Title: Captain Curve
Author: Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten
Contact: blueberrysnail@yahoo.com
Series: TOS
Codes: K/S, humor, and some surprises
Rating: Most likely NC-17. But not for all parts.
Parts: 7 (w00t, a big one!)
Archive: Yeah sure spread the luv ;-) but somebody tell me about it first (if it's someone other than the regular ASCEM folks)? ;-D
My K/S website: http://spirk.cosmicduckling.com
Beta: Leiabelle, I truly love you. Thanks for everything, even though this story was so long and a little "hotter" than you usually prefer! :-) And thank you Gillian for your linguistic advice.
Disclaimer: The entire Trek universe belongs to Paramount and will not suffer much from the poking and prodding of our curious collective imaginations. We mean our beloved characters no harm and think that quite possibly they enjoy the variety ;-)

(formerly known as "Enterprising")

Part 1

I stood at the laser printer in my university's 24-hour computer lab, eagerly awaiting my one-page document-- a drawing of Kirk and Spock I had found online, along with a sonnet about them I'd written a few months earlier. I felt slightly naughty, because the dry-erase board at the entrance to the lab clearly stated that "watching porn" was among the things that were not to be tolerated within its walls-- a list of things also including pets, food, and rollerblades. However, I felt confident in my abilities to defend a shirtless picture of two men embracing as being far tamer than actual porn. I never have believed that simply being homosexual renders any graphic or story more explicit than a heterosexual story with similar themes or scenes. And I'm very outspoken in my support of alternative orientation rights.

Something was coming out of one of the two printers, which were creatively named after Lord of the Rings characters. I glanced around me quickly to make sure a lab attendant wasn't anywhere nearby, and then snuck a peek at the printer's gift. My eyes were greeted by the first of what would turn out to be about twenty copies of a slightly lengthy document consisting mostly of Creationist dogma. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I knew, would be my little print job.

One page of a buff, smiling, shirtless human male embracing his smolderingly hot Vulcan lover, the couple posed seductively above a poem in which Jim confesses his love. Somehow, I didn't think the owner of the Creationist print job would be too thrilled if gay astronauts wound up in the middle of their neverending deluge of myth and hot ink.

I needed to grab that page the minute the machine spit it out.

Finally! After checking page after page, I finally spied my beautiful boys and made my graceful exit out of the lab. As I left, I giggled wickedly, clutching my binder to my chest. It's flimsy and the graphic on the cover is blue and purple and golden, and there's a dramatic bolt of lightning hitting the landscape. Inside the binder are my nine favorite Spirk stories, as my partner has mischievously nicknamed the genre. The page I just printed ever so discreetly is the new title page.

It's a good thing I had printed all of the stories before the Creationist got started, or who knows what might have happened. There was more than just one page at stake, and some of those stories were pretty hot!

I walked home on the same route I traveled at least once every weekday, out of the lab and past the Burger King and the blue thing with the button that claimed to be my savior should I be assaulted, past the dorm that has the half-floor where guys aren't allowed even if they're your brother.

It happened as I started to walk past the yellow-poplar saplings.

It should have figured... I suppose. I love yellow-poplars (Liriodendron tulipifera, or the tulip tree, State Tree of Tennessee) for many reasons. Their leaves are shaped vaguely like the Vulcan hand salute, which is also a sacred symbol of my own people. They populated the wonderful mountain forests in north Georgia, where I went hiking the summer with Mommy. These saplings were just planted last spring. I was glad when they were put in, and I waved at them today. Gave them the "Live long and prosper" (or "Shekhina", take your pick of reality and fantasy) salute, even.

Then I noticed that I was barefoot.

What the hell? What happened to my shoes? Had I taken them off in the computer lab and somehow... forgotten to put them back on again? Good lord, were Kook and Spork distracting me that much already? I started to turn around and head back to the lab, and as I turned my long hair was flung around my shoulders. Wait... my long hair? I'd cut it all off before summer, because of my forestry class. I'd been wearing it in a little Roberta Lincoln-style flip-do since April.

But now it was back, all of it. The long, flowing golden curls that I'd had since I started high school. The romance-novel tresses that took four hours to air-dry and required significant mousse-related care.


I looked down to examine my bare feet, and nearly fell over when I saw my clothing. Gone were my white sweater and denim capris. Instead, my 95-pound frame fit perfectly into a tiny strapless lavender minidress that had never existed in real life. I was beginning to realize what had happened, and I couldn't believe my eyes.

Two years ago in a hotel room in Seattle, I drew a self-portrait where I was a barefoot fairy in a strapless minidress. It wound up being used as the cover illustration for a piece of music I had written on that trip. It was kind of an intense projection of a dream self-image... or something. In the drawing, I was holding my violin. I was holding it now, even though it had been safe in my apartment until seconds before.

Oh my God.

I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, there they were.


The big, beautiful, blue shimmery wings of a morpho butterfly were attached to my back, and moved at my will. Strumming a G-chord on my fiddle, I tried out my new wings.... and lifted off into the air.

The fulfillment of my dream of flying was as gleeful as I'd imagined. However, as I flew, I started to freak out a little bit. That was to be expected, since nothing was making any sense. They were making no sense in a good way, mind you, but still! And I was concerned about my fiddle. I wanted to be able to fly around without having to protect the little spruceling.

As I landed in the sycamore tree (grandiose and inviting, golden-green and shedding bark at the approach of fall) near the outside of the computer lab, I realize that I hadn't seen a single person since I left the lab. Why was the campus free of people? Had I left reality completely?

Clinging to the tree branch, actually sort of hugging it happily, I surveyed the ground beneath the tree. *Hey, there's someone there!* And just who it was, although it should have been predictable at this point, almost made me fall out of the tree.

"John deLancie?" I shouted down at him, grinning.

"Oh, very funny, Farfalla. I'm sure you've figured out that you've left your... 'sort'... of existence, if you can even call it that, quite a few minutes ago." Q was dressed in his pretentious little red and black number, and boy, it did the job. He almost took my breath away. Except I was laughing my head off with nervousness. It's what I always do.


"No, the Pink Panther. Yes, it is I, mon papillón," said Q. I still couldn't stop grinning. This was too much. But I have always had an enormous imagination, so I suppose I was adjusting to this a little easier than most people.

"Hi, Q! Can you please come a little closer? I actually can't hear you very well." Sycamores are fairly large trees, and the weather was pearly silver and actually quite windy. Come to think of it, my favorite type of weather, too. Dang, he hadn't missed anything! I checked my cuticles, almost as an afterthought. Nope, they were still chewed up. Hmph...

"Certainly, my dear." OK, the humanoid figure on the ground had suddenly disappeared and the tree itself was talking to me. Q had turned himself into the tree!

"It's so amazing to get to meet you, Q!" For once, my little "*bats eyelashes and wings coyly*" catchphrase from online was a reality. "Actually, this is kind of embarrassing.... are you really omnipotent?"

"Fairly," said Q. "Why? What unrealistic, ridiculous wish do you want me to fulfill, silly child?"

I took a deep breath. Well, not everybody liked him. "Nothing like that, actually. I like my life. But I'm very hungry. The only reason I stayed in the lab so long was because I was playing around with Spirk stuff." Then I just sat there, feeling a little weird. I had mentioned K/S to someone from the-- gasp!-- actual Trek universe. Now, perhaps, I'd get a straight answer on all of that nonsense, without interference from Paramount's closet goons. Or hopefully, not such a "straight" answer....

Q ignored my statement, at first. "Here, mon papillón. Here you go." There was a little Q-flash and in front of me on the tree branch sat a Styrofoam box from Wing Zone with a buffalo chicken sandwich inside.

"Oh wow, I love these! I practically lived off of them during my sophomore year."

"I know," said Q. "Disgusting."

"Thanks, though." I handed Q my violin for safekeeping and started inhaling the food, as is my usual habit.

"There's a pickle in there also," he pointed out.

"Yeah, thanks," I began, and then caught his eye. His expression was... smug.

"A pickle, but no prince for you, my dear."

*So he knows about the pointy-eared pickle prince thing,* I thought. I stared at him, searching for answers in his impish face.

Then he winked.

"So it's true!!?" I almost shrieked, pleading.

"Eat your sandwich."

My heart was pounding in my chest as I tried to eat. I was glad that I had been hungry, because this amount of nervousness usually shuts my stomach up like a sealed envelope. And I wasn't just nervous because we were discussing the *real* Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. Q happened to be.... a very sexually attractive entity, if I dare say so myself. (I am a committed woman, mind you-- but I can't shut off my hormones!)

When I was finally finished with my sandwich, I wiped off my hands on my napkin (which instantly vanished) and looked Q squarely in the face. "OK, you have to tell me now. I was afraid to ask you, in case you were going to say it wasn't true..."

"Do stop babbling, Farfalla," said Q. "Just say it. You and I both worship subtlety and elegance, but there's got to be something concrete and real, and *real*, to base such subtext on." As he said 'real' the second time, he moved closer to me and breathed in my ear.


"Are Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock lovers?" I mumbled quickly.

"No, mon papillón, they are not." My heart fell all the way to the ground when he said that. But then he continued. "But they are, if I am not mistaken, *desperately* in love with each other." My heart swam back up to where it belonged, overshot, and flew into my head. I grinned and did a little happy-dance while sitting down.

"When are they going to get together?" I asked.

"Perhaps never," said Q.

"Noooo!" I whined.

"Stop whining. I gave you wings to make you less human, so stop acting like the worst specimens of the species."

"But why aren't Kirk and Spock going out?"

"That, mon papillón, is for you to decide when you have sufficiently observed them," said Q. He idly strummed my fiddle, which was still reposing in his draped arms.

"Observed them? Are you sending me to the Enterprise?!" Finally, things were starting to be a little too much for me. This had all happened so quickly! "Hey, just a question. Why do you keep calling me papillón? I thought you only spoke French to Captain Picard because *he's* French."

Q sighed wearily. "Atmosphere. Fine then, farfalla mia. Or mein Schmetterling, since you don't have an ounce of Italian blood in your little Yiddish body."

"Sorry, sorry." Eek... The last thing I wanted to do in the universe was piss Q off right before he decided to send me to the Enterprise to check out Kirk and Spock's relationship. "Just curious."

"Mhmm." He nodded. He was plucking something on my violin that sounded vaguely like the opening notes to "I Think We're Alone Now", a song that always reminds me of K/S. "'Children behave,'" he sang mockingly.

"So... what's going on again?" I was getting a little frustrated, because he was singing and not explaining his earlier statement any further.

"You, my dear butterfly, have twenty-four hours in which to make those two fools realize they are destined for each other, or else your lovely violin will... how shall I put it... explode?"

"What?" My head cocked to the side and I squinted at him in disbelief. That was the weirdest "You do this, or I'll do that" I'd ever heard. And that included all of the botched-heist movies my partner had made me watch this semester.

"You heard correctly, mí mariposa." Q was making fun of me now. "They already love each other, so it shouldn't be *too* difficult for you. You just need a plan, and I'm sure that will be no problem. You're... dare I say it?.... enterprising!"

I smirked at him. "OK... but can we do this on my terms? If I am so enterprising, it's because I come up with creative wacky solutions. And if you're helping me, I can implement crazier, wackier solutions than usual."

"I'm not going to baby-sit you, Miss Johnny Sugar." Now he was calling me by a pseudonym I used to use for musical composition. "What exactly do you want? Do you have a ploy already, dear heart?"

"Not exactly," I said, "but I know I'm going to need to spy on them a little to find out the exact reason they haven't gotten together yet. So... maybe... could you grant me the power to transform into a real butterfly at will?"

"Granted," said Q. "I'm being generous, Farfalla. I've let you keep your human brain while you're fluttering around as a little morpho. You forgot to mention that, so I might have been stricter!" He chuckled wickedly, yet seductively.

"Thanks, Q. I'd like also the opportunity to get one more power," I said. "But I won't know what I'll need until I do my little reconnaissance thing. After that, I'll be able to figure it out, hopefully. Is that ok?"

Q nodded. "A wise thing to decide."

"How will I find you once I know what I want to do?"

"You tell me." Q folded his arms across his chest.

"Hmm..... Well, let's say the Enterprise crew goes on shore leave tomorrow night... can we say that? You can say that, right? You're super-Q!" I stuck my tongue out at him a little playfully.

"Quite." Q rolled his eyes at me. "Yes, shore leave. Do you want to be employed on such a planet?"

"Let's make me the bartender in a classy little dance club that Starfleet officers like to go to," I said.

"Ah, Farfalla, always the club bunny."

"I never have anyone to dance with!!" I whined. My partner's ears always hurt in dance clubs, so I never get to go.

"We'll see about that," said Q. He was starting to flicker from my sight like a TV losing reception. So was the tree I was on, for a matter of fact. Aack!


Then everything switched off. There was no tree, no Q, no sky, no anything. There was no color, no light, no darkness. He had switched off the world. An in an instant, he switched it back on again.

I was on board NCC-1701, the United States Starship Enterprise.

Part 2

I was on the Enterprise bridge. It was a good thing I was already somehow a butterfly, because the sudden appearance of a winged waif in a cocktail dress on the bridge would have rattled things up a bit. I had appeared, of all places, perched on the back of Kirk's chair.

"Whew, Keptain, I'm exhausted!" came a familiar Russian voice that was now so much richer that it wasn't coming through my roommate's television speakers.

"I know, Mr. Chekov, we all are." That was the voice of the Captain. I was right behind his head, and I could almost see the blood coursing through the veins in his neck because I was so close. "You'll be glad to know I've authorized shore leave for us all tomorrow night. We'll be passing a planet full of entertaining places to relax and have some fun!"

"Oh, thank you, Captain!" Lt. Uhura breathed happily.

"I'll be... looking forward to taking you for a swing on the dance floor, Lieutenant!" said Kirk. Geezub, he was still pause-talking.

I still hadn't looked over at the science station, partially to prolong the delicious torment, and partially because I was still figuring out how to work all of my insect limbs. I knew the minute I saw Spock, the real Spock, six feet of solid Vulcan prime-grade quality meat with an IQ that rivaled my bank balance, I was going to dissolve.

"I'm... heading off to bed," said Kirk, standing up. Quickly I attached myself to the back of his shirt in an inconspicuous location. "Goodnight, crew! See you all in the morning!"

"I shall come with you, Captain." There he was, the owner of that delicious mudslide of a voice. His eyes were black and magnetic, and their lashes were lush and unintentionally flirtatious. I couldn't breathe. Then I breathed too much. Then my lungs couldn't make up their minds what to do at all. Oh Spock!! Captain, if by any chance you *didn't* love this man, you would be crazy.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," said Kirk. They walked prosaically into the turbolift and told it where to go. I was busy wondering how female butterflies got themselves off, if they were able to at all.

"Shall you be out long on shore leave tomorrow, Captain?" asked Spock.

"Well....!" Kirk smirked at his First Officer. "I want to make full use of this rare opportunity to enjoy myself completely with no responsibilities. But it's not for long."

"I shall be in the science lab if you wish to play chess when you return," said Spock.

"You're not coming with us?" Kirk's face saddened like a puppy's. "Oh, Spock! Even you need to relax!"

"Vulcans do not--"

Kirk sighed. "I know, I know. You meditate." He paused for a little while. "Look, Spock. Can you just give it a try? I know that Uhura would be tickled pink if you walked her to the club tomorrow. You don't have to stay long. Just make sure she gets there safely. They don't allow anyone to beam directly into the club vicinity, to prevent trouble."

"Most logical, Captain," said Spock. "Although I believe beam-out criminal escapes are the chief target of the ban." He sighed. "I shall escort the Lieutenant to the club tomorrow night. But I will still be waiting on the ship for you when you are through 'relaxing', which is an act I still find difficult to believe is successfully carried out while gyrating against energetic strangers."

"That's because you've never tried it, Mr. Spock."

*Dance! Dance!!!* I pleaded in my mind. But the elevator had other plans, and deposited them on their floor before anything interesting could get started.

Since I was already on Kirk's back, I decided to spy on him first. "Good night, Spock," he called, yawning from the door of his quarters. As Spock waved a similar farewell, I left Kirk's back and fluttered to the midst of a bunch of flowers in a vase by the bedside. From this vantage point, not only was I hidden well by the flowers, but I'd be able to get a good view of Kirk as he lay sleeping, dreaming even, or possibly something even more illuminating.

I was treated to a lovely show of James T. Kirk, undressed, for a brief spell as he changed out of his uniform and into a clean pair of boxers. Divine! A work of biological art. After puttering around for a little bit, he went to bed and put the lights out. *Dammit....*

However, I could tell from the sounds he was starting to make that he wasn't going to sleep just yet. Sheets were rustling rhythmically, and he was starting to breathe harder. I had a feeling that I knew what he was doing, but when he let out a small, grunted moan I knew for sure.

Captain Kirk was whacking off in front of me, and the *lights were out*. Dammit!!

I held my breath and wished I had some kind of idea what or where a butterfly's clitoris was as Kirk's arousal grew more and more heated. Then, suddenly, he started to pant quickly, and I knew he was about to come.

"Spock!!" he moaned loudly, and sighed, and then I smelled semen. Wow. So... wow. That was powerful.

Suddenly, the light switched on and Kirk was mopping himself up with a tissue. He was mumbling to himself sleepily. I managed to catch the words "gay... illogical... fuck logic!" and a sardonic little laugh before he shut out the light again and went to sleep. Poor Jim. Q was right; I had to fix this!

I stretched my legs and left the flowers. Crawling along the wall I managed to find an air vent, and followed the scent of incense to Spock's quarters.

Spock's room was filled with an intoxicating scent I couldn't place. *It's probably some Vulcan thing,* I thought to myself. I looked down at Spock. He was sitting on the floor half-naked next to his firepot, in a state of apparently abandoned meditation. He was just starting to play with himself. *Score!!!!*

Only this time I wasn't torturing myself with this damn insect body.

I flew straight into the closet (wow, did that sound amusing) and transformed back into the winged waif version of myself. Peering through the slats in the closet door, I watched, transfixed, as Spock struggled with himself over whether to continue to attempt to meditate his feelings away or to give in to his physical urges yet another night.

"It is illogical for a male to pursue a union with a male who is straight," Spock intoned to himself. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the incense. "Jim... the Captain... does not desire me, but is only my dearest friend."

*Ha,* I thought. *So they both think the other one doesn't want a gay relationship. What a couple of blind idiots. Lesbians would have double-talked their way through this one in a week! "Do you like Ani diFranco?" "No, but I'm supposed to." That sort of thing.* I've actually said that, by the way.

Then I gave up on thinking, because Spock gave up on meditating and began to caress his beautiful green genitalia. Whoo boy! I fixed my baby blues right on his gorgeous, sensual body and fixed my paws someplace else.

He ran his hands fluidly over his erection, working steadily and smoothly. I couldn't believe I was this close to what was going on over there, and when he finally came, I almost fell over with my own. I turned back into a butterfly just in time to prevent making a big racket in there, so he didn't discover me.

OK, this was hot. I needed to get these two sexy dumbasses together, and I had... twenty-two hours. And now they were asleep. Time to make a plan.

Part 3

Captain James T. Kirk walked through the glittering doorway of the club and breathed in deeply. Finally, he could relax a little. The past few missions and the pressures of dealing with many interplanetary political issues had begun to make his mind feel like it needed to be taken out and polished like a pair of old spectacles. And shore leave was just the cloth he needed to wipe the most opaque smudges of stress from his head.

The club was dimly lit and packed, and a cheerful atmosphere of tasteful, noisy partying was all around him. To his left, happy Starfleet officers and a colorful assortment of aliens danced together on a floor lit by varying combinations of colored flashes. To his right and to his distant left, other patrons sat at circular tables and attended to their exotically festooned dinner plates. Straight in front of him was the bar, where an attractive older man in red and black and a young woman with wings were serving very appealing cocktails.

Time for a drink? It would be a comfortable place from which to enjoy the atmosphere, and wait interesting company to materialize. His friends had scattered; Dr. McCoy was off with Yeoman Barrows in some tiny romantic bistro, Sulu and Chekov had talked about going to play some kind of sport that sounded vaguely reminiscent of Earth bowling, and Scotty hadn't come down at all, predictably. Uhura had stayed on board the ship at first to have some private time with her engineer consort, but would be arriving eventually on the reluctant arm of Commander Spock. It had been necessary to provide such a dazzling woman with a bodyguard on her way to the club, because beaming in and out of the club was not permitted, and it had been dark outside for several hours. Spock hadn't wanted to go at first, and it was doubtful that he would stay long anyway.

Spock.... Just the thought of him raised Kirk's body temperature and made him catch his breath. And when he was actually in the room....

Captain Kirk pushed the thought out of his head reluctantly. Unrealistic romantic fantasies about his Vulcan, male, straight, unemotional friend were not the way to begin pleasant hours of leisure. And leisure was scarce. But he wished Spock were there, all the same, even if it wasn't to dance with him, and share drinks with him, and hold him out in the moonlight..... No! OK. Spock was his friend. His closest friend. He *had* to be happy with the equilibrium, the tortuous status quo.

He approached the bar, and the winged waif stopped shoving marachino cherries down her throat and peered at him, grinning. "Howdy, Captain! What'll it be?"

"You..... recognize me from somewhere?" Kirk flashed her a mechanical version of his winning smile. Inwardly he sighed. He felt like he had to live up to some kind of reputation for picking up women like a sock picks up burrs in an overgrown field. He'd no idea where he'd gotten that kind of image, but thus is the way with gossip-- even in space.

"I've seen your picture in the... news," the girl explained. For some reason, the other bartender suddenly started to chuckle, then walked away and started washing dirty glasses. "So... what's up?"

"What's up? Well... I'm on shore leave," Kirk said. "You got a.... Jovian Sunspot for me?"

"Right away, Captain!" The girl hadn't stopped grinning since he'd first noticed her. It would have been almost annoying if he hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of Spock. Why in the world couldn't he concentrate on anything else tonight?

Well, at least Spock would be arriving soon, and maybe Jim would calm down once they got into a conversation. Actually, even his mere presence would be of much help.

Then again, given his current mood, Spock's presence might only worsen his mental condition. He wondered how in the world Vulcans could control their every emotion twenty-four hours a day. Controlling this one emotion took so much effort!

"Here you go, Captain."

"What? Oh, thank you." Kirk took the drink and paid the girl. He studied the glass before taking his first drink. It was incredible how she had crafted a drink to resemble with some degree of accuracy the stormy red bands of Jupiter. There was even the requisite giant frozen strawberry, floating somewhere in the middle of the orange sherbet, cranberry juice, and liquor, representing the Great Red Spot. "This is really beautiful! Nice job." He drank deeply. "Tastes good, too! Sir! Hey, bartender. Your young apprentice is quite the artist."

The older man raised both eyebrows at him languidly. "Thank you, Captain. I am glad to have her helping me." His voice slithered out of his mouth and he retained eye contact with Kirk for a little longer than necessary. Kirk blinked, confused. His head was starting to spin a little. That was a feeling he certainly never expected to feel from a sweet, fruity, frozen drink.

Something strange was happening to his body. His fingertips itched, and he felt something in his groin that he couldn't begin to identify. When his head stopped spinning, he looked up to find the butterfly woman staring at him intently, her grin finally gone and her expression scientific. "I'm ok," he started to say, but the voice that come out from his lips wasn't his own.

It was a woman's voice.

"Hello? Hello?" he squeaked, testing. "What's wrong with my voice?"

"Er.... Captain?" The girl curled her lips into her mouth and then pursed them out again.

"Ooh, that's VERY interesting! Look at a mirror." The older bartender cocked his head at the large mirror behind his head, and then went back to work.

Kirk looked into the mirror, but it seemed to be angled strangely and he couldn't find himself among the hundreds of people in the club. "Where am I?" he asked, shaking his head.

A woman in the mirror was shaking her head the same way he was. He was beginning to understand, and was starting to freak out. He waved his arms in the mirror and the woman, or rather, himself, waved back.

"What the hell just happened to me!?"

The girl bartender patted him on the arm sympathetically. "It's an allergic reaction to the ingredients in the drink. I'm *very* sorry, Captain. It's a very rare phenomenon, but it *has* been known to happen in special cases."

"You're telling me I had an allergic reaction to a drink and it made me turn into a woman?!" Kirk was getting used to his female voice, and now it didn't seem as squeaky. Rather pleasant, actually. If he'd been in his own body, listening to that voice from somebody else would have been enjoyable.

The woman nodded. "It's not permanent. At most, it'll last only for about twelve hours. I'm *very* sorry." She looked genuinely upset--or at least worried and preoccupied.

"Well, NOW what am I supposed to do?! How am I even going to convince my friends that it's really me in here?" Kirk surveyed himself... herself... in the mirror. He wasn't bad looking. His chin was still square and mannish, but his... her hair had morphed into a more womanly style than was usual. Her captain's uniform had also gone, and a smart dark green skirt and flattering but professional blouse tastefully covered a perfect bosom, not too large or too small.

Actually, she was gorgeous. In a... female version of Captain Kirk sort of way.

"I'm stuck this way for the rest of my shore leave, aren't I." She sighed, picked up her drink automatically and then put it down again quickly as if it had burned her hand. Spock would be here any minute. Was there any way to change back quicker than half a day from now?

"I'm afraid so--there's no antidote. Um... may I make a suggestion, Captain?" The bartender paused. "I'm Farfalla, by the way."

"Hi." Kirk stared glumly at her reflection, sitting still and getting used to her temporary body. "Suggest away, Farfalla."

"Well....." She leaned closer to the Captain and her eyes flashed conspiratorially. "You could just... continue your shore leave as a woman." Kirk blinked at her, confused. "I mean, haven't you ever wondered what it's like for us? You could go into the ladies room and see what it is we talk about in there that makes us take twenty minutes," she suggested. "Or.... perhaps.... something even *more* entertaining?" Farfalla winked. Kirk swallowed hard. "You could have other adventures--as a woman." She waited after she spoke these words, carefully gauging Kirk's reaction. Kirk seemed intrigued, so she continued eagerly. "There's a man, isn't there. Someone you've been curious about--no, not curious. Someone you care about. Someone you'd like to-- love."

"You can't be a Betazoid, they don't have wings!" Kirk withdrew slightly from the bar, breathing heavily in anger. "What are you? Stop... reading my mind!" Her brows furrowed deeply.

Farfalla shook her head reassuringly. "I'm not a mind-reader, Captain Kirk. I swear by all I hold dear." Her voice was calm and soothing and happy, and it was calming enough for her idea to be absorbed into Kirk's brain.

Captain Kirk started to think. She was a woman for the evening, and nobody would know who she was. Any minute now, Spock would walk through the entrance of the club and look for his captain. Perhaps, as this mystery woman, Kirk had finally found his chance with Spock. What would it be like, how wonderful would it be to be able to stand next to Spock, to discuss science and the arts and culture with him, but not have it have to stop there. To be able to follow that conversation by embracing her friend, by pressing her body to the Vulcan's hot green flesh and tasting his soul.

Thoughts of activities beyond that were quickly making Kirk wet enough to slip off her barstool. "I like your idea," she said to the butterfly woman, and quickly chugged the rest of the fateful drink.

"Great!" shouted Farfalla, and rummaged around under the counter. "Do you want me to make your face up?"

"All right," agreed Kirk after a pause. If s/he was going to go through with this, s/he certainly wanted it to work. Which, of course, would require nothing less than the sum total of all of her years of friendship with Spock, to provide her with the necessary skill at navigating her friend's logical mind. No blushing beauty with the brains of a hibiscus for Spock! If she wanted to get the Vulcan where it really counted, it would have to be 99% mental.

As for the rest.... Farfalla dove at her, armed with mascara and other implements of beauty. She did a tasteful job, and when she was done Kirk would have turned the head of every being that walked in the door, if she hadn't been facing away from it.

Facing away from it and staring into the mirror.

At Spock, who was just now walking into the bar, accompanied by the Lieutenant.

"Oh my God, there he is!" Kirk let herself say out loud for the first time.

Farfalla squinted at the door. "Who, the Vulcan? Dude, no wonder! He's *got* to be the hottest thing in this room. He's your science officer?"

"First officer, too," said Kirk absentmindedly, staring dreamily at Spock's reflection. Uhura had wandered off into the dancing throng, and Spock was striding rather quickly towards the bar. Kirk panicked slightly. "Oh, shit, what's my name?"

"Jamie!" suggested Farfalla, grinning yet again.

"That's too obvious!"

"Too late. Howdy, Mr. Vulcan! Can I get you anything to drink?"

Part 4

Spock bid Uhura a safe and pleasant evening and then, as she scuttled off excitedly onto the dance floor, scanned the room for signs of his Captain. He didn't see Kirk anywhere, but he figured that eventually the human would gravitate towards the bar and so did likewise. Besides, in the possibility that the captain had found amusing company with which to retire to alternate quarters, the inevitable message would most likely have been left with the barmaid--in this case, an energetic young woman with blue butterfly wings and a nebula of blonde curls.

The barmaid was in deep conversation with a woman in green when Spock walked up to the counter, and had to quell a fit of giggles before she could ask him if she could bring him anything to drink. Spock almost shook his head no, but then, reconsidering, said, "It was recommended to me once that I should sample what is called a 'shooter' composed half of something called 'Ouzo' and half one hundred and fifty one proof Bacardi rum."

At this statement, the barmaid's squelched giggles finally broke free into a laughing fit. "Right away!"

Spock raised his eyebrow, and his eye caught the glance of the woman in green. Her hazel eyes absorbed his curiosity, and she answered, "That drink is called a Vulcan Mind Meld. That's.... probably why whoever it was told you that."

The woman, otherwise known as Captain James T. Kirk under the influence of what s/he had been told was an extremely rare allergic reaction to a fruity cocktail, watched Spock intently to gauge his reaction to her first statement to him as a stranger, and a woman. Spock, as usual, was expressionless. Kirk's heart beat so loudly in her chest that she almost could not swallow. For the first time, all the words she'd been waiting years to say to her first officer were being realistically rehearsed for a newly lipsticked mouth.

"I think that's disrespectful," piped up the barmaid. "I thought mind melds were supposed to be a big serious thing with your culture."

"They are, Miss," said Spock. "But I have become accustomed to the Doctor's illogical human teasing."

"Your.... ship's doctor makes fun of Vulcans?" asked Kirk.

Spock paused. "Dr. McCoy means no harm. He simply represents, and quite well, the alternative viewpoint of thought in this matter. I cannot expect humans to behave as Vulcans do."

"Sometimes being exposed to a completely different... idea... helps you clarify your own ideas," said Kirk. A lesser human would have already been lost in the elegantly slanting eyebrows of the beloved face before them, but the captain was used to finding words through adrenaline.

"I admit that my verbal interchanges with the Doctor have sharpened my ability to defend our value of logic," said Spock.

"Do you still want your drink?" asked the barmaid. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Can I... recommend something else for you?" asked Kirk. "I don't mean to intrude, but I don't think that you.... as a Vulcan, I mean.... would enjoy the drink you ordered." Spock *had* to be prevented from getting drunk tonight. Anything that happened would have to be with the real Spock, the sober Spock, the controlled, graceful creature that Kirk had come to love over the years of their service together and friendship.

Spock's eyebrow raised, higher this time, and Kirk's groin throbbed. It was alien but exciting to feel a woman's arousal from within, for once. She wondered how obvious it was from the outside how turned on she was by the whole situation--Spock, sitting there, potentially within reach, and talking to her already as a friend.

"What sort of beverage would you recommend, Ms....?" Spock asked.

"Lily," stuttered Kirk. "Lily West." Inwardly she cursed her own uncreativity and hoped desperately that Spock hadn't read the book of adventure tales Sulu had been foisting on everybody lately. "I'm an explorer."

"I see," said Spock. "And what, may I ask, do explorers drink?" Kirk didn't say anything, so Spock cocked his head and gestured towards the barmaid.

He wanted to buy her a drink!! "Some... wine would be nice, don't you think, Mr. ---?" And caught herself just in time. She licked her lips nervously but alluringly.

"My name is Spock. Very well, Ms. West. Barmaid, two glasses of blackberry Merlot. I leave the vintage to your quite thorough competence." Spock turned back to Kirk as the barmaid fluttered off to get the drinks. "I am still curious about Ouzo. What is its derivation?"

"It's made from the second fermentation of grapes," said Kirk. "Its origins are in ancient Greece, on Earth. Tastes sort of like licorice, actually. Very--strong." She paused for effect and let her eyes glide up and down Spock's body, eyelashes like a bird's wing flying in slow motion. She was showing off her intellect, and now it was also time to turn on the charm. "A bit like yourself, Mr. Spock, if I'm not mistaken. Aren't Vulcans supposed to be very strong?" She flashed her most winning smile, the one that was supposed to have swept planets off their feet.

Spock remained expressionless, but his eyes grew slightly more penetrating. Only Kirk knew him well enough for this miniscule change to be even perceptible. To point her arms and dive face-first into those dark Vulcan eyes! "Our body strength exceeds that of the average human," said Spock, "although by galactic standards I am sure there are as many species whose muscle power eclipses ours as those that are dwarfed by it."

Kirk's eyes never left Spock's face as she sighed seductively and said, "But none of those species' intellectual power rivals yours. Am I... correct in this, Mr. Spock?"

Spock licked his lips carefully. "Yes, Ms. West. It is no secret that we Vulcans value education and intellect highly. It is logical to us, and logic is our foremost interest."

Farfalla the barmaid hovered closer with their glasses of wine. Spock thanked her, paid for both drinks. He handed one to Captain Kirk, who beamed at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. Spock!", coupled with a wink of her eye. "Shall we toast?"

Spock thought for a moment, and then said, "A toast to friendship." He lifted his glass and Kirk mirrored his action. "To dearest friends new and old, present and absent." They sipped their wine, and Spock added, "A Vulcan toast."

"It's sweet but deep... like this wine," said Kirk. "Friends absent... do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Spock?"

"No, Ms. West, I do not. And yourself? I believe the Earth expression is, 'What's a pretty girl doing all by herself on a night like this?', or something to that effect."

"Exploring friendship, apparently" said Kirk. "A liaison without companionship, conversation without intellectual stimulation.... no, Mr. Spock. That is not my idea of a lovely evening."

"I quite agree with you," said Spock. "Any Vulcan would."

"Are there many Vulcans on your ship?" asked Kirk. This was surreal... she remembered an adage she had heard from a trial lawyer once: never ask your client a question while they're on the stand to which you don't already know the answer. The situation was starting to remind her of that choice bit of legal wisdom.

"No, Ms. West, I am the only one."

"Doesn't it get tiresome for you after a long time not to be with your own kind?"

"Humans are fascinating to me," said Spock. "Their patterns of thought, while frequently illogical, have often arrived at conclusions that were quite illuminating."

"But what about socializing?" asked Kirk. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"Your questions are those of a good social scientist," said Spock, "and I am used to inquiries of the sort." He took a sip of wine. "While it is true that most of the crew does not know exactly what to make of me, I have formed a friendship with our captain. A most.... unusual... man, I might add."

Kirk's eyelashes fluttered. "And the doctor you mentioned, the one who told you to order the drink with the ouzo." Good Lord, Spock was talking about him. A small pit of nervousness was melted away by another sip of the excellent wine.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Spock, "although he can be endearingly annoying at times." He waved his hand at the barmaid. "Speaking of the Captain... Barmaid, were there any messages left from Captain James T. Kirk for Commander Spock?"

Farfalla was trying to uncork a bottle of champagne as she mused for a moment. "Yeah, your Captain was going off to have fun someplace, I think," she twittered vaguely. "He said he was sorry about not playing checkers or something, but he'd see you at breakfast, bright and early!"

"Chess," corrected Spock. His face, of course, registered no reaction to her words.

Just then, Farfalla's frenetic fingers finally managed to yank the cork from the bottle, and champagne flew everywhere as she was thrown back from the recoil. "Dammit!!" she squealed. Half of the champagne had landed on Kirk's face. "I'm soooo sorry!!!" The older man in red and black behind the bar hurried up and pulled Farfalla away by her shoulder, muttering under his breath.

Kirk sneezed and sighed in frustration, mopping her face with some of the bar napkins. She needed to get out of here. Between the sex-change and the incessantly grinning clumsy hyper barmaid, this place was beginning to drive her nuts. She hoped she could get Spock to come with her, especially now that he didn't have his captain to worry about meeting there.

"Is it all gone?" she asked when several soaked napkins lay spent on the countertop.

"Very nearly, Ms. West. Let me help you." Spock picked up the napkin that had been under his now-empty wine glass and gently pressed it to the corner of Kirk's forehead. As he wiped the last of the champagne from her face, his fingers brushed momentarily against her warm skin. She closed her eyes involuntarily at the contact, trying not to react as strongly as her heart was. How wonderful it would be to feel those fingers caressing her face in hours of tenderness.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." She sighed again, this time more sensuously. "I'm... getting... rather tired of this club," she continued. "It's too noisy. I can barely hear you talk!"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" asked Spock.

Score!! Kirk couldn't believe her good luck. It was working! She flashed the winning smile again, and replied, "Why... I'd love to, Mr. Spock!" She was even more amazed when the Vulcan took her hand in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world and escorted her out of the room. As they left, Kirk noticed Uhura dancing like a happy but graceful maniac in the middle of a throng of young, male admirers who looked about the right age for cadets.

Farfalla watched them go as she cleaned up the champagne that had spattered her side of the counter. The older barman in red and black walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder "Q? Uh... can I go... follow them and stuff?" she asked him, smirking and looking a little embarrassed.

Q gestured at the doorway. "Be gone with you, schmetter-thing!" he called flirtatiously as the blue morpho butterfly fluttered past the dancing crowd and after the Vulcan and his new girlfriend.

Part 5

Captain James T. Kirk, alias Lily West for now, and her first officer Commander Spock walked hand-in-hand for the first time down the peaceful moonlit streets of the city. It had been quite some time since they had left the bar, and their conversation flowed smoothly like the blackberry wine they had sampled. Kirk was walking on air and each breath was scented, because for the first time, her hand was entwined with the warm, strong fingers of her Vulcan friend. Every second they held hands was like a gold coin, and Kirk wasn't even thinking about cashing them in at this point-- just basking in the light they reflected.

It was wonderful to walk along there in the night on the cobbled pathways and talk, hand in hand. So natural for two friends such as they... although, Spock did not know who the woman he was taking to dinner really was. Kirk was memorizing every minute of the evening, knowing how painful it would be to return to the ship and never be able to touch him again.

They eventually entered a quiet, dimly lit bistro whose entrance was set off from the street under a tunnel of trellises a couple of yards long. Flowers that looked like tiny cream-colored morning-glories peeped out from their copious vines. "This place looks... delightful!" Kirk purred.

"I see you value elegance, as do I," said Spock.

"Spock! Come on over and introduce us to the lovely lady," called a familiar Georgia twang.

"Oh, hello, Doctor," said Spock. Kirk tried not to chuckle as she and her Vulcan date walked over to the tiny table where Dr. McCoy and Yeoman Barrows were holding hands and sharing a creme bruleé. "Hello, Yeoman."

"Hello, Commander. Are you enjoying your shore leave?" asked Barrows. She looked rosy even in the dim light of the bistro, most likely from Bones' company.

Spock started to open his mouth, but McCoy cut him off. "Of course he is, he's even found himself some pleasant company. Will ya look at that! Well, why don't you introduce us?"

"Certainly, doctor. Ms. West, this is Dr. McCoy, the chief medical officer on board the U.S.S. Enterprise," said Spock graciously, "and this is Yeoman Barrows. Doctor, this is Lily West."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am!" exclaimed McCoy, shaking Lily's hand. Barrows smiled at her as well. Kirk nodded and grinned shyly. Why in the world had they wound up in the same spot as McCoy and his date? Bones was so empathetic, he might figure out that *something* was wrong with Spock's new feminine companionship.

"Your table is this way, sir," said the waiter to Spock just then. As he led Spock and Kirk away from their friends to a dark, romantic corner, the captain had the notion that the waiter strongly resembled the older barman from the nightmarish club they had left earlier. But luckily, there seemed to be no sign of the giggly butterflywoman.

"Our waiter looks like the man behind the bar back at the club," said Kirk after they had ordered their food.

"That thought had occurred to me as well." Spock's eyes were softer than Kirk was used to, somehow, almost tender. Kirk already missed the feel of his hand on hers, and left her hands above the table where he could find them to hold if he wanted to. McCoy and Barrows had looked so sweet together--!

"Good, it's not just me," said Kirk lightly.

"The club in question is actually quite... fascinating," said Spock, making Kirk grin a little. "During your conversation with the barmaid, did you manage to discover the origin of its transporter ban?"

"It's the same way with all of the crazy, hopping nightlife scenes on this planet," said Kirk. "A few years back, there was a band of criminals that would beam into a club, wreak havoc in the form of kidnappings, rapes, and robbery, and then make a quick getaway by beaming back out again to their ship. It was a long time ago, and they never visited this city, but just the same all the clubs here still take the same precautions."

"Fascinating," repeated Spock, lifting his eyebrow (but only slightly!) this time. Kirk's breathing grew heavier each time he did that; now that she finally had no reason to hide her attraction to him, she was letting it show full-force. "Were the culprits ever caught?"

"Their ship was destroyed and they had nowhere to beam," said Kirk. "Four of them are in prison near the core of the planet, and the fifth died during the struggle with the police."

"Then we may assume we are safe on this planet," said Spock, "if the police were intelligent enough to attack the rogue ship and competent enough to destroy it."

"I'd feel safe anywhere with you, Spock," said Kirk. And she meant it; the Vulcan had saved the life of his captain more than once during their adventures. Nothing she had said during the entire evening had been untrue except her identity. On the contrary; her statements were all truths that were only now being allowed to blossom.

Spock looked deep into her eyes and slowly reached for her hand on the table. Their fingers played with each other slowly, delicately, in an underwater ballet of misty tenderness. Neither one of them spoke until Q came back to take their order.

Towards the middle of their meal, McCoy and Barrows passed their table on their way out of the bistro. "Have fun, kids! See you back on the ship, Spock. Hey, you don't happen to know where Jim went, do you?"

"The captain is... *amusing* himself," said Spock with a raise of his eyebrow. "I expect we shall see him no sooner than breakfast. Goodnight, Doctor, Yeoman."

"Goodnight, Spock. Have a logical evening!" Chuckling to himself, McCoy led his date out of the bistro.

Spock shook his head. "More... human teasing, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked. Spock nodded. "*Are* you having a logical evening?" continued Kirk.

"Most logical indeed, in some ways," said Spock. There was a long pause and in that pause, he gathered up Kirk's hand and began massaging it exquisitely. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper than usual; sultry, lower, quieter and full of breath. "It is most logical to spend time with someone with your qualities. You are extremely intelligent, your conversation is entertaining, and you are... very... lovely." He paused again, letting the silence bring them closer together. "You are a remarkable human being."

"Spock." Kirk felt split in two. Spock was falling in love with her--but in a few hours, Kirk would be once again be male, his superior officer, and completely undesirable to him. Kirk was quickly winning Spock's heart, but it was for this night only. She had to make sure that the remaining time would not be wasted.

It was time to speak the words, words that Kirk had said many times in her dreams and fantasies. "Spock.... you... are the most incredible man I've ever met. You are equally at home with nearly every subject that we've discussed, and not shy about sharing your rather unique insights. When I talk to you, I know I'm talking to the right person for me. When I'm with you, talking, not even talking, just holding hands... I feel so... right... when we're together." She was running on a little bit, but she was nervous and she needed to. "You're like some other half of me that lets me relax only when it becomes whole. And... you're... damned sexy." Finally, those last three words had been said, after so much time. They were out of her head and unleashed into the world.

"Do you desire me?" The words, spoken low, slithered out of Spock's mouth and wrapped themselves around Kirk's thighs.

"I... haven't been able to think of anything else for half the night!" answered Kirk. Something throbbed deliciously between her legs.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Yet you still managed to carry on several eloquent conversations about such diverse subjects as biochemical research, ancient Greece, and the peculiar dancing behavior of my communications officer?"

"What about you?" retored Kirk, smiling smugly. "Anything beyond... intellectual stimulation?"

"Stimulation intellectual and otherwise," said Spock. "I suggest we retire to a more private location."

"I can't wait!" And Kirk flashed another million-credit smile.

After dinner, they exited the bistro and started to walk under the trellis tunnel that led back to the cobbled streets. As Kirk walked, Spock took her arm and stopped her from going any farther.

Moonlight streamed faintly down on them through the thick vines that grew rampantly all across the trellis. The fragrance of the flowers was everywhere, but was replaced in Kirk's senses by the scent of Spock, holding her in the darkness. Kirk's heart beat madly as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to recieve his kiss. It was brief, and tame, but perfect. With that touch of his full, warm lips to hers, she felt that she had never been more complete. He radiated love, and she buried her head in the crook of his shoulder. A fantasy coming true... She lifted one hand to caress a pointed ear for the first time and thought she would burst with happiness.

Spock led his friend to a hotel. They were completely consumed with each other, and of course did not notice the shimmering blue insect that fluttered after them.

Part 6

The golden-haired woman clung to Spock in a haze of happiness as the Vulcan secured a room for them in the elegant hotel. They had hoped to find a small, intimate bungalow, but this was the first hotel they had encountered and the new couple was eager to consummate their intense and beautiful feelings. This had unexpectedly been the most incredible evening. Kirk's fleeting thoughts that her time as a woman was short and that she was about to experience a one-time visit to paradise were calmed by Spock's comforting touch upon the back of her neck. He caressed the short, silky hair as he spoke with the hotel manager.

Finally he was presented with a room swipe card and led his newfound consort through the ornate marbled hallway. Rows of lush green potted trees and blurry champagne-tinted lights led them to the elevators. The reflections of the lights shimmered off the creamy marble and the radiant face of Lily West, alias Captain Kirk pretending to be something she had desperately felt would make her desirable to her beloved Mr. Spock. She had been successful in her endeavor and also in her disguise, despite their accidental encounter with Dr. McCoy and his date while eating dinner earlier in the evening.

They entered the elevator and Spock swiped the card to let it know which floor to deposit them on. Once the doors closed, Spock's tender hold on Kirk's arm turned quickly into a calculated force. He pushed her against the elevator wall and kissed her passionately. His force was strong but very gentle, and she moaned slightly when he lips left hers temporarily to kiss the sensitive portions of her neck.

They hurriedly collected themselves when the doors opened on their floor, and found their assigned room. It was rather anonymous in character and vaguely seemed to be intended for business travelers, but the bed was soft and warm and comfy. It was not long before they were horizontal on top of the covers, Spock's long, elegantly muscled body poised over Kirk's willing curves. Five minutes more and their clothing was a memory. The butterfly hiding on one of the fan blades watched in rapt attention as the woman in the bed caressed Spock's erect green anatomy with an expression of ecstasy and awe across her face.

Spock kissed a trail of love from Kirk's lips over her face, then down across her neck and to her bare breasts. His tongue flickered over her nipples and she was astonished at how good it felt and how quickly this act brought her to full, aching arousal. While one hand caressed the smooth, warm skin of Spock's back, the other explored her newfound feminine areas with curious fingers. Spock took that hand by the wrist and lifted it to his mouth, sucking the fragrant juices off of her fingers. "You are ready," he breathed. He reached over her onto the nightstand and retrieved something from his bag, and then carefully rolled on a condom.

Kirk looked deep into his eyes and nodded. Spock's face dove down on hers once again and pierced her mouth with his tongue. There was fumbling and slipping around farther down on their bodies and then Kirk felt Spock enter her. She moaned loudly with pleasure as she felt his warmth flood her body all the way up to her chest, or so it seemed. She wrapped her arms completely around his body and they gazed into each other's eyes and stayed enjoined for a few heavenly perfect moments. "This is incredible," said Kirk softly. "I feel you... everywhere inside me as if you were the blood in my veins."

Spock kissed her and then the rhythmic dance of passion started. He moved slowly, languidly, gently at first, producing a heady torture that provoked Kirk to gasp, "Faster, Spock, faster!"

"I do not wish to hurt you," said Spock.

"I wish to feel you in every way possible," Kirk replied. "Hard... and strong... and warm and all over me like.... ohhhh...." The sensations that Spock's movements were sending through her body were squeezing erotic gasps from her lips. "Ohhh.... Spock...." (Meanwhile, the butterfly on the fan blade was very happy indeed, for Q had explained to her the finer points of lepidopteran sexual anatomy.)

He drove his love into her harder and harder and she gripped his shoulders in passion. This moment was so beautiful and suddenly Kirk was hit full-force by the stabbing realization that this incredible, wondrous event would all too soon be nothing but perhaps a painful memory. Spock was divine in her arms; this night had done nothing but solidify Kirk's undying love for him and create a severe longing to spend the rest of her life reserving her kiss for the Vulcan alone.

"You are crying," Spock whispered in her ear, concerned.

"I wish this could last forever, Spock. I don't want to leave you, but...." Kirk blinked, sending the teardrops across her kiss-stained face. "I've never felt so... perfect with anyone before. Please believe me. I love you, Spock."

"Captain!" Spock's low voice rasped. He held the dear human tightly in his arms and silenced the predictable immediate protestations with another passionate kiss, caressing every curve and each silky strand of hair.

Kirk broke the kiss reluctantly. "Why did you call me Captain?"

"Jim," Spock said serenely. "I have known your true identity since before we left the club."

"What?!" Kirk kept blinking dumbly, confused. Spock had known it was him all along and was still in bed with him, kissing his neck oh so wonderfully?

"Jim, I have noticed that an endearing habit of yours is to pause in syntactically unusual places when you speak," explained Spock. Kirk's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Besides, your eyes were the same."

"You noticed my eyes?" And he had also noticed his patterns of speech... although, Spock was well equipped intellectually to memorize the speech patterns of everyone in the bridge crew.

"Your eyes are black holes from which I never wish to return," said Spock. Kirk sighed happily. "I was able to confirm my suspicion of your disguise when the barmaid spilled champagne on your face. While pretending to clean your forehead, I secretly touched just one of your meld points. It was then that I knew who you were."

"Spock!" Kirk still couldn't believe her ears, even though there was a very nude Vulcan holding her underneath the bedclothes and calling her 'Jim'. "You knew who I was and you..."

"Have held a deep affection for you for a very long time," interrupted Spock gently. "Eleven months, sixteen--"

Kirk chuckled. "Spock. It doesn't matter how much time we've wasted before tonight. We're together now. We're together now! I almost can't believe it."

"Does this make it more believable?" Spock suddenly thrust very hard into his Captain and Kirk groaned. No more words were spoken after this, only the language of half-mad kisses as their bodies moved together in the bed. Kirk could tell when Spock was about to come and held him tighter in every way as his breathing quickened rapidly. The pulsing of his climax deep inside of her felt like a second heartbeat. Kirk had never seen a sight more stunning than the Vulcan in orgasm, his face intensely ecstatic and his body shining with sweat.

Spock collapsed on top of Kirk, his head resting on her collarbone. "I love you," he murmured, and then said something in Vulcan.

Kirk was about to ask what Spock had just said, but she was feeling a little funny. It reminded her of her initial reaction to the Jovian Sunspot back at the bar, and she swiftly realized what was going on. "Spock..." said a voice that seemed to crack with instant puberty. Her skin was changing, and her arousal.... his arousal grew more familiar.

"Welcome back, Jim," said Spock, raising an eyebrow, and then dove under the covers to explore.

Part 7

Captain Kirk felt the satiny softness of Spock's hair on his inner thigh and reached down to stroke one of his ears. The pointed cartilage between his fingers reminded him with every passing second that he and the Vulcan were finally joined after many months of mirrored, silent longing.

Spock's breath was hot and his lips were light and teasing upon Kirk's most sensitive areas. His tongue lapped out delicately, sinking the Captain deeper into puddles of yearning. Kirk strained out with his hips, his eyes closed in pleasure. Finally, Spock dismissed with the teasing altogether and simply took the human's entire organ into his mouth all at once. Kirk cried out happily.

Spock the lover was as thorough as Spock the scientist. While he applied oral pleasure to his Captain, his hands massaged his inner thighs and backside. Kirk didn't know what had hit him. He was floating in space, all thoughts driven from his mind except for, "Spock.... Spock....!" The Vulcan was wet warmth and constant sensation, steering Kirk's feverish motions into his mouth calmly and lovingly.

Climax was nearing fast. "Spock! Soon..."

Spock ignored the gasped warning and cradled Jim in his mouth as the human came. He did not pull away until the moment was over, swallowing what his scientific mind could not help but remember contained the Captain's DNA. For Vulcans, the swallowing of a partner's semen was a very spiritual event for several symbolic reasons.

Jim received Spock's return to him on the bed with open arms and an open mouth. They held each other and kissed as though they could not stop, because for once they did not have to.

"I heard that Vulcans mate for life," said Jim when they came up for air.

"Correct, Captain," said Spock.

"Does that mean I get to keep you?"

"You would become my bondmate?"

"I can't imagine my life without you at my side," said Kirk. "And now I can't imagine my bed without you, either."

The sounds and sights of the room began to flicker out as if they were only the product of a failing TV reception. Finally, the room, the hotel it was in, and the entire planet disappeared altogether, except for the lazily spinning ceiling fan. There was a butterfly sitting on the ceiling fan, and she rode her rotating fan-blade through an empty universe until the rest of the picture began to sharpen once more.

* * * * *

Q and I were sitting on my bed, in my bedroom, back home in my flat. It was minutes before I could speak, save for a breathy and incessantly repeated, "Wow."

"You humans. So easily influenced by the emotions of others," said Q. He was peering around my room at the posters on my wall. "Star Trek Five? Why, Farfalla, that's the worst of the movies. It's not even canon. I'm surprised at you!" He seemed hurt, but I could tell he was just making fun of me.

"I only bought that because Spock looks really hot in that picture," I explained. "Besides, it's a smaller poster, and the text is in Greek so it doesn't matter what movie it's advertising because I can't read it." I strummed my violin absent-mindedly. Q had given it back to me, thank goodness, polished and shining like new. But all four strings were completely and comically out of tune!

"How did you like him up close?" Q asked next, distracting me from my funny-sounding fiddle.

"Whoo buddy!!" I shook my head and exhaled loudly. "Kirk's so lucky. But I'm lucky too." I gestured at the framed portrait of my partner that smiled at me from the shelf. "Watching them together reminded me of the two of us. I guess that's why I like hearing about them in the first place...?"

"Except that Spock doesn't show up an average of thirty-five minutes late for dinner half the time," Q pointed out sardonically, "and you and Maoric are different genders."

"Gender is irrelevant," I shrugged happily.

Q winked at me. "*That's* why I picked you. Goodbye, and good luck to you, Butterfly-Kitten!"

"Wait, before you go..."


"Q.... why did you need Kirk and Spock to hook up in the first place?" Not that it mattered, but after all of that effort, I was curious.

Q looked deep into my eyes and said one word before blinking out of my universe.



Sign my guestbook
My main site, COSMiC DUCKLiNG, home of many weird pairings including a giant Saavik femslash novella, a Sarek/McCoy sonnet, and some really random Chapel stuff
Back to Farfalla's Kirk/Spock Stories
The rest of Farf's K/S