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1. Uhura
Most people in Nyota's life were surprised when she started dating Jim Kirk. Two months later, they were astounded the two were still together. Two years later, they took it as a fact of life, difficult to remove from their understanding of her.
Nyota didn't really know what the people in Kirk's life thought about their relationship. In fact, she wasn't well acquainted with the people in Jim's life, period. She knew Bones, of course, and she knew Jim had a brother tucked away in the cosmos somewhere, and a mother. But if they ever happened to have a wedding, it would be Nyota's family and friends who would take up most of the room. Kirk didn't do friends that well. He either cared or he didn't. The string of acquaintances whose names he didn't remember didn't count.
Some days that all-or-nothing thing he had going on was kind of scary, a bit like a black hole. On other days it was weirdly hot. She herself doled out her trust and affection in increments- this is what normal people did, she sometimes liked to remind Kirk. He retorted that he didn't go about with friendship like putting coins in an arcade.
Kirk had first successfully asked her out in perfect Romulan- a middle-class dialect, placing himself on the same level as her. His glottal stops had been perfect. It had been incredibly difficult to resist, so she hadn't. They'd spent most of their first date bickering, and later, when Nyota realized that she'd had more fun bickering with him that she'd had making polite conversation with other people, she asked him out again.
In the next few weeks she'd discovered a lot about Kirk. He was kind of bossy in bed, like her, but not off-puttingly so. He was good at turning away conversation from where he didn't want it to go, and when Nyota sweetly turned it back, he tried to distract her by doing other things, at which she admitted he was very competent. He was an asshole to people he didn't like, and aggressively charming towards people he hated. He learned as much about her as he did about him, and it all went into some file in his head to undergo analysis, all of which was a mystery to her. She sometimes saw him eyeing her with the same mild frustration when he didn't know what she was thinking about him.
Sometime after half a year or so, they became a sort-of/maybe/who-knows type of serious, and after a year they dispensed with the modifiers. Somewhere along the way Kirk had decided she was amazing, and she had decided that anyone after Kirk would be a letdown.
:::
Sometime around what would have been their first anniversary if either of them was the type to pay attention to dates, Kirk sauntered into her bedroom wearing nothing but a collar.
"Wow- uh, is that my thing?" Nyota said, setting down her book in fascination. Kirk knelt in front of her and tilted back his neck. She stared at it abstractedly, eyes finding the delicate beat of his pulse on the side of his neck, a fluttering scrap of shadow. She reached down and curled her fingers in the collar. It was just loose enough that she could fit all four in and not choke him. She could feel his pulse against her knuckles, like this. "Mm. I guess it is."
Kirk licked his lips and said, a bit throatily, "You could, you know, be a little rough."
"Is that your thing?"
"Sometimes?" Kirk said impishly. "Actually, I prefer being on the other side of it, myself, but this is hot, too. Isn't it?"
"Yeah," Nyota said, marveling. Then other thoughts caught up with her. "Aren't there a lot of rules about this? I don't know them."
"It'll be fine," Kirk said. "We're not actually doing, you know, stuff. This is just an accessory."
She tilted her head at him. He was nervous. There was that overly lucent quality to his gaze, although his smile was carefree, and his expression unstrained. "What if I don't want it to be just an accessory?" she said, testing.
He blinked, once. "Then I guess it's more."
She thought about it. "Okay. Next time? I'll read up on this. Today we'll just-"
"Yes," Kirk finished, looking pleased and maybe a little flustered, and leaned forward to undo her zipper with his teeth.
:::
Nyota did read up on it. And then she talked about it with Kirk. And then she let him tie her up and fuck her, and then on his birthday she tied him up and fucked him, and somehow several months later there was a box in their closet that contained- among other things- two strap-ons (well, they had always possessed one of them, but the second one was more special), several meters of hemp rope, handcuffs, several collars, a small flogger that Nyota got fond of very quickly, a few lovely gags, and a number of different colored rubber balls.
Kirk once leaned his head against her shoulder and said, "Man, if we ever break up, this box-"
Nyota choked with laughter. "We can give it to Bones until we're over it enough to take it back- whoever's over it first."
"And the other one gets a photo of Bones' face," Kirk agreed. And then they looked at each other cautiously. In their first days of getting together they'd talked sometimes about breaking up, trying to be realistic about their relationship. Kirk still did it as some kind of emotional insurance, Nyota thought, and she indulged it because their separation, if it came, would be nothing like the scenarios they came up with. She knew that by now.
Nyota knew the words for what they were- switches, or doms. When she ran a list of her previous lovers in her head, she didn't find a single one she'd be willing to sub for, although there were quite a few she wished- in retrospect- she could have tied up. She only liked doing it for Kirk. She knew Kirk.
One night she told him this. Kirk was half asleep. "Oh, yeah," he said drowsily. "Know what you mean. I used to get it from total strangers, but they usually got it wrong because they didn't know how to read me. I didn't care, I was always better at being a dom, anyway. Anyway, I didn't try again until you."
"Oh," she said, and savored that until she, too, fell asleep.
:::
Nyota was the one who broached the subject of bringing in a third.
They sort of derailed each other into discussing and negotiating monogamy until they were both late for work. Kirk's main point of contention seemed to be that he didn't want her to sleep with anyone too boring. Or too interesting. "Well then!" Nyota said, exasperated. She suspected, too, that he'd get much pickier about her partners than he would be about his own, and said so. Kirk then got huffy over her history of almost exclusively taking dark-haired partners.
They stopped arguing to have sex twice, and then they had it figured out by the weekend, just in time to visit a club on Saturday night after some breathless makeup necking. She decided on some dark stockings beneath a pale blouse and skirt, no makeup. She'd assumed that she'd needed to dress up, but Jim was also in sober clothes: plain jeans, warm jacket. "It's pretty much an ordinary bar," he said, "but as far as I know it's still a big BDSM hub- just socializing. We'll look for someone we both like and then see if they like us back."
"Okay," she said. She rested her jaw on his shoulder and frowned at the mirror. "Do you think we look a bit like serial killers?"
He patted her mock-condescendingly on the head.
Nyota ordered some whiskey and Jim got a cocktail, and they just sat together, watching the crowd. Some of them looked back. Their body language was quite clear- together, but open- and several interested parties came over, chatted them up. The fourth one both of them liked. Her name was Cuifen, and she was wearing a slim, fetching collar around a slim, fetching neck and had large dark eyes. Dark hair, too. They took to her immediately, and after fifteen minutes of chatting, she agreed to let them take her to their flat. They negotiated what to do on the ride home. Well, she and Nyota did. Jim was driving, so Nyota made him put on earbuds and listen to music. She knew his tastes, anyway.
At home Cuifen sucked Jim's cock while Nyota ate her out, and then they tied her up and Jim fingered her while she went on her knees for Nyota, and afterwards they sleepily tugged Cuifen to their bed by her collar and they fell asleep in a sticky, sated bundle, Cuifen curled in between them. Sunday morning Nyota watched Jim fuck Cuifen, and they all went out and had lunch. Nyota's ears sort of rang with the perfection of it. She and Jim kept exchanging sort of wondering looks.
They gave Cuifen a ride home. She stepped out of the car, gave them a glowing look from which the enthusiasm of multiple orgasms had not yet faded, and said: "You two are perfect. Thank you very much for last night."
They both preened on their way home.
:::
This turned out to be something they did not really need to talk much about. Sometimes Kirk would say "How about today?" and Nyota would say "Let's do it the day after," or she would say "This weekend" and Kirk would tilt his head and grin. They did it once a month, sometimes twice, when they had the time. They started going to real clubs. Sometimes they didn't find anyone right. One time they found two. They slept with Cuifen four more times before she moved to Asunción. Nyota's closet acquired some pretty weird things. A few of them made her feel sexy, a few made her feel ridiculous. Jim got a pay raise, so did she, and they moved into a better flat together, and one day she woke up and realized this was a thing in her life that had roots. It would not be easy to dislodge. If she did, it would hurt. And she had no desire to try.
The discovery was so astonishing that she almost turned over to wake Jim up and tell him about it, but she looked at his silly sleeping face and realized he'd probably figured it out already.
2. Kirk
November that year was cold enough that they considered skipping their usual Saturday. The club they liked had good heating, but parking was a bitch there and they would have to walk ten minutes in somewhat skimpy clothing. Coats just wouldn't cover it. They huddled under the blankets and griped at each other and pressed their icy feet against each other's calves until they mutually booted each other out of bed and found themselves heading to the car.
Upon arriving they started their usual routine, which was to split up, have some fun, try to find someone suitable, and introduce them to the other one if the third was amenable. Neither of them were that much into exhibitionism, so they usually moved back to their flat, or to a hotel, or the other person's home, whatever they preferred.
Jim was going around with a drink when Uhura came up to him, looking unnerved. "Okay, look, look," she said, steering him to the stairs, then down. "Honestly it's none of my business but I'm kind of freaked out and I need to talk about it. Kirk, one of my old boyfriends is here. I never pegged him as the type."
Then she slapped his arm anyway, in warning, and he valiantly ignored the joke that had come to mind. "Okay, then. What's the problem? Bad breakup? Then stay away. Or say hello if it was a good breakup."
"Kirk, he's a Vulcan."
They came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. Jim looked at her. "Seriously? I mean- we do get aliens in the club sometimes, but- you mean he's a dom?"
"No, he's down on his knees for some beefy guy in leather and he has a blindfold on. And his hearing's excellent, so this is as far as I'm going to go while talking. He's the one in blue, go take a look and avoid him when you see him. I do not want awkwardness tonight."
He touched her shoulder soothingly and she smiled at him.
The room was crowded, but Jim spotted the guy pretty quick. Blue, in a blindfold. Nothing about him screamed offworlder. Possibly the guy whose cock he was sucking didn't even know. The Vulcan's hair was messy, uncharacteristic of their species, and it covered the tip of his ears. Or maybe he'd had reversible surgery on them. Jim would, if he had subbish tendencies and was looking for satisfaction on Earth, which wasn't extreme in its xenophobia, but wasn't precisely friendly, either. He took stock of the guy's features- they were nice to look at: spare lips, nice jaw- Uhura's type- and backed out of the room.
"Shame," he said to Uhura, going back up the stairs. "He's hot."
"Yeah," Uhura said. "He is. But no, you don't understand- Jim, I'm still trying to digest this. He's not even the rebellious kind- he's as Vulcan as you get."
"That doesn't seem like your type," he observed neutrally.
"Vulcan as you can get, plus sweet," she amended. "Very sweet. Also smart. Very dedicated, very serious. And he's so restrained, you know, getting a reaction is so satisfying, and he has lovely eyes."
"Prettier than mine?"
"In some lights. His are very dark. Very intense."
"So why did you break up with this sweet, smart, dedicated, intense-eyed guy?" Jim retorted, bumping her shoulder with his.
"Too intense," Uhura said. "Also, hard to read. I mean, obviously. And I tried a lot to accommodate that- cultural difference at all- but it kind of starts to wear at you. But I was serious about him. This must have been... six years ago? Almost four before I met you. We were together for about a year. I mean... having relationships is about changing yourself. It's not just about staying true for yourself and expecting people to love you just the way you are-"
"Yes," Jim said, because he understood that fine.
"-although the change has to be equal, or near equal, for it to work, except, Jim- I knew he was trying, but it felt like I was doing most of the work in the relationship, and it was tiring. So that's why. But he's the one who called it off and told me dating him was straining me, and he felt conscience-bound to stop it."
"Well, he sounds nice."
Uhura laughed. "I didn't think so. I yelled at him for fifteen minutes, realized he was right, and then we broke up and fell out of contact after I graduated. But he had his own problems. I think this may have been one of them."
"A Vulcan with submissive tendencies? Not a surprise."
They got another drink, shared it, and split up again. Nyota went for a youngish doe-eyed guy, and Jim turned down an offer from a dom he'd slept with a few months ago, chatted up an older guy in a fake uniform before being gently signaled no interest, and wandered down to the basement where some of the more serious equipment was. He was still there when Uhura's old boyfriend came in on a leash with another man, who was wearing some vaguely Victoriana costume. He had a different blindfold on, and his mouth was a thin, unhappy streak on his face. No harm in watching, Jim thought, especially when he wasn’t being watched back. He stayed where he was.
He was conversing with a middle aged switch when Uhura's ex-boyfriend said, not very far away, I don't like that. His voice was sharp but not loud, and Jim wouldn't have heard if he hadn't already been paying attention. He turned his head. The Vulcan's hands were cuffed behind his back and he'd moved sharply back towards the wall. His blindfold was on the ground, and he was glaring at the dom. Uhura had been right. He did have intense eyes. Jim stared.
"God, I didn't even unzip your pants or anything," the dom snapped. "What's the big deal with that, anyway? Your cock isn't that fucking special, cupcake."
The Vulcan's voice was curt. "If I don't want you to do it, then you don't do it. Those were the terms when I let you collar me."
"When you let me collar you? Okay, first of all-" The man's voice was rising, people were looking around- "this attitude, here? This is why the other guy ditched you. What's your problem, anyway? Why are you even here if you're not going to enjoy it?"
"If by this attitude here you mean a willingness to assert myself and indicate what I like and do not like, then I regard the problem to lie in you and not in me."
"Stop talking like that, it's annoying as hell," the dom said, noticing the attention he was getting and looking irritated. "My problem is that you don't seem to like anything, and when I tell you to do something you say that is not an action which I find pleasurable- I mean, what the hell, why are you even dressed like that, why do you have a collar on, if you don't like this?" He pulled on the Vulcan's collar with one hand and slid the other down the Vulcan's chest, down to his groin, where there was no erection visible-
There was a weird tinkle as the Vulcan pulled his hands from behind his back and shoved the man away, hard, into a table. Several loose links from the broken cuffs fell to the ground. The metal was not exactly thin. The room went very quiet. The dom groaned on the ground, got up slowly, and spat in the Vulcan's face.
While the guy was getting up, Jim was thinking: what would Uhura do? Two years ago, when they'd just been starting to get dance around committing-committing, he'd have thought the answer would be 'stay back, observe a bit, step in if absolutely necessary'.
Now that he knew her better (and maybe she'd changed some, too) he thought she'd probably verbally smack the shit out of the guy. He reassured himself with the thought as he moved forward. The Vulcan ex was frozen still. Saliva gleamed on his right cheek. He had his hands sort of extended in front of him, metal cuffs dangling from his wrists, as if ready to defend himself, but aware that no one in this room was on the side of the uncooperative alien sub who was a whole lot stronger than human being. And at this point it was apparent to everyone in the room that he was not human.
"Hey!" Jim said, striding forward. "Reginald, right?"
"Riley," said the dom. He gave Jim a pissed look.
"No, pretty sure it's Reginald," Jim said sunnily. "Okay. So you know what the general rule for interacting with a sub is? If they don't like it, don't do it. In fact, that's a general rule for decent human interaction. And if you don't like how much he doesn't like something, you walk away."
"Then everyone would walk away from this guy," Reginald said, folding his arms. Jim leaned forward, plucked the handkerchief that was part of Reginald's costume from his breastpocket, and handed it to the Vulcan. He took it silently and wiped his face, not meeting anyone's eyes. Reginald glared at him but only said, "Okay, I was being a bit of an ass, but he's so fucking mercurial, okay? I don't even think he's a sub. He sure doesn't like being given orders. And why the fuck did he ask me to cuff him if he can... do that?"
"Well, apologize to him, not me. I don't know either of you, but I just saw you acting pretty badly there, so just... say sorry and leave." He decided to ignore the stupid question at the end. "Find someone you like better. This is a big club. Reginald."
Reginald grimaced, sort of tilted his head in the general direction of the stony-faced Vulcan, and said: "Okay. Sorry for doing that without your permission."
"Apology accepted," the Vulcan replied in a monotone. "Here is your handkerchief. I will reimburse you for the damaged handcuffs through your club account."
Reginald took it, red-faced, and stalked off.
Everyone was still staring, so Jim said, "Hey, I'll take you to the bathroom, you can wash your face better and I'll see if I can get those cuffs off."
"Thank you."
As he left, Jim nodded apologetically to the switch he'd been talking to. She nodded back.
"I'm Jim Kirk. What's your name?" he said in the restroom, going to a little box next to the paper tower dispenser. They had some spare keys there that unlocked club-issued cuffs, in case the dominant lost them. He came back with three and some wire.
"Spock." He had beautiful wrists. There was a vein running down the inside of his wrist. The placement of bones in his wrists was slightly unfamiliar. None of the keys worked, so Jim went to work with the wire. "That is my given name. My family name is generally unpronounceable to humans."
"Okay," Jim said. He bet Uhura could pronounce it, though. "Can I hear it anyway? I learned a Romulan dialect. Who knows. I might manage it."
He looked up from Spock's wrists in time to see a dark brow arch. Spock pronounced a string of consonants that pressed too close to each other for the human tongue. Jim grinned and tried it.
"Barely intelligible." The first cuff clicked open. Jim turned to set it down next to the sink and saw, in the mirror, Spock's expression briefly alter. Chagrin? Worry? "I- I apologize if that was a harsh assessment."
"Nah," Jim said. "Probably accurate."
He felt Spock study him as he tried to unlock the second cuff. "Your intervention is appreciated. I doubt that things would have ended so amicably without it."
"Amicably?"
"Relatively."
"Go through this a lot, then?"
"I prefer not to talk about it."
"Fair enough." Jim contorted the wire into a new shape before trying again. Spock's skin was a few degrees warmer than his own.
The second cuff gave way a minute later, and Spock said, "How did you know I was Vulcan?"
"I was a student at a spacefaring organization," Jim answered without missing a beat. He didn't name the school. He'd met Uhura there, and he didn't want Spock connecting him to Uhura. "I've met a few."
"Ah," said Spock tersely.
Perhaps he was expecting comment about, oh, you're not like the other Vulcans I've met, or I didn't Vulcans could be into this. Well, if he was expecting it, Jim wasn't going to give it to him. He was contrary like that, although he was itching to know. Jim stared at the broken cuffs for a moment and then swept them into the trash can. He waited for Spock to close the conversation and... leave, or something... was it a Vulcan thing not to? No, they were a pretty brusque lot, weren't they? 'I have no business with you now, I shall leave', that kind of thing. But Spock had his eyes downcast, he sort of looked like he was waiting for Jim to leave. But he didn't. They stood there, and the silence accumulated awkwardness by the second.
Jim examined the guy's face. Sweet, Nyota had said. All he saw at the moment was severity. Where was the sweetness? He sort of wanted to coax it out. The total non-expression looked kind of a lot like misery.
He hesitated, caught between the look and Uhura's warning. Don't make things awkward. Right. But it wasn't awkward if the guy didn't know about Uhura, right? And he wasn't doing it because of Uhura, he was doing it despite Uhura. So good intentions by Jim Kirk all around!
He congratulated himself on this logic and said, "Do you want to go get a drink? I'm not hitting on you or anything. Unless you want me to. Whatever. Unless you vocalize that, this is a totally non-hitting sort of drink. Do you want it?"
Spock raised his gaze and studied him back. It was like being scoured. Intense, like Uhura had said. "Yes, please."
:::
Uhura was in the bar when he came in with Spock. He saw her in the distance, staring at him in furious surprise before darting out of view. Ten seconds later he received a text. Why am I not surprised?
The found a booth in the corner. Spock ordered some water, Jim got a margarita and one-handed texted back under the table, he was very sad and I am buying him a drinnk. 15 mins at most. don't be mad.
"So," Jim said cheerily. "What are you doing in Chicago? Job? Touring? School?"
Spock gave him a careful look. "I taught at an institution in San Francisco for several years, and was offered a position at the branch in Chicago. These days I work as a programmer for an organization and conduct personal research."
Wow, vague. A thought struck him. "I see. When did you stop teaching? What did you teach?"
"Approximately three years, four months, and eighteen days ago," Spock said. "I taught a xenolinguistics class."
Gotcha. Uhura, you never told me you were dating your professor. He smothered his smile, aware that Spock was watching him carefully. "Very cool. I have a friend who does xenolinguistics." Their drinks arrived. "Do Vulcans not drink alcohol?"
"It has no effect on us, but I have found it a point of offense in the past and usually attempt to order it nonetheless."
But you trust me not to take offense. Huh. Okay. Jim looked at the collar around Spock's neck. "That's a pity. That people are jerks about it, I mean."
"Yes. What- what do you do?" Spock said. The question was clumsy. Jim figured he didn't really care. Probably wanted to be polite.
"I work with the... um, government," Jim said. "Boring stuff. Bureaucratic numbskullery. Moving resources around, generating paperwork."
Spock, perhaps sensing that Jim wanted to talk about his work no more than he himself did, steered the conversation around to xenolinguistics. They talked about Romulan dialects, and their roots, and Jim prodded him until Spock started talking about the syntactical foundations of Vulcan. Jim got another drink. He got one other text, a sarcastic 15 minutes? and ignored it. When Spock got enthusiastic about something he sat up straight and his voice took on a crisp edge. His eyes kind of flashed when Jim disagreed with him on something, but in a good way. A really good way. A very attractive way.
Once or twice Jim stared a beat too long at Spock's lips and Spock flushed. And once or twice Spock brought his hand up to touch his collar sort of self-consciously before putting it down again, but neither of them said anything. Somehow their conversation moved to Federation politics. Jim... rarely met anyone outside work he didn't have to dumb down his interstellar politics conversation for. When he mentioned an incident that had happened on the edge of the Hallung system fifteen years ago, Spock knew what it was. He'd probably figured out by now that Jim's boring bureaucracy job wasn't that boring, but neither of them pressed the other.
He had not intended, either, to press Spock about his presence at the club when he clearly felt uncomfortable with many of its aspects, but Spock steered the conversation there himself. They had been talking for quite a while- their conversation was then on differences in social signaling in Vulcanoid societies- when Spock said, "Your conjecture is true. That is why I have many difficulties in adjusting to Earth culture. When our nonverbal social signals are not an option, it is logical that we rely completely on literal verbal communication to understand each other. Yet, because Vulcanoid species are very much like Terrans in appearance, humans tend to interpret our body language idiosyncratically, and respond more to them rather than the words we use."
"Such as 'no'," Jim said.
"That is so." Spock hesitated, his long fingers wrapped around his glass of water. He was silent long enough that Jim began to privately contemplate what a relationship between Uhura and Spock must have been like. Uhura was exceptionally considerate of other species and must have taken every pain to adjust to Spock's way of communication. But at the same time she was a very physical person- she and Jim sometimes had whole conversations with only a few words, their faces, and the tilt of their bodies, and he knew she loved having that sort of relationship. It would have been impossible with Spock. Spock must have known, too. He was jolted from his thoughts when Spock added, quietly, "But then I am half-human, so I place much of the blame on myself."
"What? No." Jim said. "Don't blame yourself. Wait. What?"
Spock averted his eyes. "My mother is Terran, but I was born and raised on Vulcan. Over seventy percent of my physical gene expression is Vulcan. Your surprise is not unexpected."
"Huh," Jim said. "Well, yeah. I didn't expect that. But it's awesome, too. Humans are awesome. Well, we can be awful, but sometimes we're awesome. So I'm glad you- I'll stop talking now."
Spock did that thing where he smiled without moving anything on his face at all. "Your words are appreciated."
Ah, Nyota. I guess I can see why you said he was sweet.
"Okay," someone said. "Kirk, scoot. This got out of hand."
"Passingly think of the devil," Jim said, and scooted.
Uhura dragged a bar stool under her and sat down next to him. At that precise moment she was looking at Spock with a determined look on her face. "Hi, Spock," she said, and flashed Jim an outraged look.
Spock blinked slowly. "Nyota? I-" He looked at what she was wearing, and flushed. "I did not know you were acquainted with... Jim Kirk."
He said the name as if he suddenly wasn't sure if it was Jim's name.
"Well," Uhura said. Jim poked her side to tell her he was annoyed she'd come in. He hadn't been about to molest Spock, or anything. She ignored him. "I'm dating him. Kirk. Although I regret this at times."
"I see," Spock said. The non-smile smile was gone. "Were his previous actions in the basement at your behest?"
"No," Jim said, at the same time Uhura said, "What happened in the basement?"
Spock folded his arms, brows drawing together. "I see. Then was Jim Kirk aware of my previous relationship with you when he introduced himself to me?"
"Kind of," Jim said, and Uhura said, "Yes, and I specifically told him to leave you alone."
"Why?" Spock said, ignoring Jim.
"Firstly, old boyfriend, new boyfriend, it is sometimes awkward," Uhura said, gesturing at both of them. Jim could tell she was on edge. He wondered if Spock could. "Also, Jim is... gushy."
"Like a lightshow on a fountain of emotions," Jim agreed.
She kicked his shoe. "And, well, I didn't think you'd get along in the best of circumstances, anyway, so why introduce you two under the not-best of circumstances? And I just thought it might be awkward."
"I do not understand why it would awkward," Spock said coolly.
An awkward silence immediately descended. Uhura sighed and went for Jim's drink. Jim said, "I really apologize. To both of you. I didn't know you, okay? But she didn't want me going near you, but you know, stuff went down, and I thought, if you were a stranger I would have stepped in by now, what was I waiting for? And I did. And I liked you, so I started talking to you, and I guess Uhura thought I was making a pass, and came here to stop me, because she knew you'd hate- or, um, view both of us with logical contempt- if you found out I'd been talking to you under false pretenses, which they are not. My pretenses. They are not false. Or pretenses."
Then he sighed at how badly this was going.
Uhura said, "By the way, I think what's happening here is that you both think you're the embarrassing boyfriend, so let me cut that train of thought right there. For both of you. Neither of you are. I just thought you two wouldn't like each other."
"I did," Spock said.
"And I do, too," said Jim, giving them both a mean look. "I like both of you. So stop being mad at me."
"I am not 'mad'," Spock said, standing up. "But I do believe I am leaving. Jim, the conversation was a pleasure. Nyota, it us good to have encountered you again."
"Oh, don't," Jim said earnestly, and Uhura said, "I very much wish you wouldn't, Spock."
Spock stood there, looking bemused by their immediate protest.
Uhura said, "Do sit down. Get a Chocolatini. It'll be on us. Let's catch up. I haven't seen you in years."
"Yes, why not?" Jim said. "Both of us like you, I think you like us, and we're not that boring. Come sit down. If you can find better company in this club, bring them to us and we'll one-up them."
Spock did that almost-smile thing.
"Please," Uhura said. She laced her fingers with Jim's, under the table, and Jim squeezed back.
Spock sat down.
"A Chocolatini?" Jim said, grinning, while Uhura hailed a water and placed an order for three drinks. “Is that what you like?"
"It has a certain euphoric effect," Spock said. He hadn't relaxed, quite, but he wasn't as tense as he had been a few minutes ago. "I must admit part of my confusion stems from the fact that-" he hesitated, looking at Uhura- "I took your behavior, possibly falsely, as an indicator that you had some sexual interest in me."
"Well, he probably did," Uhura said, as Jim said, "I kind of did, yeah."
Spock stared at both of them. "Do I take it that you are not in a monogamous relationship?"
"Not strictly," Uhura said. "I mean, maybe we are? I don't know. That is- we pick people up at this club sometimes, sometimes we do it separately."
"You are both dominants?”
"Yeah, but it's not a defining aspect of our sexual relationship," Jim said. "Sort of a side thing. Anyway, we enjoy it and we're kind of good at it, so that's why we're here."
Spock frowned, now looking at Jim. "Were you trying to pick me up?"
"Yes, were you?" Uhura murmured. "It kind of looked like you were."
Jim held up his hands. "Not on purpose? I just really liked your face and voice and everything, and you had a lot of fascinating things to say about xenolinguistics and interstellar politics. But what I say still holds. I'm not officially hitting on you until you indicate that you want me to. And until Uhura gives me the go-ahead."
There was a little silence. He had given them the perfect opening, and gave them both pointed looks.
"Um," Uhura said, and Jim glanced her, trying to gauge if she was genuinely uncomfortable with what he wanted to maneuver them into. When he reflected the question at her, she gave him an 'I'm trying to figure it out' face.
Their drinks arrived. Spock took his with a certain gratefulness.
Okay, so Nyota didn't want to suggest the logical threeway because she thought it might offend Spock, Spock wasn't suggesting it because he thought it would offend both of them, and Jim wasn't suggesting it because he wasn't sure how comfortable the other two were. He couldn't read what Spock was thinking, and he knew Nyota was conflicted. Ergo, alcohol. He took a long sip from his.
Uhura mirrored him, and then said, “So how are you these days, Spock? I heard you're working elsewhere these days."
That reminded him. "Yes, he told me he quit his job as an instructor," he said. "At Starfleet Academy, if I'm correct. Teaching xenolinguistics. To you. A student."
"Oh!" Uhura said, annoyed, and slapped his shoulder. "I knew you'd get that out of him if I let you two talk."
Spock's eyes had gone kind of wide. Possibly that was his way of conveying mortification. "Yes. Currently I am programming features for new Federation vessels, but most of my work is personal. Some theoretical mathematics."
"I thought maybe you would have moved back to Vulcan," Uhura said softly.
"I would not do that."
"Can I ask why not? Just as a matter of curiosity?"
"I have discovered several things about myself," Spock said, "and formed relationships that changed me to the degree that I would feel more alienated in Vulcan than I would in Earth."
So that was a pretty loaded explanation.
"Well," Uhura said, extending her hands across the table, stopping just halfway. "Their loss, our gain."
Spock slowly reached out and covered the back of her hands with his palms, sustained contact for a few seconds. Then they both drew back, simultaneously. Spock's lids had dropped a bit, and the flush was back on his cheeks. Uhura cleared her throat a bit and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.
Uhura said quietly, "I would, uh, like to give Kirk the go-ahead. And to you, too. Open offer, middle of the table, nothing past that line. No pushing."
Spock sipped his drink and didn't look at either of them for a minute. He seemed to dislike the moisture on his cold glass- he held a napkin around it when he drank. "May I know what exactly I would be consenting to?"
"Well, we do a lot of one-night-stands, and sometimes repeats. But you're... you're not them."
"For my part, I guess I'm offering a general open thing?" Jim said. "Like, let's do one night and see. I've known you for only more than an hour, but I definitely know I want to be your friend, at least."
"I'd love to get back into contact with you as well," said Uhura. "So we've established that. And tonight's offer is just- we'll take you back to our flat, or you to yours if you'd like. I already know what you like, and you can tell me the new things you figured out you like, and Jim's a quick study. And we can see how it goes, and if we're not happy with it, we just keep on being friends. And if it's good, we can repeat it, sometime in the future."
Spock had his head bent a little as he listened to this, and when she was done he raised his glass and finished his drink. "Ordinary restraints do not work on me," he said. "As Jim knows."
Jim realized this was acquiescence. He saw Uhura quickly conceal her delighted look. "Do you have anything that does, or do you prefer ones you can break if you really try?" Jim said.
Spock hesitated for a few seconds before saying, "I have some personal ones in my bag in the club locker. I took public transport here. You will have to drive me. I would prefer to go to yours."
3. Spock
A young man from management met him at the men’s dressing rooms. A few people were there, half out of their work clothes and half into leather, chatting amiably. The conversation hushed when Spock came in.
The man from management rose, and pronounced his name inquiringly. He mangled it rather worse than Jim Kirk had. "Yes?"
"I've been told to revoke your membership," the man said. "I was also instructed to revoke your access codes, so please remove all your belongings from the club property."
"I see," Spock said, moving forward to open his locker. "I presume the altercation I was involved in was the problem."
"We can't really have you terrifying the patrons like that."
"Terrifying?" said someone from the door. Jim. "Why? Someone ignored him when he said no, and he shoved the guy away. How is that terrifying?"
"The display of violence beyond..." The man trailed off. The expression on his face indicated badly-hidden fear. Spock turned around to look at Jim Kirk, and saw that he was smiling like a thunderstorm. It was the first comparison that came to mind. "Mr. Kirk, really, this isn't the first time he's done this, it goes beyond... the spirit of the... um."
"Yes?"
"A lot people have complained, Mr. Kirk."
"Well, then, I have a complaint about Reginald, Riley, I forget his last name," Jim said. Nyota was out of sight, but Spock knew she was listening. She had very good hearing. He wished she would not know about what had happened in the basement. "Over thirty people witnessed him ignoring my friend’s expression of discomfort with what he was doing."
"We will consider revoking Mr. Riley's access when we receive multiple complaints about him, sir."
Jim gave him a long, slow stare. "This is all very inconsistent, isn't it? Does this club kick people out à la ostrakon, or something?"
The man's mouth thinned. "I'm just the messenger.”
"Okay," Jim said. "Then I quit too. You know my name. Take me off the registry."
Spock heard Nyota groan, somewhere outside. "That is not necessary," Spock said. "Please do not.”
"Why?" Jim said irritably. "This place is terrible. On top of the xenophobia, you issue cuffs incompatible with the emergency keys in the bathroom, all your rental floggers are second rate, the vodka here is terrible, and you don't wash your St. Andrew's crosses enough and I always feel like I'm suffocating in someone else's sweat when someone straps me in. Oh, and here's a text from my long-suffering girlfriend. You can take Nyota Uhura off the list, too."
The man grimaced. "Very well, sir."
"Okay," Jim said, now facing Spock. "So that's done. Pack up, let's go."
There wasn't much to take. Several changes of clothing, several personal restraints that he had never tried with a partner. They were of a common duranium alloy used in Vulcan security systems, slimmer and stronger than Terran cuffs. He had been able to procure several and modify them for his purposes. He picked all of it up, folded it into a small duffel bag, and followed Jim out, feeling strangely... light. Just at the start of the evening he had been preoccupied with many things, and he had come here only because his dissatisfaction with inaction outweighed- by a small margin- the discomfort of mingling badly with a number of people who held no especial fondness for him. And now it was hard to remember how that had felt.
"You idiot," Nyota said when they exited.
"We've kind of been coming here for almost two years, isn't it time to move on?" Jim said ingratiatingly. "Besides, if you really had a problem with it, you wouldn't have sent the text."
Nyota made a sound of frustration informed by many years of xenolinguistics studies. A sort of disgusted plop moved from her throat and emerged in a series of rapid, irritated clicks from her tongue. It sounded vaguely Klingon. "Okay, you impulsive little toad. Let's go. You drive."
They walked to the club exit, all three unconsciously clutching the front of their coat collars to brace themselves against the cold. "I drove on the way here, you drive. You exploit me."
"I exploit you?"
Their conversation was fierce two-person back-and-forth barrage, and Spock would have felt intimidated had it not been for- small things, very human things- the way they matched their pace to his, the way Jim sometimes craned his neck to look at Spock's expression, presumably to gauge his emotional state, as Terrans sometimes did- the way Nyota casually bumped her shoulder into his, a more subtle communication of affection and companionship.
"Fine, I drive," Nyota said. They were outside by then, and shivering hard. "Spock's from a desert clime and should sit in front of the radiator. You go in the back seat, Iowa."
"Brutal," Jim said, but got into the back seat. When Spock settled into the passenger's seat, Jim leaned forward and handed him a blanket. Nyota started the car and turned on the heater.
Nyota said, "I guess I know how you two met, then."
Jim, normally garrulous, was silent. So it was up to Spock to talk about it, if he wanted to. He pressed his body against his too-cold seat and said, not very affably, "I did not like something that a new acquaintance was doing, so I broke my cuffs and pushed him into a table. Jim made him apologize and consequently took me to a private area to take the cuffs off."
"Hmm," Nyota said, and was silent.
Spock said, "You wish to ask me about my sexual proclivities."
"Well, yes. I had no idea, while we were still involved."
"Were you interested in dominance at the time? Perhaps you harbor regrets-"
"No. Even if you'd known, I wouldn't have been ready. I only got into it because of Jim. It might have been terrible if we'd tried it back then."
"So I'm your BDSM senpai," Jim said smugly.
Spock elected to ignore him. Nyota seemed to utilize the strategy with great success. She said, "I assume you wouldn't like to talk about it- how that happened. It sounds like an interesting story, but if it's too personal..."
"Not particularly, but I do not wish to speak of it just at the moment. Perhaps at a future date."
"Got it," said Nyota. She and Jim had stopped shivering, but Spock still felt the chill pressing into his body. "The flat is warmer. We're almost there."
Spock said nothing.
"How do you feel about cock rings?" Jim said.
Spock glanced at Nyota and saw that she was struggling not to smile. "My physiology is similar enough to yours that they are effective on me."
"Good to know," Jim said, "but how do you feel about them?"
Nyota coughed. "By which he means..."
"I have become accustomed to such turns of phrase," Spock told her. "I do not mind them."
"Huh," Nyota said. "You don't 'mind' them. That's not something you would have said years ago."
"I have changed."
"Yeah." Her voice was gentle.
"And I like cock rings."
"Okay, you should stop talking now or I'm not going to drive that well."
Spock felt his mouth twitch.
:::
With Spock's permission, Jim went through his duffel, looking intrigued at the customized restraints. "Duranium alloy?"
"Just a trace," Spock said. "A simple modification on a standard alloy common in Vulcan. Nickel, cobalt, molybdenum, chromium, carbon, duranium."
"It's very aesthetically pleasing."
"I forged them myself. I tried modified ordinary Terran restraints, but the results were... clunky."
Nyota picked up a length of slim rope with a metallic sheen to it in places. "Huh. We have hemp. I guess that's not your thing."
It did not seem to occur to her to be scornful or surprised by the lengths to which he had gone to construct all this equipment. Equipment that he had never used. He felt a little push in his chest, and recognized it as gratefulness. "I like this better."
Nyota smiled. "Hang on. I'll be back with something."
She did not take long. She came back with a supple leather collar. The clasps were some pale metal that Spock identified as either white gold or a well-made imitation. It was in good condition, but when he took it he could tell it was not new.
"Yeah, that one," Jim said, and he and Nyota shared a look. "Do you like it?"
He turned it over in his hands. "This is yours." He had no logical basis for that conclusion. It just seemed so.
"It’s Jim’s, yes. A bit loose for me," Nyota said. "The one I prefer is metal. We have a few others, so if you don't like this one, or you don't want one at all tonight-"
"I like it," Spock said. "Will you put it on me?"
Nyota's smile was brilliant. She leaned forward and fastened the clasps at the side of his neck. "I like your hair, by the way."
He could feel himself flush, just a little.
"And now we're going to take your clothes off for you, so if you have a safeword you like to use, you should tell us now."
"Personally I find it superfluous. When I do not like something you do, I will simply ask you to stop."
"Vulcans don't like lying," Jim mused. "Your no is always a real no."
"Okay," Nyota said, although she didn’t look entirely satisfied. "Yes to these cuffs?"
He'd noticed her looking in admiration. They were very beautifully made. "Yes. And if either of you are proficient and comfortable with providing some vigorous flogging, I would request that you do."
"I could get used to the way you talk," Jim said and added, "We're both pretty good at flogging by now."
"Vulcans can take a lot more than I can dish out, though," Nyota said, looking at him. "You should do it. You're a bit stronger than I am."
"Okay," Jim said. He looked nervous for a second. "I'm not- uh- this will be a little trial and error. I don't know your endurance."
"I will tell you."
And for a while after that, none of them felt much compelled to talk. Nyota unbuttoned his shirt and folded it on the couch while Jim removed his pants for him, stepping around when he was done to fasten Spock's wrists behind his back. Spock noted his own lack of nervousness. He felt like he knew these people very well. Not very logical: it had been years since he had seen Nyota, and he had only known Jim for a few hours. But he did not flinch at the foreign touch of Jim's hands on his bare waist as he was guided to a bedroom- Jim and Nyota's. It bore many personal effects and was strangely unstrange to him. Nyota sat near the head of the bed, looking eloquently at Jim, who pushed Spock onto the bed, face-down, knees still on the floor.
"Look at me," Nyota said, and he did, jaw digging into the duvet. He had never heard her speak like that to him- like she did not expect and would not condone disagreement. It was incredibly attractive. "Keep looking at me. Jim's going to start now. Tell him how hard to flog you, and then start counting when he gets it right."
"And then Nyota tells me when to stop, unless you say it first," Jim said, his voice a bit rough. "Good?"
"Yes," Spock said, and the first blow came down. It drove the breath out of him, but only because he was surprised. There had been no warning. He rather liked that. "Perhaps seventy-two percent harder."
"I can't moderate my strength like that," Jim said, sounding amused, but the next blow came very close to correct. He let out a harsh breath, blinking out the daze that briefly descended on his vision before he could meet Nyota's eyes again. "Yes. That, and harder. Alternating. Please."
"I can do that."
Jim was good. There was a steady discipline in the way he moved, although he was unpredictable. Very unpredictable. Spock’s mind automatically kept track of the rhythm of the blows- the intensity, and the space in between them. There was a nearly mathematical perfection in the lack of a pattern. It was arousing. Ever so often Jim would simply swish the flogger across the back of his thighs, a whisper on his flesh, and it would make him flinch harder than the strongest blows did. The numbers went choked and slurred in his mouth, but Nyota must have seen the plea on his face, and did not say stop.
It was perfect, and he understood the impermanence of it, like a rising wave that would collapse against the coast. This was the highest he would go, or near it- it was only logical to prolong it.
The ache spread in his body. Bloomed.
"Take a break," Nyota said, and Jim subsided immediately, out of breath. Spock gave a slow, wrenching gasp, finally breaking eye contact. "Spock. Good?"
"Very satisfactory," he said, trying to speak as clearly as he could, and Nyota brushed a strand of hair out of his face, the tips of her fingers trailing over his scalp. He shuddered again. "If your partner would be amenable to penetrating me..."
"Um," Jim said, but it was a delighted sort of um. "Yes. Hang on. We have lube."
Nyota was kneeling on the bed, pulling off her clothes. She looked much like he remembered her- slim, perhaps more muscled than she had been, possessed of long stretches of smooth, flawless skin. He liked especially her knees, the fold between her thigh and abdomen, her feet.
Nyota, catching his glance, delicately extended her foot. He kissed her ankle.
"Please, I would like to-" he said, trying to indicate what he wanted without verbalizing it. He was not skilled at conveying information with facial expressions, not like Jim or Nyota could for each other, but Nyota understood. Her eyes were bright. When Jim came back, laid a cool hand against a sensitive cheek, and rubbed a slick thumb against the opening, she slid her body down the bed until his temple was pressed against the inside of her thigh, one of her legs folded under her. This near, he could smell her. It was as heady as he remembered.
"Oh, good," Jim said, and slid a finger inside of him. Then he crooked it. Spock spasmed, and felt the restraints bite at his wrists in earnest for the first time that evening. "That's not even where the- what was that?"
"I feel that this is an inopportune moment to give you an anatomy lesson-" Spock choked, "when I would rather you did it- again-"
"Oh, okay," Jim said breathlessly, and twisted two fingers inside him. Nyota wound her slim fingers in his hair and tugged him forward. He licked gracelessly, which she appeared to like- she shifted, rolling her hips forward. When Jim found the correct points inside his body, it felt like he was being lit up from the inside. Lights played on the inside of his lids. On those moments he breathed rawly against Nyota, and his mouth was wet with his own saliva and her fluids.
"Tell him," he rasped, forgetting for a moment that he could speak to Jim himself, "that I am much more resilient than most humans. He need not take many pains to prepare me."
"He'd rather do it, though," Nyota said, and the control had slipped from her voice, too. Her fingers were tightening, demandingly, in his hair. She did not seem to be aware of it.
"I'd rather he not," Spock said. "Now. Please."
Jim's hands closed on Spock's bound wrists, and he was shaking, Spock could feel it. He felt like slow flares were going off where he was being touched. "Here we go."
Nyota combed her fingers in his hair as Jim pressed inside him, and he muffled his groan against the crease of her thigh. The opening glide seemed to go on and on, torturously, pushing gasps out of him. He felt beautifully his own helplessness. His knees gave way, but Jim pulled his hips back in alignment and started fucking him, still ruthlessly slow, slamming inside him. He angled his thrusts until he was brushing the right spot every time he pulled out, and then slowed his movements there as if lingering on a note on an instrument he was playing. Nyota was watching Jim, her gaze liquid with pleasure.
Spock- with more difficulty than he was accustomed to- dragged out a memory, and leaned forward to flick his tongue rapidly back and forth against her clitoris, pausing twice to thrust his tongue into her, licking deep. She jerked and arched her back, and was looking at him when she came with a soft noise of shock. "Oh," Jim said, and drove into him, a hard, rewarding thrust. Her pleasure was still rippling through him like an echo, and the noise he made was foreign to himself- unusually soft and high, nearly animal.
"I've been-" Jim swore. "I'm not going to last long- the way you two look-"
"Okay, then," Nyota said breathlessly. "Jim."
Jim pressed his palm below Spock's neck to brace himself, buried himself in Spock's body in one rolling movement, and spent himself without noise. He could feel it, though, like a contained implosion.
He had not yet been given permission to come, and Nyota told him with a glance that he did, indeed, need permission. He ached in different directions.
Jim pulled out slowly, and Nyota reached to her side and leaned forward to remove his cuffs, her movements languid. He did not resist when they pulled him up towards the center of the bed. Jim examined the bruising on his wrist while Nyota propped a pillow under his head.
"How are we?" Jim said.
"Very good," Spock said. His voice came out throaty.
"By the way, he likes this," Nyota said, taking his hand and trailing two fingers across his. He jerked, unable to control his reaction when he was already compromised. "Gentle is casual. Not-gentle is... not casual."
"Very formal and restrained. Like him." Jim's eyes glittered for a second with interest, and then he nonchalantly took Spock's other hand and sucked a finger into his mouth with a wet, obscene sound.
Spock cried out louder than he had all night, and thought he heard Nyota make a noise of satisfaction before she slung her body above his, pressing down against his cock, every undulating line of her clean, defined. He thought about begging, but he didn't know what he wanted, and they seemed to know better than he did at any rate; they had carried him higher that night than anything he had achieved by himself. Jim continued to lap at Spock's fingers, looking almost thoughtful, like he was contemplating the taste of a new dessert.
"Fuck," Nyota said. He had so rarely heard her curse, and the brief flash of delight he felt at it was a surprise to himself. She rocked her pelvis, clenching around him, demanding pleasure from him. Then she called him by his full name, nearly flawless Vulcan spilling off her lips.
Jim made a vaguely enamored sound. "Spock, you can probably come now."
"Yes?" Spock said, the shivery-tautness of his body transmitting itself to his voice.
"Yes," Nyota said, lacing her fingers through those of his free hand and twisting her body down, splaying herself wide down on him, her breath hitching loudly with her second orgasm, her throat moving without emitting sound. Jim laved the pads of his fingers with his tongue, pressing almost-hard at the bruises on his wrist, and Spock came a few seconds after Nyota did, jerking and out of control, gasping lowly, feeling like he was being driven out of his body by the force of it.
They lay on the bed, recovering their breaths, and Jim was the one who came back with several washcloths and two towels. He tossed them both a bundle of clothes and said to Spock, "You're a bit taller than me, but not that much bigger, so these ought to fit you."
Nyota was already unfolding her pajamas, putting them on with a little purr of contentment. Spock examined his, feeling his face crinkle a little. "I did not know I was to stay."
Jim's eyes widened. "Do you want to leave?"
Spock was unmoored here. "I have done both in previous liaisons, but I assumed that since you two are already living together, you would have no need for extraneous companionship."
Nyota looked back and forth, reluctantly alert again. "Well, we have space on the bed."
"Don't you want extraneous companionship?" Jim said. "Besides, it's safe to do that. Subdrop, you know."
"We did not engage in anything physically intense tonight, and even if we had, I am unaffected by the phenomenon. You need not worry."
"Okay, not worrying," Nyota said. She did not believe him. "We still want you to stay. We usually do."
He could not articulate, without embarrassing himself, the conviction he had that he had to leave before something would mar it all- that he wanted one perfect, placid memory to assure himself that he was capable of this, that others were capable of doing this to him, and he could not afford to compromise it by making mistakes tonight. He exhaled.
"Say okay,” Jim said, holding out his hand. As if it were that simple.
"...Okay," Spock replied, and took it.
The bed was large enough that they fit comfortably into it. They kicked their feet under the blankets until they were both comfortable, on either side of Spock. Nyota curled towards him, her hair spilling on his chest, and Jim slung an arm over him. "Furnace," Jim said sleepily into his hair, breath tickling his ears. "Callipygian Vulcan ex-boyfriend like a furnace. Well done to us. And well done to him."
"Go to sleep, Kirk," Nyota said. "Spock, do you want the collar off when you sleep?"
He deliberated with the darkness and made the easy choice. "I prefer it where it is."
"All right."
Spock slid into sleep.
4. Uhura
She was the earliest up, and examined the two men in the bed before leaving to make coffee in the kitchen. Spock was sleeping with his arms folded on his chest. Six years ago, she'd taken it as part of his fundamental Vulcan-ness. Now it looked strangely like an attempt to take up less space. Kirk, in contrast, sprawled across half the bed, one of his arms slung over Spock’s stomach.
Nyota waited for the coffee, feeling melty with satisfaction- there was nothing like waking up well-rested after a night of really good sex. The sunlight slanted pinkly into the silent kitchen and she felt wonderfully achey. She felt like an extravagant breakfast somewhere, soon but not just then.
Nyota was just pouring the coffee when Spock walked into the kitchen. "Want some?" she said quietly, waving a cup at him. He hesitated a few seconds before nodding. He took it with a little cinnamon, if she remembered correctly. When they'd been dating she'd stocked her kitchen with some Vulcan tea, which she didn’t have. But he was fine with coffee. She carried their mugs to the table and gestured at him to sit down.
He was rumpled, his dark hair sticking out everywhere, although he had evidently tried to comb it with his fingers. He still wore Kirk's clothes, and Kirk's collar. When he noticed her eyes lingering on it he raised a hand towards it, almost protectively, and she shook her head.
"Keep it on, if you like."
He blinked once, and gave her one of those almost-smiles that she'd fallen in love with, the ones that had no intention to charm. After years of living with Kirk, whose actions were very often deliberate, loaded with some kind of intention, it was a pleasure to see it again. "You have met a man with whom you are extraordinarily compatible."
To someone else who noted this Nyota might have said something playfully sarcastic about Kirk- his terrible habits, his arrogance, his clothes, or something. But this was Spock, so she said, with complete honesty, "Extraordinarily is a good adverb. Yes."
"My congratulations."
She smiled. "Accepted."
They sat in silence for a minute before Spock said, unusually talkative: "He is a very informal person."
"Oh yes. Kirk. If he offended you at any point, just tell him, he'll apologize, probably."
"No," Spock said. "I surprised myself when I did not mind. There is a sincerity to his informality, and the quality of his conversation more than compensates for his other flaws."
She hid her smile with her mug. "Such as?"
"He is impulsive, and very bold. And I find him very intense."
"Not necessarily flaws," she pointed out. Intense, huh?
"Not necessarily," Spock agreed. "He is very strange. You are not. That is, I assumed-" he sat still, looking almost sweetly befuddled with his rumpled hair and cotton shirt. "You were always very considerate of my culture and upbringing, and there is still a familiarity in the way you address me and act around me, as if you are tamping down on some aspects of yourself in order to accommodate me."
"A little bit," Nyota said. Heavy topics before breakfast. "I mean, Kirk is a terrible influence, so not as much as would have been good, but I was trying last night."
"We ended our relationship due to the strain it put on you, subtle as you thought it was," Spock said. "You need not do it anymore. I have long since acclimatized myself to Earth and its habits. Besides, I am half human, myself. The burden of communication should have fallen on me, not you."
"Illogical," Nyota said, grinning. She missed debating with him. When she said illogical, he sometimes twitched. "I was a xenolinguistics student. It was sort of my job, you know."
"I did not wish to be your job."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I know. What I meant was that I do not wish to be something you have to work at."
"That's kind of what relationships are, though."
Spock dropped his eyes. "Your relationship with Jim Kirk seems frictionless, somehow."
"That came with work, too," Nyota said. "We tried to take things un-seriously, and that's the only way we got serious, believe me."
His brow furrowed. "That makes no sense."
She laughed. "If you stick around, I think we'll explain it to you."
The invitation hung in the silence, vibrating quietly.
Spock said, awkwardly: "I have not been following your professional career. Where are you employed, these days?"
Nyota let him guide the conversation there, and talked about trade and translation programming. She prodded Spock about his life, less tentatively than she would have before Spock told her- in his own way- that he wanted her to treat him like she would another friend. She got him to talk about his work, which was in many ways affiliated to hers, and they were deep in an animated conversation about that when Kirk stumbled out of the room, twice as rumpled as Spock was, his satisfaction with the world shining on his face. The satisfaction grew as he looked at both of them- Nyota with her hair down, mussed, and Spock with his collar, and the light, greenish bruises on his wrists.
"Finally," she said.
"I'm going to have a really quick shower," Kirk said. "You can join me. If you like."
"I'm too hungry to get distracted. So no," Nyota said.
"I, too, decline," Spock said, when Kirk looked at him. He had flushed, though. Straightforward here, stumbling there.
"Okay," Kirk said, walking past them. A minute later they heard the shower come on.
"He sings in the shower," Nyota said. "He might be guest-shy, though."
They waited a minute. There was no singing. Spock gave her another almost-smile and said, "You call him Kirk, and he calls you Uhura. Why?"
"Tradition," she said. "He hit on me several times and asked me for my first name, which I never actually gave to him. And you call friends by their first names, and Jim was my lover before he was my friend, so- it stuck."
He tilted his head. "But you called him Jim just now."
"Well, yeah. Sometimes. When-" Nyota shrugged. "It's illogical, you know."
"I can see that."
She got up to pour them both some more coffee and said, "While we're on heavy topics- you and submission? You said last night that you wanted to talk about it later, but I don't know how much later is later, and I admit that I'm very curious."
His face went opaque, and for a moment she thought she had made a mistake in asking- perhaps it was sensitive- before he said, "It was nothing extraordinary."
Spock wouldn't lie, but he could understate like a champion. She leaned against her chair, gave him a considering look. "Yes?"
He raised an eyebrow, and slowly kept on talking, like it was an effort. "Approximately a year and ten months ago, I happened to be under a moderate amount of stress and found myself without much companionship to alleviate it. I discovered that I performed much more efficiently when I envisioned being commanded to do so by an individual who refused to compromise with me, and denied me several necessities when I failed to perform adequately."
"An individual?"
"I substituted various individuals, among which were yours."
"Oh," Nyota croaked. "And necessities?"
"Sleep, food, or release. I never allowed it to be genuinely detrimental to my health, of course. I found the explanations in Terran psychology that suggested I had submissive tendencies more academically satisfying than the theories Vulcan psychobiologists would have suggested to me. I read the literature, and attempted- very incompetently, I think- to find someone who would help me indulge them."
That was pretty much how a lot of subs Nyota knew had found out they liked what they liked, but the admission was strangely new from Spock. She walked around the table and pressed a kiss into his hair. He leaned into it; did not pull away, did not tense. He added, almost dreamily: "You may tell Jim, if he asks you. I find that I have a strange amount of trust in him."
"Kirk does that," she agreed. By that time the sun had risen completely. It softened the angles of Spock's face, made him look approachable, warm-mouthed. Or maybe that was just him. She looped her fingers in his collar, just like she had the first time Jim had come to her wearing it, and pressed her knuckles lightly against fever-warm skin. "You know, you should come and have breakfast with us. It's Sunday, no one has work. We can go watch a movie, or bundle up and go down to the lake, or come back and watch TV."
He was leaning, subtly, into her touch. "I am unclear of the parameters of what you are proposing, and you have not yet consulted Jim on his preferences."
"She doesn't need to," Kirk said, from the doorway. At some point the shower had cut off and he had emerged from it, silently, his face damp and clean. His expression was merrily lucid. "At this point, you know, we know each other well enough... it would have been my suggestion if it hadn't been hers. Is that coffee?" He came over and sat down to drink all of Nyota's.
Spock watched him, a bit wonderingly. Kirk licked his mouth and said, "And I suppose we're asking you out on a date. Are we?"
"That is so," Nyota said. "A date kind of date."
"That's parameters for you," said Kirk, and added, haphazardly: "Anyway, what's the logic here- the erstwhile boyfriend of my current girlfriend is... my prospective boyfriend?"
"The last twelve hours have been very chaotic," Spock said, visibly making an effort to ignore the irrational statement about boyfriends. "It would be hasty of me to allow this affair to diverge even further from what I had scheduled."
Nyota said, "What did you have scheduled?"
"Probably convincing himself that it's a bad idea," Kirk said.
"Oh. Then please. By all means. Let the affair diverge." She felt quietly reckless, and remembered the way she'd been when she first met Kirk- the way she'd tried to estimate when it would all end, when it would fragment and fly apart so she could move onto the next stage of her life, post-Kirk. Post-Kirk had not happened. It could be that it might not happen for a long time, and she had stopped thinking about it entirely at some point. She felt odd, watching Spock, imagining that he must be thinking of that, too- counting minutes, days. If he took them up on this, he would start a timer in his brain. And Spock would count. He would project. He would anticipate, very logically, an ending. He might not let go of the notion as easily as Nyota had.
"It's a date, not an invitation to walk off a precipice," said Kirk. "And we're kind of wonderful. We can just figure out where to go next at each point, can’t we? And right now the point we’re at is the pan-galactic breakfast place with fusion pancakes, ten minutes away by car."
"I have noticed," Spock said. He extended his hands, slowly, across the table. Kirk didn't even blink- he reached out in turn, covered them with his own. “Yes, then.”
He sounded a bit as if he had no idea what he was doing. That was all right. Kirk rarely did, and Nyota had learned that it was a fine way to proceed, sometimes.
When Spock withdrew his hands, looked at her, and unclasped the collar around his neck to give to her for safekeeping while they went out, she could feel herself smiling- joyfully, perhaps a bit secretively, because of all the things he had yet to know that she wanted to show him.