Author: Corpus Invictus
Title: Reception
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Kirk with other background pairings
Rating: R-ish? There's sex but it's not terribly explicit, I don't think.
Notes: Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt found here: "Kirk/Spock. Marriage, with a side of warm, sleepy snuggling and nuzzling. I want a Spock who secretly loves to cuddle and Kirk who secretly loves that Spock loves to cuddle. The marriage part can be taken however you want. It doesn't have to be them getting married." Also fulfills this prompt: "Chocolate covered strawberries. GO!"
You know how sometimes when you write something it just flows naturally? And sometimes it fights back? This one waged war on me for almost two weeks. If it's stilted, it's because it was basically written three sentences at a time before it started fighting back.


Captain Kirk's crew still has the ability to surprise him. Usually it's little things, like catching Scotty cooing at the dilithium crystals with absolute devotion in his eyes, or Sulu's half-drunk confession that he loves Chekov's rocket-print underpants (and the even drunker and more alarming occasion when he pulled them out of his pocket), or discovering that Ensign Smulders was a teenaged one hit wonder back on her home planet.

Or the fact that Uhura has a younger sister.

He doesn't even think of Uhura as a real live human being some days, because she's so efficient and focused and scary that occasionally he kind of assumes she's a communications robot with a wicked sense of humor programmed in. But no, she's a person with a first name he's not allowed to use on the bridge, and she has a younger sister. More specifically, she has a younger sister who's gone and fallen in love with an Andorian, and who's been nice enough to schedule the wedding during the Enterprise's maintenance and repairs back on Earth.

Uhura rolls her eyes at Kirk when he starts firing questions at her. "Yes, she really did ask me to extend the invitation to the crew. Theras is a biophysicist aboard the USS Maelstrom, so he'd consider having our crew there a huge compliment."

"Does she have a first name? Or do all the women in your family go by last names? Do we call her Uhura 2.0? Uhura Light? Uhura Two, Electric Boogaloo?"

She's giving him that look that wavers between bursting out laughing and considering the consequences of kicking him in the shins. "Her name is Anga," she mutters.

"Anga and Theras," he repeats, to show he's been listening.

And then he's off to Sick Bay to share a drink with Bones and discuss the matter. Between the two of them they decide that Anga Uhura must be Nyota Uhura's younger clone, all tall and twiggy and sharp with high cheekbones and a glare that puts the fear of death into people. They also take turns arguing about what she does for a living (Kirk's vote is for Starfleet-Issue Leather-Clad Assassin, Bones's is Head Nurse, because those are the scariest, sexiest things they can think of, respectively), the function of Andorian antennae during carnal relations ("For God's sake, Jim, they're not testicles, I don't care what Gaila told you..."), and what kind of wedding ceremony they can expect ("I bet they're high-class New Yorkers with a selection of shitty yuppie wine at the bar.").

It turns out they're spectacularly wrong about all of it (well, not about the antennae). Anga Uhura is nearly as tall as her older sister, but all curves and softness and sweet smiles. She isn't even enlisted in Starfleet; she's a clothing designer in Sacramento. The wedding isn't the uppity affair Kirk was expecting, but a quiet, low-maintenance moonlit ceremony located an hour's drive from the city in a lush, private biopark.

A few years ago he'd have been tracking down all the girls in matching shimmery peach cocktail dresses and seeing which one of them was most eager to get out of it. But he's a Captain now, attending the wedding of another Starfleet member, plus his Uhura is one of the women in peach dresses and Scotty will happily flay him if he makes any kind of untoward move on her. So he just sits back at one of the tables on the sidelines and watches Scotty trip over his own feet in an attempt to dance with her.

"It appears the Lieutenant Commander's dancing lessons were unsuccessful," comes a barely amused voice on his left, and he grins up at the biggest reason why he isn't chasing bridesmaids.

"He gets better with scotch, or so he tells me." Kirk gestures vaguely at the seat next to him so Spock will sit. "If he starts breaking toes we can always bring him a drink."

"Indeed." It sounds almost distracted coming from Spock, and Kirk stops gawking at poor Scotty to look at him. His gaze, surprisingly, is not on the couple dancing but rather on the plate in front of Kirk. There are refreshments available on a series of picnic tables, and Kirk's been working on them distractedly ever since the reception started. It's mostly summery fruits and vegetables with a little bit of hippie-granola health food thrown in, but he's managed to sneak away with a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Have one," he offers with a grin, pushing the plate towards him.

"You are, of course, aware of the effects of chocolate on Vulcan physiology." Which is Spockese for, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"There's not as much chocolate on them as you might think. You'd probably have to eat a dozen or so in order to do anything humiliating." He picks one up and fits his lips around it, sucking and licking at the chocolate for a moment before biting down with a blissful look on his face and a vaguely obscene slurping noise.

Spock raises an eyebrow and tries valiantly to appear unaffected. "Indeed," he says again, which is Spock's default when he's too distracted to start lecturing him.

Kirk chuckles at that, picking up another one. "Aw, c'mon Spock. I'm not going to get you drunk in front of all these people and especially not at an event where it could embarrass Uhura." He positions the strawberry a few inches from Spock's lips, not forcing him or invading his personal space, just offering it to him. "I like saving that for just the two of us."

"Which is why you invited the doctor to observe the effects the first time you conducted one of your chocolate experiments," he says dryly. His eyes scan the room, checking to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of them. Once assured of their privacy, he leans forward and takes a neat bite out of it.

Kirk spares a minute to inwardly gloat over the fact that he has Spock literally eating out of his hand. He tries to remember what the hell they were talking about. "Oh, well, Bones doesn't count. That was a medical thing. Proof that his texts were correct."

"And you enjoy irritating him."

"That too." He's biding his time, letting the chocolate just start to soften Spock's edges before he tries anything else. "I tried getting him to dance with someone earlier but he decided to go sulk in a corner instead."

"Might I ask who you were attempting to pair him with?"

"Well first I said Chekov as a joke, but he and Sulu disappeared half an hour ago so that didn't work out so well." Kirk picks up another strawberry and holds it up again as casually as he can manage, as if hand-feeding his First Officer is a daily occurrence. "But Christine's been making moony eyes at him so I'm hoping she'll get the courage to pounce on him soon."

"Mister Keenser informed me that one of the lavatories has been jammed for the past thirty-six minutes. A team of engineers has been unable to determine what went wrong with the locking mechanism." He watches Spock's eyes scan the room again before he leans in for another bite, lips brushing up against his fingertips; Kirk can't tell whether he's done it on purpose and he really, really doesn't care.

"So our whole team of engineers is no match for a Russian whiz kid with a thing for fencing pilots. Good to know."

"We could perhaps ask Mister Scott to assist in the matter." Spock gestures over to where Scotty is still attempting to dance with Uhura, having given up on actual dance moves and trying more of a teenage 'hug and sway' technique instead. Uhura doesn't look as though she minds. Somewhere in the gesture, Spock manages to shift just enough to have their sides brushing against each other. "But I believe Nyota would object."

"So would Chekov and Sulu, I bet." He has Spock touching him. In public. He pushes his luck, licking the chocolate off one of his fingers and picking up a third strawberry. Spock doesn't even double-check the guests for observers this time, leaning forward and taking another bite without even thinking about it. Kirk is loving this. "Anyhow, I've been watching Christine for signs of alcohol-induced courage, seeing as Bones will never make the first move."

"And you are content merely to sit and watch? I had assumed you would be conversing with members of Theras's crew, or perhaps attempting to dance with members of our own." He's trailing his fingers lightly over Kirk's hand, hidden underneath the table, and Kirk couldn't repress his shit-eating grin if his life depended on it.

"Well, can't dance with Uhura because Scotty's got dibs on her. Can't dance with Sulu because apparently he's too busy having a quickie in the bathroom with Chekov." He picks up another strawberry intending to eat it himself when he notices Spock's gaze is glued to it. He takes a small bite out of it and offers the rest to his First Officer, who once again finishes it off without checking for witnesses, lips brushing against one of his fingers for the briefest moment. "Can't dance with Bones because I didn't want to scare off his head nurse. Can't dance with her for the same reason. Didn't feel like dancing with a complete stranger. And..." he pushes his luck again, lacing his fingers with Spock's and squeezing, "I didn't think you'd want to."

He's not being coy about it; he knows Spock is one of the most well-coordinated, elegant people he's ever met, but he also knows that the man is uncomfortable with public displays of ... well, touching, much less affectionate touching. He also seems to be hesitant to indulge in any kind of musical hobby in public; Kirk catches him playing his lyre all the time in the privacy of their quarters, but he's only played it in the rec room twice that Kirk can remember. And once at Uhura's insistence.

"I would ... prefer not to," Spock concedes hesitantly, and if he's a little restless and distracted then he's trying hard to conceal it, Kirk's fingers squeezing around his own again. "But perhaps in the privacy of our own quarters..." He eyes him meaningfully.

Kirk doesn't have to be told twice.


*******


Even though it's a relatively short drive back to San Francisco, Uhura's sister has still arranged for a block of hotel rooms to be reserved just in case someone has too much to drink and needs a place to crash. Kirk supposes buzzed Vulcans fall into that category easily enough. He isn't drunk - Kirk wasn't joking when he said he wouldn't let Spock embarrass himself like that, and certainly not in Uhura's presence. But he's starting to develop a more affectionate mood, fingers tangling with Kirk's, body pressed up against his side in the elevator, nosing the shell of his ear while he tries to work the room key.

Once they're in, Spock wastes no time in invading Kirk's personal space, standing so close that Kirk can feel the heat pouring off of him as he works at undoing the dress uniform. It's tedious work - you can't peel them off the way you can with the tunics - and between Spock's mild buzz and Kirk's impatience it's a near thing getting them off without ripping them.

The sex is playful and drawn out and affectionate in ways they can't ever manage when they're on the ship, a feeling of urgency always driving them on even when they're in neutral zones or orbiting friendly planets - you never know what might sneak up on you in space, and so there's always something of a rush just in case someone calls them up on the bridge.

Kirk feels a bit like an oversexed teenager, the two of them writhing and rubbing against each other. He finds that he can't let Spock's lips travel further than his sternum before he has to drag him up to kiss him again. He tastes like chocolate and copper, a strange combination that Kirk can't quite decide whether he likes or not, so he has to keep licking and sucking the taste right off Spock's tongue to make sure. Added to that are the sounds Spock keeps making, little unintelligible mutters and low rumblings that almost sound like a purr. Between the uninhibited noises he keeps making (and for Spock, it really is uninhibited since usually he's chewing his lip in an effort to keep himself quiet) and the slick, slow pressure between them, Kirk is slowly going mad.

And then there's the touching. Spock is incredibly tactile when he wants to be, so it's not so much that he's being touched as it is the intent behind those touches. He's not exploring, really, or even purposely seeking out places that make him mewl. It's aimless, sweet, almost as if Spock's doing it for his own benefit rather than for Kirk's. There are fiery hot fingers skimming over his skin, under his jaw, down his throat when his head falls back under the onslaught. When he comes, it's less of a wrenching, too-intense experience and more a simple release, and he sighs his pleasure into a green-flushed pointy ear. A few thrusts more and he feels teeth sinking into his shoulder and a low groan reverberating throughout the room.

There are a few minutes of silence then, the quiet broken only by the sounds of heavy breathing easing into a more regular pattern. This is usually when Spock curls an arm over him and gives him the smallest of smiles before drifting off. And Kirk loves him for it, loves him for giving Kirk as much of his human emotion as he can manage, and knowing what a battle it is for Spock to show even that much is somehow enough for him.

But he doesn't do that. That gorgeous soft look is still in his eyes, the mouth utterly relaxed into a sated smile, and suddenly there are arms snaking around him and pulling him up against fever-hot skin, hands traveling up along his back and starting to rub what little tension he's managed to retain out of his shoulders and neck.

He melts quite happily against the much-warmer body, tracing over the point of his ear. "Yeah. Definitely like your idea of dancing."

There's an actual chuckle at that, not just the quiet, repressed version, those wonderful kneading hands brushing up into his hairline. "I must admit some ... curiosity on that point," he murmurs, and he's breathing chocolate breath into Kirk's face. He finds he doesn't mind all that much. "Do most human weddings result in a social gathering afterward?"

"Well, yeah." He traces vague lines and patterns down Spock's arm. "It's a way for everyone invited to the wedding to celebrate. And to get trashed on free booze and make idiots of themselves." At Spock's raised eyebrow, he clarifies, "You're not trashed and you didn't make an idiot of yourself. Although I did have you eating out of my hand," he almost gloats, pressing a kiss between his eyebrows.

Spock's cheeks go very faintly green, but he otherwise doesn't react to the barb. "It seems an illogical way to end the ceremony. The entire point of the ritual is to bond two people together. The opinion of their friends and colleagues should not be important." He's done with the massage now, fingers tracing over the rounded shell of Kirk's ear, just as fascinated by the human trait as Kirk is by Spock's pointy ones.

He shrugs, bored with the patterns he's been drawing over his skin and resting an arm over him instead, hand pressed firmly between Spock's shoulder blades. "They're just showing that they're happy for the couple. Is that really so illogical?"

"I do not refer to the sentiment so much as the timing." He's shifting restlessly again, trying to get as flush up against him as he can. It's an utterly shameless gesture coming from Spock, and Kirk pulls him in closer as encouragement. "Surely they can express their approval at some other time."

"Well, sure, they can be happy for them whenever they want to. But that's why couples plan the reception - so they can do it at a great big party and be done with it." He pulls his head back a bit so he can see Spock's face fully. "How's it done with Vulcans?"

"The Vulcan equivalent of a wedding usually takes place in front of an elder and perhaps the immediate family. The couple is then sequestered in order to consummate the bond."

He has to laugh a little at that. "Efficient," he says by way of a compliment.

"Logical," Spock corrects him, hands cupping Kirk's face and tracing over his features. "There is no need for a formal celebration since it is a natural milestone in every Vulcan's life."

He closes his eyes, content to be pet. "What, there aren't any lifelong bachelors on Vulcan?"

"No. Even Vulcans who are unable to reproduce are bonded, although generally to another Vulcan with a similar deficiency."

"Why bother? Seems to me that Vulcan pairs are thrown together mostly for the purposes of reproduction."

Spock's voice seems darker this time when it rolls over him. "The drive to mate is omnipresent, Jim, even if it does not result in the intended consequence."

That voice rolling over the sound of his name gets him shivering, cracking his eyes open and taking in the intense expression in Spock's face. "Oh, hell. Is chocolate an aphrodisiac, too?"

"You are mistaking it for cinnamon." He isn't, actually - he had no idea about cinnamon, and he commits it to memory for later. "And while I am generally impressed and perhaps even grateful for the amount of stamina you possess-" and holy crap, did Spock just compliment him on being a sex god? He must have eaten more chocolate than he realized, "-I do not believe I will be able to remain awake much longer."

And Spock surprises him again, not by yawning or any other overly-human expression of exhaustion, but by curling into him rather like an overgrown cat, his head tucked into Kirk's shoulder and neck, arms draped over his waist, legs tangled together with Kirk's. The blankets are a mess around them, they're sticky where they've been laying together too long without cleaning up after themselves, and Spock has a look of contentment on his face that Kirk's only seen maybe twice before. So he doesn't tease him, doesn't complain that they're going to be gross in the morning, doesn't even grump at him for stealing most of the sheet. Instead he presses a kiss into the glossy black hair and murmurs, "G'night Spock."

And he drifts off himself, eventually, dreaming about the replicator back on the Enterprise making hot chocolate laced with cinnamon.


[If you would like to leave the author a comment regarding this fic, the original posting can be found at Corpus Invictus' Dreamwidth journal.]


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