing original, and never when he is sober.

"Holy fucking fuck," Sulu says beside him. "I mean, what is he doing?"

"Is that Jim Kirk?" Nyota demands, squinting up. "Did anyone know he could do that?"

Jim plays a set of four, and manages to get a back-and-forth going with the crowd which the bigger artists aren't attempting (and the ones who have have failed).

Spock watches as the organizers scramble to get him an encore tomorrow curiously, and Jim laughs and drapes himself across another man.

"Who is that?" he asks Sulu, who shares many friends with Kirk.

Sulu squints. "No idea, never seen him before. Probably Jim's latest boyfriend. Shit, Pike wants us, c'mon."

It turns out that it is Kirk's roommate and manager, Leonard McCoy.

He and Spock do not get along at all.

The first time they had a battle (the only time, Spock mentally corrects himself), was the first time he understood what everyone was talking about when they spoke of Jim. It is…irritating that he disliked him so much. It made no sense. Yes, Kirk was obnoxious and brash but everyone else seemed to like him, and it frustrated Spock that he was clearly missing something.

He had played something; a few keys on the piano in Pike's home. Kirk had his electric guitar hooked up, looked over, and played a few answering notes.

When he says it grew from there he cannot say how; he cannot explain it or quantify it or rationalize it.

He had been playing music like this for four years, and that was the first time he ever felt it, down to his bones.

Right there, in front of music executives and his band (who informed him he cheated on them), he lost himself in the melodies and harmonies; falling and picking up where Kirk was leaving off and it was…exhilarating.

And when it was done (and when it was done they both knew; they just knew) he'd stood, hands on the keys, trembling.

Kirk had been quiet; they had all been so so quiet, and then Sulu and Chekov had laughed and begun to clap, and the moment was broken—everything over and done.

And Kirk had been swept away by his manager to another room and Nyota had looked at him and Spock had shaken his head.

"McCoy's got this idea that we can somehow get the label to get Apple to host it on iTunes. It's gone viral already; might as well make a buck off of it," Pike had said over the phone later that night as Spock had traced the keys of his own Steinway.

"If you think it best," he'd agreed carefully.

"We'll have to do some press about how it's not breaking up the band," Pike mused.

"Yes," Spock agreed.

Some people from SNL apparently contacted Pike, but Spock didn't want a repeat performance. Doesn't—Jim Kirk is dangerous, like a drug. Spock's life is where he wants it.

Then he sleeps with Jim Kirk.

Spock gets very very drunk on the five-year anniversary of his mother's death. That is what precipitates all of it.

She was a composer, and she had pushed him to play piano because she didn't know how, and always insisted she was too old to learn. She had breast cancer and she held on far longer than any of the doctors had predicted. Spock owes her everything.

But when she died, he hadn't been able to play the same way. It hadn't come…as clearly. So he agreed to play with Nyota's band until they found someone more suited. The band outlasted the worst of his grief and his relationship with Nyota.

He takes someone home.

He remembers low-slung jeans and a tongue sliding hot over his lips, remembers hot tight heat over his cock as the man (it had been a man) sank down over him, swearing, and how Spock had given up, flipped them and fucked into him hard and sure and brutal and the man under him had thrown his head back and laughed; begged for more.

He's gone in the morning, and the only thing Spock finds is a guitar pick under the bed that gets caught in his vacuum cleaner.

Spock is a musician in San Francisco: it could have been anyone.

It isn't anyone.

"You fucked Spock," Sulu says.

Chekov hands Jim his drink. "You need this so much more than I do," he says, patting Jim on the back. And then, because apparently he can't help himself, "Why?"

"I was drunk!" Jim says. "And he's hot when he's not…you know, speaking."

Chekov chokes on his laugh and then puts his head in his arms, succumbing to the giggles.

"Way to help me out," Jim snipes at him bitterly. "Dude, my ass is killing me."

"Oh my god!" Sulu shouts, reeling back. "We are not this kind of friends!"

"I fucking hate you all," Jim mutters, and goes back to his apartment, where Bones will at least let him post to FML.

But Bones is totally not sympathetic at all, though he should be because this fucking thing with Spock is going on three years now and Jim really wishes he could remember what happened because god, his ass feels fucking used.

So does his throat, actually, which…he shifts in his seat and looks at Bones.

"It's a problem!" he says, typing into the box on FML and watching his twitter feed bitterly.

"So go fuck him when you remember, get it out of your system, and then do another one like Improv 531. Or let me call SNL. Let me do this. We can be millionaires, Jim."

Jim squints at Bones. "This is starting to smack of prostitution. I have to go fuck Spock so you can make millions."

"Correlation is not causation," Bones retorts. "Seriously, what? You play awesome guitar, Enterprise already has the exposure and they're about to launch into the charts, and where are you? Writing shitty songs about—oh my god. Oh my motherfucking —are the goddamn songs about him?"

Jim flinches and opens Garageband. "No!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bones swears, and points at him. "Look. The songs, they're good. They're great. John Mayer will piss himself, Rob Thomas will be jealous. But if you don't fuck him and write something that sounds slightly different—and not I Need to Know, Jim, because I'm divorced and that one broke me into fucking pieces—we're not going to have enough to bring to the table, here. So go fuck him!"


"We need to have sex."

Spock blinks at him. "I…beg your pardon?"

"You and I? We need to have sex. I need to remember it, and we need to have sex so that I can get it out of my system and stop writing really depressing songs because apparently that kind of shit is not sustainable and you're killing my liver. So you know. It's like second-hand murder, basically, if you don't sleep with me."

Spock has no idea if Jim actually expects him to buy that, and he spends a full minute and a half pressed against his door, staring at him before Jim's lips twitch.

"Let me in," Jim wheedles, and Spock steps back against his better judgment and lets him in. "Kiss me," Jim says in the exact same tone of voice, and Spock just…does.

Jim cups the back of Spock's neck, pulls him in and leans against the door he just came through.

"I'm going to blow you, God, can I?" Jim demands, and Spock grew up in embassies and is too polite and often too stiff for normal company, but even he hasn't met anyone who would turn down a blowjob.

"Shit," he says as Jim shoves him back onto his couch, and Jim flashes him a grin and drops to his knees between Spock's legs, arranging Spock to his satisfaction, pulling Spock's briefs and pants around his ankles and Spock wants to know when did this become his life? as he kicks them off.

"You clean?" Jim asks, and Spock nods. "Awesome, I hate giving head with condoms."

It's irresponsible, but Spock's never punched anyone before Jim, and he's never had music shudder out of him like coming after marathon sex before Jim, so somehow this follows; somehow, in the context of Jim, this is completely logical.

Jim's mouth is hot and slick and he just takes it, humming around Spock's cock and fucking his throat on it, and Spock watches, tries to jerk up but Jim's hands keep him pinned: he'll have bruises. Jim keeps down, and then pulls off with a pop just as Spock's balls are tightening and he's arching; so close to coming.

"Wait, wait," Jim says, and his voice is hoarse, lips red and he no one who could see him would have any questions about what he's been doing.

Spock's fingers are tight in the cushions of his couch, and if he unclenches them he's going to reach for Jim and bend him over the couch and fuck him into a quivering mess. So he holds on.

But Jim is shrugging out of his shirt and his pants, and he flashes a smile at Spock and settles over him.

"You top, right?" Jim asks, and then he's settled over Spock, one slick hand pumping up and down Spock's cock before guiding it into Jim's body and that's when Spock realizes that Jim opened himself before coming over here; that Jim opened and slicked himself and that everyone who ever said he was a slut had no idea—and that if they did, Spock is going to kill them because he wants this for himself.

Jim's breathing evens out and he begins to rock on Spock, and then he's riding him, Spock's hands on Jim's hips to help him bounce up and down on Spock's cock but it's all Jim. Jim using Spock like he could be anyone, eyes closed and head thrown back, and that—

Is unacceptable.

Spock crushes Jim's lips against his, licking in and Jim makes an abortive sound and then groans, low in his throat, and his pace goes a little frantic; hips stuttering against Spock's, cock leaking between their bodies, and Spock holds him close with one hand on the small of his back and the other at the base of his skull, and it's hot—it's so hot to watch Jim fall apart, fucking himself down and whimpering at the end, jerking himself between their bodies and then, oversensitized but still rocking his hips to bring Spock off. It's hot, but it's not—

Spock would have imagined nasty. And it is, a bit, but it's unexpectedly sweet.

They migrate to the bed at some point, and there's round two which is dirtier and rougher, Jim still slick from the lube and the Spock's come and he's raw but desperate, gagging for it and Spock finally has joined the ranks of people who cannot resist Jim Kirk.

Spock wakes up the next morning with his arm thrown over Jim's waist.

"I tried to get up," Jim tells him, grinning lazily and looking fucked-out, even after a night's sleep, "but you like, wouldn't let me."

Spock lifts his arm obligingly, and Jim heads, naked, to the bathroom, phone held to his ear, listening to his messages.

"Oh, I'm calling SNL!" he says over his shoulder. "You're totally doing the set with me."

Spock squints at his ceiling and wonders if perhaps this is a psychotic break.

It's not.

Jim eats breakfast with him, and then Pike is calling Spock and demanding to know if he's insane, if he's leaving the band, if he fucked Kirk.

"No, seriously, Spock, did you use protection?" Pike demands, in complete violation of Spock's privacy.

"I refuse to answer."

"Damnit, Jim!" Pike swears, and hangs up.

Jim's phone rings two seconds later. Jim has the sense to let it go to voicemail, and after breakfast Spock fucks him against the counter.

They're booked for next week's Saturday Night Live.

Jim has no idea how Andy talks him into it, but suddenly he's in the studio on Thursday, improving the soundtrack to the newest installment of LASER CATS.

Well, mostly it had been, Andy called him up (Andy Samberg called him up) and then Bones had threatened to kill Jim dead and stuff him and continue on as though Jim was just extra quiet if Jim didn't accept. Semantics.

So on Wednesday he comes in to get a feel for the stage and talks to people about how he wants to get it set up. He messes around; he'll do real sound-check Saturday, but he wants to get a read before, you know, nerves descend like the apocalypse.

("Will Mr. Spock have any input?" one of the production assistants asks frantically.

"Make sure the piano's there," Jim replies, waving a hand. "He'll be there.")

Thursday he shows up and jams like he thinks he's fucking Santana or something.

This week's guest host is Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, and he and Andy and Bill clutch their stuffed cats as they parody Star Wars, and Jim's lips are bitten raw from trying not to laugh at them, and at the longsuffering look on Lorne Michaels' face whenever he looks into the studio and sees them creeping along.

"You can have one," Andy tells him after, handing him the cat very carefully. "Be careful of the lasers."

Jim nods, and Andy presses in, adjusting Jim's grip. "No, man. I mean, seriously."

Jim frowns. "Um?" He looks at Bill behind Andy, and Bill nods somberly.

The toy purrs in his hands and its mouth lights up blue and he actually jumps.

"Oh my god we're using that tape!" Andy cackles, pointing at a camera man who grins and gives him the thumbs up, and Jim glares at Scotty.

"You should have seen your face," Scotty manages through the tears of laughter, smacking the railing as he sinks into one of the audience chairs.

"I'm heckling your monologue," Jim informs him. "So hard."

He does. He sits next to Andy and they heckle the shit out of Scotty's monologue, and it's hilarious and so much fun.

He gets a Rolling Stone cover out of it, and TMZ realizes that he's dating Spock (which, apparently? Jim didn't need to so much get it out of his system as in, and twice daily at least) and they fucking explode in popularity.

They go on tour, Jim opening for Enterprise ostensibly, and Bones is bitching about how they're going to end up clumped together even though Jim is so much more Rob Thomas to Enterprise's Imogen Heap.

"It's not that I'm complaining," Sulu says one night, passing him the joint, "it's just that I don't understand how you fucking Spock got us to this point."

"I don't think you really want the details," Jim offers, shifting and handing it to Chekov, who takes a drag and then nods sagely as Jim exhales lazily.

They're in Jim's hotel room—Spock's on the phone with his father, who's apparently the fucking diplomat to Iran, and hates Jim with a fiery passion.

"Is probably true," Chekov agrees. "And when you are married, we will all sing at wedding."

Jim cracks an eye open to look at him.

"Oh, you don't understand," Uhura tells him. "You're like, his. You're never escaping"

"You did," Jim points out, but he's totally not bothered. Maybe they'll go to Iowa and get married. Have Dad's old friends come.

"She did what?" Spock asks as he comes in, shifting Jim on the couch and settling behind him so Jim's sprawled against his chest, and Jim tilts his head back to look at him.

"Nothing," Jim says. "Hey, you wanna get married?"

"It is customary to wait."

"Spock," Jim wheedles, because apparently Spock is powerless against wheedling (and who the fuck even knew?), "Marry me."

He figures the kiss means yes, and gives Sulu the thumbs up.

"Goddamnit, Jim," Sulu mutters, because Bones is catching.

Spock Grayson, Enterprise's reticent pianist and son of the American Ambassador to Iran, Sarek and the late composer Amanda Grayson, and Jim Kirk, son of Kelvin bassist George Kirk and Boston Symphony Orchestra's Winona Kirk, married yesterday in a private ceremony in Iowa.

"It's a whirlwind," Enterprise singer Hikaru Sulu admits. "I mean, it was probably…what? Six months? Maybe? And that was only because of the f—ing tour."

Enterprise percussionist Pavel Chekov nods in agreement. "It's because Spock can't actually say 'no' to Jim," he confides, and then smiles. "Is sweet."

The couple gained individual notoriety at the Federation Music Festival in San Francisco in 2007. Jim Kirk, the wild-child heir to George Kirk's legacy, was already something of a tabloid darling before he shaped up and went to UCLA for political science. He met his current manager, Leonard McCoy, a semester before graduation, and the rest was history. Wowing critics and by all accounts stealing the show from John Mayer, Kirk became something of a rising star, and began touring in '08.

Spock didn't have individual success, but was (and is) an integral part of Enterprise' unique sound.

Jim Kirk dragged him into the spotlight kicking and screaming (or, for Spock, the equivalent is a lifted brow and slightly pursed lips). Their improvised "battle" of electric guitar and piano dubbed "Improv 531" (for the date it was performed, the thirty-first of May) became a viral smash.

"And Jim kept at him. Jim couldn't figure him out, and Spock couldn't figure out why he couldn't stand Jim," Sulu explains. "And then Jim decided he needed to get Spock out of his system and ended up getting addicted." Sulu considers what he's just said and looks vaguely ill.

There has been some attempt to cast them as leaders in the civil rights movement. Kirk's latest album uses deliberately vague pronouns, but, he admits, "I have the freedom to do that. I'm only beholden to myself, and [Leonard McCoy], and I'm not sure anyone wants me as a gay rights icon, because I'm bi. Yeah, I like dick, and the person I'm marrying happens to be a guy, but it could have been a woman. There's this veneer of bi-invisibility that I'm just not okay with."

"We're a mixed-race, mixed-nationality band of liberals," Nyota Uhura, Enterprise's other vocalist and lead songwriter. "We're trying to tackle in our music things that are most pertinent to us, so of course there will be the issue of sexuality equality, but we're also focused on racial equality, cultural equality…it would be terrible to be painted into a corner where people are telling us what our music is about; what it should be about."

The wedding guest list includes members of 80s bands who knew George Kirk, Starfleet Records producers and artists, and a few politicos who are making a statement attending this wedding. Saturday Night Live cast members Andy Samberg, and Bill Hader are in attendance, and at one point Samberg sits on Scotty (who was heckled by Samberg and Kirk on his most recent stint hosting SNL, and had promised via Twitter his retribution).

Nyota Uhura is Spock's "best man". Leonard McCoy, Kirk's manager and best friend, is his "maid of honor".

The wedding is fun, with Kirk torturing his new husband with a cover of Billy Joel's Piano Man and both of them treating guests to another battle (which feels more like foreplay than a battle).

Jim's brother, George "Sam" Samuel Kirk gave him away; Ambassador Sarek gave away his son.

By the end of the reception Kirk is sitting on a table, arguing cheerfully with McCoy about his first solo arena-tour (which is selling out) and whether or not it's appropriate for McCoy to be informing him of a good divorce lawyer.

"I mean it with love!" McCoy, a divorcée himself, insists, but he's laughing, and clearly doesn't mean it. Chekov still leans across the table and hits him.

Kirk's head is thrown back as he laughs, and Spock comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his new husband. "He will not be requiring that," he informs McCoy, and then lifts Jim down from the table. "I believe we have stayed long enough."

"Awesome," Jim agrees. "We're leaving for our fucking honeymoon!" he informs the entire room, eighty percent of whom shout and cheer approvingly (the other twenty percent are Spock's guests, and look varying degrees of scandalized) and Spock casts me a wry look and then lifts Jim princess-style and carries him from the hall."

—Excerpt from Rolling Stone's article, "Battle for Some Victory" by staff writer, Gaila Orion.