
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/785827.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_Alternate_Original_Series_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      James_T._Kirk/Spock
  Character:
      James_T._Kirk, Nyota_Uhura, Spock, Hikaru_Sulu, Christopher_Pike
  Additional Tags:
      Reverse_Big_Bang_Challenge, Originally_Posted_on_LiveJournal, Slash,
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-05 Words: 8383
****** The Fencing Team ******
by seashadows
Summary
     James Kirk, age fifteen, meets seventeen-year-old Spock during the
     first fencing practice of the year. He'll never be the same again.
     Written for this art, by deliciousny.

From: cpike@mayweather-acad.edu
To: STUDENT@mayweather-acad.edu [list]
Subject: Attention students – options for this year

Hi, everyone,

As you all know, classes start in three days. I’m excited to see your
enthusiastic faces in my class again, and it’s been nice to see all of you
settling in for another great school year.

Principal Archer is on a retreat at the moment, and unfortunately can’t deliver
the news himself, so the responsibility falls to me: there’s a day left before
the class drop/add period ends, so listen up. A new option has come up for the
2248-2249 school year. Anyone who signs up for and participates in a school
sport will be exempt from their physical education requirement.

Thank you for your time, and I look forward to seeing everyone around campus. I
especially look forward to seeing the juniors in English class; remember, when
we say a farewell to arms, it means no tank tops!

Captain Pike

“Hey, Nyota!” Jim shouted, jogging up to his friend and waving a PADD. “Nyota!
Check it out!” The late-August grass was yielding and soft under his sandal-
clad feet as he reached the shade of a wide beech tree and plopped down under
it. “Guess what?”

Nyota Uhura rolled her eyes and put her own PADD down. “What, Kirk? What’s so
important that I can’t finish my book?” She wasn’t really angry; he could tell
by the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners, and she only called him ‘Kirk’
when she was teasing. When she was seriously angry, she called him ‘James.’

“Aw, c’mon.” Jim stretched his legs out over the soft grass and leaned back
against the hard, smooth bark, his eyes closing in pleasure. “Now you pissed me
off. I might not tell you my news after all.”

“Sure.” Something rubbed against the top of his head, and he grinned without
opening his eyes. “Is it just me, or did your hair get spikier over the
summer?”

“Could be just you. Dunno.” He shrugged. “I did hang around outside a lot.” If
you counted ‘making out with a lot of hot people by Mr. Mackey’s pond, gender-
blind, possibly a little drunk on occasion’ as ‘hanging around outside a lot’,
which Jim absolutely did. It was pretty awesome, too. “Also, if you fondle my
hair, I’m gonna take it as an invitation.”

As he expected, the hand left his head immediately. “I wouldn’t touch you with
a ten-foot phaser, Jim.” They’d been friends since freshman year, when her
parents’ diplomatic work transferred them to Federation HQ, but he still hadn’t
made any headway on getting her interested in him, even though they were
juniors now (well, Jim was supposed to be a sophomore, but he’d skipped a
year). Oh, well.

“Sure. Love you, too.” Jim opened his eyes and yawned – the summer sun really
did a number on his circadian rhythms. “Anyway, you wanna hear my news?”

“Yes, Jim.” Nyota rolled her eyes. “Do tell.”

“Well, you know the phys-ed requirement?” he said, and took what was probably a
disgusting amount of pleasure in seeing the face she made. “What? You don’t
like Mr. Giotto?”

“Who does?” She stuck her tongue out. “The man’s a fucking slave driver.”

“Right!” Good thing he didn’t need to explain anything to her; if he’d had to
actually say how horrible Giotto was, his head would probably explode. Or
implode, considering the five zillion words that would have to flow out of his
mouth to describe the gym teacher. “So Pike just sent out this mass e-mail, and
apparently, if you join a school athletic club, you can get out of the phys-ed
requirement.”

“No shit!” Nyota’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking. Aren’t you?” He shook
his head. “No way.” She tapped her PADD a few times, probably opening up her e-
mail (she never fucking believed him the first time he told her something;
still, he probably couldn’t blame her, not after the time he said the
Linguistics Club was meeting in the library and she found him in the Fiction A-
E section, wearing only his boxers, instead). “Zztann!”

“What?” Yup, she had to have found the e-mail. She only swore in Andorian when
she was either really surprised or really pissed, and Jim doubted it was the
latter. “Am I right?”

She looked up and rolled her eyes at him, a signal that all was right in the
world of the Mayweather Academy campus. “Yeah, Jim, you’re right. Don’t start
peacocking.”

It was weird, but whenever she said that, Jim half-expected feathers to
actually start growing out of his ass. Maybe it was the persuasive power of her
voice or something; he’d definitely let her talk dirty to him any day, if she
was interested. “I’m not peacocking. I’m just happy.”

“Yeah? ‘Just happy’, huh?” She glanced down at his crotch - yes, he was a
little aroused right now; it wasn’t a crime – and cracked half a smile.

“Hey!” Jim glared at her, crossing his legs. “If you’re not interested in doing
anything with it, you’re not allowed to tease me about it, okay?” Because if
she did, he’d definitely have a boner most of the time, instead of just some.
She kind of had that effect on him. “My dick doesn’t deserve to have its
affections played with.”

Nyota gave him the kind of look that his mom called ‘the phaser.’ “I’m not even
going to answer that,” she said. “You’ll just get ideas.”

“Yeah, I probably will.” No one could say that Jim Kirk wasn’t honest when he
needed to be. Still, the banter about whether or not he actually wanted to make
a move was getting kind of boring; it was probably time to change the subject.
“So, are you gonna go for the new curriculum change? Do a sport?”

“I might go out for track,” she said, and stretched out, lying down on the
grass. Against the bright green, she looked like an ornament against a felt
backdrop; even if he was attracted to her, Jim could definitely admire her
aesthetically, too. “I like running. How about you?”

“Fencing team.”

“Fencing?” she asked. “Since when do you fence?”

He lay down next to her, shivering as the grass tickled his exposed arms and
legs. If he had to wear the stupid Mayweather uniform during the school day, at
least he could wear shorts in his free time. “I fenced when I was a kid. Didn’t
I tell you?” He’d stopped when he was thirteen for reasons he preferred not to
think about, but he figured his body couldn’t have forgotten everything.

“No, you didn’t,” she said as she propped herself up on one elbow. “That’s
interesting.”

“Yup.” He rolled over a little, just to feel more of the grass against his
calves. It felt so cool and nice, a good complement to the summer heat. “Did
you know there are three kinds of swords? In European traditional fencing, I
mean. I think that’s the kind the team does here.”

“No,” Nyota said. “What are the differences?”

She didn’t sound bored, but Jim figured a short description would probably be
better. “There’s the foil, the epee, and the saber – most people specialize in
one. The foil’s a little like a starter sword, but you can use it in
competitions, too, and the rules are pretty strict. The epee has a bigger hand
guard and fewer rules, and the saber’s pretty regulated, because you can slash
from the side with it and it takes a lot of practice.”

“That sounds a little dangerous,” she remarked, “Fun, though. Did you
specialize when you were a kid?”

“Kinda. I learned a little of all three, but I was okay with the epee when I
stopped. My teacher wanted me to compete.” She was a tall Russian woman with a
wicked-fast lunge, and he still considered her his first real crush. Damn…some
of the thirteen-year-old dreams he’d had about Katya made him blush. “You sure
you don’t want to join? Teams always need female fencers.”

“No, thanks.” The grass under him pulled a little as Nyota shifted. “I’d rather
run than be run through.”

“Oh, god,” Jim groaned, hitting his forehead with one palm. “Worst pun ever,
Nyota. I’d hang out with Captain Pike if I wanted to hear people fuck around
with words.”

“Okay, now that stings.” Her hand made contact with his head again, slapping
instead of petting this time. “You know who you should really talk to for word-
fuckery? Spock.”

“Huh?” Jim frowned. “Who’s Spock?”

“Wait, what?” Nyota sat up and stared down at him, her eyes wide. “You don’t
know who Spock is? He transferred here last semester!”

“And I was busy with that research project last semester, Nyota. I was kind of
living under a rock.” Jim rolled his eyes. “What’s so great about Spock?”

“You seriously don’t know? Wow.” She whistled. “I’d have thought you’d be all
over this. He’s a Vulcan.”

“Vulcan? Are you fucking serious? Ow!” Jim yelped and spasmed as his head made
contact with the base of the beech tree. “Shit, Nyota, warn me before you drop
something like that.” He sat up, albeit a little dizzily, and rubbed his sore
head. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Nyota asked, smiling.

“No. You’d bite me.” Jim shook his head, and regretted it when the movement
ignited a flare of pain in his head. “I don’t know how anyone can bite a
forehead, but you’d figure it out.”

“Like I’d bite your head. Blechhh.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I doubt
you wash your hair.”

“I washed it last night, for your information. The tree probably got all kinds
of shit in it, though.” He ran a hand over the spikes he’d taken such care to
“nonchalantly” gel in. “Aw, damn. There’s all kinds of gross crap in there
now.” It would take forever to pick the dirt out. “Do you think Vulcans care if
you can’t get the dirt out of your hair?”

“God, you and your one-track mind.” Nyota flicked his neck with her thumb and
forefinger. “If you must know, I did get some vibes from him when I saw him
last semester. Think he might be interested in humanoids of the male
persuasion.” She wiggled an eyebrow at him.

Jim let out a noisy, skeptical spit-sigh through his teeth. “No way did you get
that in the hallways.”

“No reason he isn’t interested in humanoids of the female persuasion, too. I
just thought he seemed…you know, amenable to amorous contact with males. If you
know what I mean.”

If you know what I mean? What kind of people had she been hearing? No matter
what, it was pretty damn funny. “Right, right,” Jim managed through a sudden
fit of man-giggles. “I know what you mean. Since when do you phrase your
sentences like that?”

“It’s my Vulcan imitation. What do you think?” She raised her eyebrow again
and, coupled with the suddenly flat tone of her voice, it made Jim start
laughing all over again. “What’s so funny?”

Jim gasped in a few gulps of air and stretched out again, rolling over onto his
stomach. “Your Vulcan imitation,” he said after a moment or two. “Almost made
me piss myself.”

“Yeah. I sort of noticed that, Jim.” She gave him a look that probably would
have been directed at his pants if he hadn’t been lying on top of the relevant
areas. “Spock might be in a few of your classes, if he’s as smart as I think he
is. You should keep an eye out for him. I think he’s actually the Vulcan
ambassador’s kid.”

“I think I will. Thanks, Nyota.” Jim lolled his head to the side and lazily
cracked his neck. “So are you guys doing that school-year food spectacular this
year?” Nyota’s parents lived only twenty minutes away, and she commuted; as a
result, he’d been exposed to some truly awesome Kenyan food over the past two
years.

“Tomorrow night,” she said. “You’re invited, as usual.”

“Sweet. Do you think your mom will make maandazi if I ask really nicely?”

Nyota snorted. “Come over early and make the puppy-dog eyes at her before she
cooks. I bet she will.”

He so would.

                                       ~


“Okay, everyone, welcome to the Mayweather Academy Fencing Club’s first meeting
of the school year!” Hikaru Sulu clapped his hands together and looked around
from his position on a box; the words Tetherball Equipment were stamped on the
side. “If you’re a returning member, welcome back. I’m your captain, Hikaru
Sulu, and I’m a junior this year.”

There was a collective murmur from the assembled students. Jim, for his part,
was impressed; Sulu was never this assertive in class, even when he was
answering questions. Looked like fencing did a shit-ton of good for his
leadership skills; good for him. “All right!” Hikaru continued. “Three laps
around the gym to warm up, everyone, then pair up and practice your footwork.
The practice swords and equipment are over by the water fountain if you want
them.”

“Sweet,” Jim muttered to no one in particular, and got up from his position on
the gym floor, going around for his first lap. It was too damn hot with
everyone around, and at least the running created enough of a breeze to keep
him from feeling too much of his own sweat.

On his second (or maybe third – yeah, third) go-round, one of his flailing arms
smacked against something hard. “Sorry,” he said to whoever he’d hit. “Won’t
happen again.”

“It is of no consequence,” said whoever. Jim frowned – he hadn’t heard that
voice before, and that seemed weird. It was definitely a guy; he could tell by
the baritone. Well, whatever. After he finished this lap and lost some
momentum, he’d turn around and see who the guy was.

Mystery Student was still running when Jim finished, so he turned around for a
look. As it turned out, the guy was a freaking Vulcan, and Jim definitely
needed to give Nyota a piece of his mind, because how was he supposed to know
that the Vulcan was going to be on the fencing team with him? He was a really
hot Vulcan, too – all bowl cut and big dark eyes, and lean muscles that flexed
whenever his feet hit the ground.

If Nyota was wrong and this guy – Spock, it had to be, because Vulcans probably
didn’t deign to attend human schools - wasn’t into guys, Jim was going to
spontaneously combust. Or come in his pants, in a sad way (could orgasms be
sad? He’d find a way to have a sad, unsatisfying orgasm in his pants, because
‘Jim Kirk’ meant nothing if not ‘imaginative genius’).

Spock finished his laps and jogged up beside him; Jim’s dick woke up a little
and throbbed in his pants happily. “Are you James Tiberius Kirk?” he asked.

It took a minute or so for Jim to gather enough brain cells together to answer.
Up close, Spock was even hotter than he was from a distance; his cheeks were
flushed just slightly green (green blood, right – biology classes came in handy
sometimes) and his eyes were this gorgeous color, rich brown, and surrounded by
incredibly long eyelashes. “Yeah,” he finally said. “But don’t use my middle
name. I hate it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was inwardly berating himself for them.
Way to go, JamesTiberiusKirk, he thought. Nice first impression, complaining
about yourself like a kid. Spock probably thought he was immature now. “Sorry,”
he added. “My brain’s kind of fried. It’s hot in here.”

Spock nodded. “The ambient temperature in this gymnasium is far more suited to
Vulcans than to humans,” he said, “due to the number of students herein.”

“So that means you’re comfortable?”

“Yes.” Another nod. “Which type of sword do you prefer?”

It took a second for Jim to realize that Spock wasn’t actually trying to make
an innuendo. “The epee,” he said. “You?”

“I am most proficient with the saber,” Spock replied. One eyebrow rose a bit.
“I believed you to prefer said sword as well.”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t make assumptions.” Still, the fact that Spock had
had ideas about him and his swordplay was kind of flattering. “Being an epee
fencer lets you be a little more imaginative, but it’s been a few years since
I’ve fenced. I might be wrong.”

“You are correct. However, I prefer the regulations of the saber.”

People were starting to pass by them, having finished their laps, and it was
getting a little harder to hear Spock now. “You want to practice together?” Jim
asked, raising his voice so as to be heard above the general murmur. “I can get
a saber if you want. Did you bring any equipment?”

“I did,” Spock said. “Perhaps our practice would be more effective if we were
to use foils.”

“Probably. I think you’re more experienced than I am.” Jim didn’t have any gear
himself, but he could grab some from the general bag – even if it was gross and
sweaty, it would be safer than fencing with a Vulcan without protection. Ha,
protection. Gross and sweaty. It sounded (well, in his head) like he was
talking about having sex with Spock.

Yum.

Jerking himself out of that train of thought with some difficulty, Jim smiled
and stretched one cramping arm over his head. “Gimme five minutes and I’ll get
suited up,” he said. “You want to get in your gear while I do that? We can spar
over by the basketball hoops.”

“A sound suggestion,” Spock said, and turned around, displaying a gorgeous
tight ass, as he went to get his equipment. Jim allowed himself a few seconds
of ogling, then headed over to the water fountain to grab the necessaries.

The foils were hidden under a lot of crap – fuck, didn’t Sulu know anything
about how to organize a gym bag? “Jeez,” Jim muttered, and crouched down, his
hands rifling through a bunch of haphazardly-folded jackets. “Gotcha!” There
was only one medium-sized one, and it had pit stains, but it was better than
nothing.

“Fencing with Spock?”

“What? Ow!” Jim’s head hit the bottom of the water fountain with a hollow,
metallic thump. “Guh. Sulu, don’t surprise me.”

“Sure.” Sulu knelt next to him, his head comfortably out of striking range of
the water fountain, and grabbed a foil out of the bag. “Be careful. I’ve heard
Spock’s got a pretty wicked strike.”

“Yeah, and where’d you hear that? I just bet the Vulcan ambassador talks about
it.” Jim rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to scare me.”

“Just trying to warn you, buddy.” Sulu clapped him on the back and stood up.
“Easy on the swords. They’re school property.”

“Easy on the sparring partners,” Jim retorted. “They’re probably scared
shitless of your awesome sword skills.”

“Quit trying to flatter me. I know you just jumped on the bandwagon.”

“Sure, and you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” Jim rolled his eyes.
“Giotto’s a nightmare.” He picked up a mask from the pile that looked like it
might fit him.

“Don’t I know it,” Sulu said, and idly slapped the sword across his palm.
“Training a new kid today. Absolutely no fencing experience, but he keeps
saying that it was invented in Russia. Can you believe it?”

“Who’s that? The skinny baby with the zit face – Chekov, right?” The kid looked
about twelve, and unfortunately for Jim, had moved into the room right next to
his. So much for bringing anyone back to the ol’ dorm room for loud naked time
or something; he didn’t exactly want to be responsible for traumatizing some
prepubescent stick.

Well, maybe he was already traumatized. After all, if he was at Mayweather,
Chekov had to be smart; Jim would see about that, come class time tomorrow.
Freshmen tended to be loud about their schedules when they ate lunch in the
commons.

“Fuck off. He’s not a baby.” Sulu scowled at him. “Keep talking like that and
Archer’s gonna make you haul ass into his office for hazing people.”

“Relax, No-Cal, I’m not hazing him,” Jim said. Lesson of the day: Sulu took an
unusual interest in new fencers’ well-being. Weirdo. “I gotta go. Spock’s
waiting.”

“Fine. Have fun using your swords, jackass.”

“Don’t call me a jackass, jackass.” Jim thumped him lightly on the back. “All
right. Have fun with the toddler.”

“Shut up!” Sulu called after him as he turned to go. Jim smirked and pulled the
jacket on over his T-shirt, easing the mask down over his head when that was
finished.

“Hey, Spock?” he said, and looked around. “You here?”

“Indeed.” Spock appeared in front of him all of a sudden, like some kind of
ghost or a fucking cat or something. He was already in his gear, complete with
pristine white leggings that (oh, fucking god, hello, boner) showed off the
outline of his legs and groin pretty nicely. “Are you ready to fence?”

“Yeah, just a second. Can you zip me up?” Jim turned around and bent his head,
presenting the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get it myself.”


“Certainly.” Jim could hear, if not see, Spock move a little closer; his
fingers were steady as they pulled the zipper up to the top, and hot when they
inadvertently touched the skin of his neck. “I apologize.”

“What for?” Jim asked, his voice a little dazed even to his ears. Those fingers
were so warm. Would Spock be that warm all over? “You just touched my neck. Not
like you punched me.”

“I feel no inclination to strike you.” Spock stepped away, and Jim turned to
face him; the Vulcan’s cheeks were green for some strange reason. “Shall we
commence?”

“Yeah.” Irritation stabbed at the back of his neck, where Spock had touched
him. What the hell was it with Spock and the stupid questions? Were all Vulcans
like this? “Enough with the formalities, okay? I’m not gonna break.” He testily
adjusted the mask. “Let’s go.”

“Very well.” At least Spock wasn’t inclined to complain.

They walked to a spot under the gym’s basketball hoop and moved a few meters
apart. “Sword check,” Jim said, and held out his foil. Spock touched it with
the tip of his…well, with the side of the tip of his. They were a little too
close together. “I’ll move away a little, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Why did Spock have to answer his fucking rhetorical questions? Jim
rolled his eyes and moved a few steps back, touching the tips of their swords
together again. “Right. You or me?”

“You may commence,” Spock answered. His voice was a little muffled by the
distance and by both of their masks. He saluted, and Jim returned the gesture.

“En garde.” He nodded and sized Spock up, still in the starting position. Spock
was probably used to strict fencers…maybe the kinds of people who lunged first
and then thrust, parried, and acted stereotypical. Rusty or not, even he knew
how to be a little more unexpected than that.

But how could he be unexpected around a Vulcan? Even if Spock had fenced using
more traditional methods, maybe he knew the tricks. Jim drew his arm back a
little and stepped slightly to the left, watching Spock’s head move slightly to
track him.

Okay, so Spock telegraphed. He could use that. Jim felt the corner of his mouth
quirk up slightly in a half-smile as he feinted off to the left, then stepped
forward and struck at Spock’s lower abdomen.

Spock blocked him, but just barely. “Your movements are not traditional,” he
remarked, lunging forward.

Jim blocked him back. “Yeah, I’m what they call unexpected.” He returned the
lunge, this time aiming for Spock’s ribcage. Another block, and then the tip of
Spock’s sword darted under Jim’s upraised arm and stabbed him lightly in the
armpit.

“Hey!” Jim protested, rubbing his ribs. “Use the foil guidelines.”

“The underarm is within the foil guidelines, Mr. Kirk.” Spock came at him
again, and this time, Jim was ready; he blocked him again and extended his
sword arm. Katya had said that one of the best things you could do as a fencer
was learn how to strike without lunging, and it worked. The tip of his sword
touched Spock’s chest.

“Hit!” he shouted, grinning.

“You need not act inordinately pleased with yourself,” Spock said. Jim leaned
off to the side to avoid his sword. “As humans say, that was a ‘lucky shot.’”

God, Jim could just hear the quotation marks in his voice, and oh, hello - were
those Spock’s biceps, straining against his jacket sleeves? Jim’s dick had been
fairly quiet after he got his equipment on, but now it made its opinion known
again. Dammit.

While he was distracted, Spock got in another good shot, this time at his
stomach. “’Hit’, as you say, Mr. Kirk.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Kirk. My name’s Jim,” Jim called back. The blood was
pounding in his ears, both from the proximity to Spock and from the exertion;
his feet barely stayed in the same place for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Mr. Kirk is…was my father.” Fuck, why did he have to go and say that? Now he
was turned on and he felt guilty. George Kirk probably wouldn’t appreciate his
person being appropriated like that.

“Very well, Jim.” Spock came at him with the sword again (hot…oh, great, and
now his state of arousal was probably going to mess with his fencing skills),
but Jim blocked it and pushed Spock’s sword back, jabbing underneath to land a
hit on Spock’s hip.

“Hit!” he said again.

“Again, Jim, you need not say the word whenever you achieve a hit.” Spock
sounded a little annoyed, but just a little. If Jim hadn’t been listening for
emotion, he might not have heard it, but he did hear it. Score.

“Maybe not, but I like saying it.” He lunged again, a little sloppier than last
time, and this time Spock caught his thrust and blocked it; he came forward
with a piece of footwork that dropped Jim’s jaw. “Damn. How long’ve you
fenced?”

“Approximately eight point six two standard years,” Spock answered. “The
husband of the Terran ambassador to Vulcan is an accomplished fencer, and
offered to act as my instructor when I showed interest in it.” He parried,
feinted to the right, and struck again, this time catching Jim on the shoulder.
“Hit.”

“You’re using my terminology!” Jim accused him, smiling. Looked like even the
most logical beings could fall prey to illogic sometimes. “I studied for about
five years when I was younger, but jeez. Your instructor must’ve been pretty
good.”

Spock nodded; he was starting to breathe hard, as was Jim. Maybe talking while
they fenced wasn’t the best idea, but it was pretty interesting. “My stamina is
not unlimited,” he said, as though reading Jim’s thoughts (freaky).

“You wanna find different partners soon?” Jim lunged forward and started a set
of thrusts that took up a few minutes, so Spock didn’t answer immediately.

“No,” he finally said. “You are an adequate partner.”

“Adequate, huh?” Jim shook his head and wrinkled his nose as a line of sweat
ran down his cheek. “Gross. Can we stop? I gotta take this off.”

“Yes,” Spock said, lowering his sword.

Jim did the same, pulled the mask off his head, and ran a hand through his
sweaty hair. “Ew,” he groaned. “Worst hat hair ever.” He glanced over at Spock
and let out another noise, this one closer to a whine than a groan. “Dude!
Yours isn’t even messed up. How’s that fair?”

“I believe genetics are a larger factor than fairness,” Spock said, and patted
his hair. “On the contrary to your previous statement, your own hair is not the
‘worst hat hair ever.’”

“Thanks.” Jim rolled his eyes and blew out a mouthful of air. “So, yeah. What
do you say we call it a tie?”

“That seems logical.” Spock took a few steps closer to him, his expression a
little unsettled – as though he was unsure about something. “Will you undo the
zipper of my jacket? Removal tends to be difficult.”

Now that was unexpected. Maybe living on Earth for a few months had taught
Spock some human illogic after all. “Um…sure. Turn around.” Spock did, and for
a second or five, Jim could only gape at the green flush to the back of his
neck. Vulcans could get hot, apparently. Wish he’d get hot for me, he found
himself thinking, and fought the urge to give his dick a good bitch-slap.

“Jim?” Spock asked. Right…he’d been standing there without doing anything for a
few seconds too long.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said hurriedly, and unzipped Spock’s jacket, unashamedly
staring as Spock shrugged out of it. “You hot?” And there he went again with
the innuendo. Spock was definitely hot, all right, in both ways.

“Indeed.” Was it his imagination, or was Spock’s voice a little unsteady? His
long-sleeved, dark-blue button-down was marred with the slightest of pit
stains, so it might have just been the heat. Fencing jackets could do that to
anyone, never mind someone unused to Earth’s atmosphere. “Do you wish for me to
unzip your jacket?”

“Huh? Sure.” Jim turned around, his stomach quivering in anticipation of those
hot fingers on his neck again. To his disappointment, Spock didn’t actually
touch him this time, but he took a little longer unzipping the jacket than Jim
thought was actually warranted.

Butterflies in his stomach, this time. Maybe Nyota was right.

As he eased his arms out of the jacket, Spock spoke again. “Jim?”

“Yeah.” He slung the garment over his arm, idly twirling his foil in one hand.
“What’s up?”

“You asked me if I am overheated. Do you suffer from the same state?”

“Kind of.” He narrowly resisted lifting up his arm to smell his armpit; his
deodorant was new, after all, and it would be kind of gross to do that in front
of a Vulcan. “I think I need a shower.”

“I detect no unpleasant odor about you.”

“Um. Thanks?” He could feel heat rush to his cheeks at the…well, it was
probably a semi-compliment. “You don’t smell bad, either, I don’t think. Need
to go sit in the air-conditioning or something?”

“Perhaps. You make a logical suggestion,” Spock said. “In which dormitory do
you reside?”

“I’m in Cole. You?”

“I reside in Sato Dormitory.” Okay, so Spock apparently had this compulsive
need to dress up even the simplest of sentences. Had to be a Vulcan thing,
because Nyota was a diplomat’s kid, too, and she definitely didn’t talk like
that.

“Sato? That’s right by here, right?” Jim said. Lucky Spock, not having to walk
farther than was warranted in the heat.

“Indeed.” Spock paused, his lips slightly parted like he was dying to say
something difficult. “Jim, would you care to accompany me to my dormitory? I
will provide cold beverages.”

Cold beverages? Now Spock was seriously starting to sound like Grandpa James.
“Sure,” Jim said through a growing smile. Oh…maybe he’d get lucky or something.
Shut up, he told his stubborn subconscious. “If it’s not gonna be any trouble.”


“It will not be any trouble. Do you enjoy carbonated beverages?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?” Wait, why did he still have a jacket over his arm. “Hold
on a second, okay? I gotta put this stuff back.”

Spock nodded, and Jim turned around to jog back over to the water fountain.
“Sulu!” he called out. “Spock and I are leaving.”

Sulu, who was taking a drink from the fountain, turned around and wiped his
mouth. “Practice isn’t over,” he said, frowning.

“I know. But it turns out he has a wicked sword arm, so we got super-tired and
we’re gonna go drink a lot of sugar.” It wasn’t as though that was a lie…well,
it would only be less than a whole truth if Jim had anything to say about the
outcome. “When’s the next practice? I’ll be here.”

“Monday. Tomorrow.” Sulu crossed his arms, placing the tip of his sword
dangerously close to his left foot. “Five PM. You sure you’ll be able to make
it?”

“I’ll be there,” Jim repeated. “I’m serious about this, okay?”

“Fine,” Sulu said. “Prove it by showing up again. This team competes, Kirk.”

“Fine. Okay, so the phys ed requirement got me interested, but I don’t drop out
of shit.” That was part of the reason, honestly, that he didn’t join stuff…he’d
have to stick it out until the end.

Like Tarsus.

“Jim?”

“Huh?” Why was Spock calling to him? Jim’s eyes snapped open and he spun around
to look at his sparring partner, who had packed his gear up again and was
currently lifting a duffel bag. “Sorry. I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Very well.” Spock hefted the bag and slung the strap over one broad shoulder.
“I will wait for you.”

“Okay.” Jim turned back to Sulu and rubbed the back of his neck with one palm.
“Look, I have to go. I’ll be here tomorrow, I promise.” He hurriedly stashed
his sword and jacket in the bag and held his right hand out. “Promise.”

“Okay.” Sulu’s frown eased a little as he shook Jim’s hand. “It’s your first
practice – I guess you can get tired. Get outta here.” He flashed a bit of a
smile.

“Thanks.” Jim pumped his hand a few times and then let go, jogging back over to
Spock. “Hey, sorry that took so long. Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Spock adjusted the bag and strode toward the door; Jim followed him,
taking in an eager breath of grass-scented air once they were out the door.
Thank whatever deity for allergy hypos, or else he couldn’t have done that
without getting symptoms that would seriously embarrass him in front of Spock.

And he definitely wanted to impress Spock.

They’d reached Sato Dorm within what felt like a few strides, and the door slid
open when Spock swiped his student ID in front of it. “I reside in a single
room on the second floor,” he said.

“You didn’t really need to get that specific,” Jim replied. Spock was cute when
he was being overspecific; it made his brows furrow. “Okay. So you have sodas
up there?”

“Yes,” Spock said for what seemed like the five zillionth time in maybe half an
hour, and led Jim over to a door that opened onto a flight of stairs. “Follow
me, please.”

Jim followed him, and stared at his ass the entire way. Tiny, firm…holy shit,
did all Vulcans have this kind of build? He definitely needed to visit Vulcan
sometime, if that was the case. There had to be at least one Vulcan who didn’t
think sex with a human was illogical.

Hell, maybe it would even be this one.

The stairs ended (much to Jim’s disappointment, because seriously, that ass) in
a hallway very much like Jim’s hall in Cole, low-ceilinged and utilitarian.
Spock walked a few doors down and swiped his keycard in front of another door,
then turned to Jim and raised an eyebrow. “Do you not wish to accompany me
inside?”

“Sure, smartass,” Jim said, then bit his lip. “Shit. Sorry. Just a human
expression.” He walked to the door and followed Spock through it. “Hey, nice
place.”

So he kind of meant it ironically, because the room was pretty much the same
shape and size as every other single room at Mayweather, but Spock had
decorated it pretty nicely. Minimalist, with dark covers on the bed and a
couple pictures of some kind of calligraphy Jim didn’t recognize. He’d have to
study Vulcan and find out what the symbols meant someday.

“Thank you,” Spock replied, raising an eyebrow. “Do you enjoy the ‘Coke’ brand
of soda?”

God, even Spock’s use of brand names sounded disdainful. “That’s fine. Do you
have regular, or just diet?”

“I have original Coke,” Spock said, and punched something into a number pad on
the wall. A panel slid open, and he reached inside, taking out a bottle of soda
and handing it to Jim.

“Thanks.” Jim popped the top and drank deeply; he hadn’t really known he was so
thirsty until he tasted the soda. It was cold and fizzy and absolutely
delicious, and…well, it was weird, but it seemed to taste better in here.

Spock was watching him when he finally surfaced again. “You are thirsty,” he
said.

“Well, duh.” Jim wiped his mouth on his hand. “We just did a brutal sparring
session. Of course I’m thirsty. Aren’t you?” Maybe Vulcans didn’t need as much
water as humans did.

“I am not thirsty.” Spock shook his head. “Jim, may I ask an intrusive
question?”

“Um…okay?” Jim felt what seemed like an entire colony of butterflies suddenly
metamorphose into being in his stomach. “Go ahead.”

Spock took in an audible breath. “Are you attracted to males?”

So it wasn’t quite as ‘intrusive’ as Jim had thought (or hoped, maybe?) it
would be. Still, Spock asking anything personal was kind of a triumph, in his
opinion. “Yeah,” he said. “Males and females both.” What was Spock leading up
to? Had he asked him up here just to fire off a bunch of questions about human
sexuality? What a disappointment. “Why?”

Spock paused. “Vulcans possess the ability to experience the emotions of others
through touch.”

That was kind of unexpected. Jim blinked. “That’s cool.”

“Indeed. Jim, when you zipped my fencing jacket, the skin of your fingers was
in contact with the skin of my neck, and vice versa when I assisted you.”

Vulcans weren’t the only ones who could make logical deductions, and Jim’s
train of thought was leading him to a fucking embarrassing place. “I…um, I
think I see what you’re driving at,” he said. “So you heard my thoughts, and
you were wondering…” Oh, god, Spock probably thought he was a total pervert.
Not that he wasn’t a little pervy, but giving the wrong impression to a Vulcan
student couldn’t be good for interplanetary relations, much less his chances of
getting some.

Shut up, Jim, he told himself, and concentrated on getting the blush in his
cheeks to level off a little – which, considering his skin tone, was pretty
damn near impossible.

“I was not offended,” Spock said. “On the contrary, your thoughts regarding my
body were flattering.”

Okay, good, so no interspecies relations breakdown there, but still. “I’ll try
to shut my brain up if we spar again. Sorry.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Will you sit, Jim?” He indicated the edge of
his pristine bed.

“Um.” Something in Jim’s brain short-circuited; it was probably whatever made
his legs work, because they abruptly turned to jelly and made him plunk down on
Spock’s bed. Stupid brain. “So what do you want to say?”

“I am attracted to males as well.” Spock’s cheeks went adorably green. “More
specifically, I am…physically attracted to you.”

“Physically? As opposed to what?” Jim knew those questions were kind of asinine
(his favorite word), but they were surprised out of him. “Emotionally?” He was
interested in Spock, yeah, but did Spock think he was a prostitute or
something? His boner wilted a little at the thought.

“I am not well enough acquainted with you to make a decision regarding
emotional attraction,” Spock said. He sat down neatly on the edge of the bed,
one hand only inches away from Jim’s. “May I inquire as to the reason you did
not approach me last semester?”

“I kind of didn’t know you existed,” Jim protested. “Huge research project. I
mean, I would’ve tried to be friends and stuff, but I was busy.”

“I see.” Even though he was looking at the floor, Jim could feel Spock looking
at him. “Do you wish to engage in sexual activities?”

“What?” Jim’s head jerked up in shock. Was Spock high or something? “Are you
for real?”

“I assure you that I am indeed ‘real’,” Spock said. “Your physical attributes
and athletic capabilities arouse me physically. Do you wish to engage in sexual
activities?” he repeated.

“Okay, so you’re ignoring the fact I have a four-point?” Jim shot back. Spock
had completely killed his boner now. “Didn’t you hear me say ‘research
project’? I’m not just some stupid human, Spock. You want to have sex with me?
Have sex with all of me, not just my dick.”

Fucking Vulcans. They probably all thought humans were idiotic sex machines or
something. Spock clearly knew who he was – hell, he’d asked if Jim was Jim. And
he was still a goddamn virgin who, yeah, was physically attracted to Spock
himself, but he would have thought Vulcans were at least considerate enough not
to outright say that their partners were whores.

Jim stood up, ready to leave Spock’s room, when a hand hesitantly touched his
wrist.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice was soft and hesitant, enough to make Jim sit back down.
“I ask that you attempt not to misunderstand my intentions. I do wish to engage
in sexual contact with your entire person, as much as such an action is
physically possible. I do not desire to misuse your body for my own physical
pleasure.”

“Shit,” Jim said, for lack of anything better popping into his brain. “I mean,
I wanted to do stuff with you, too, but…for real?”

“Indeed.” Spock’s hand hadn’t left Jim’s wrist, and now it tightened slightly.
“I am fully appreciative of both your physical and academic merits.”

“I…um, okay?” Jim could feel blood flooding his face to turn it bright red.
Stupid pale skin. And stupid dick, for getting hard from a full-body flush.
“So, um. Do you wanna do something, or are you gonna let go of me?”

“Are the two events mutually exclusive?” Spock let go of Jim’s wrist and tilted
his head slightly, like he was confused.

“Never mind.” Someone was going to have to introduce Spock to idiomatic
language. Hell, maybe Jim would do it himself. “You ever done anything before?
You know, sexually?”

“Indeed.” Spock nodded. “I conducted mild sexual experiments with a member of
my age group on Vulcan, and a university student introduced me to the Terran
art of labial contact two point five months after my arrival on Earth.”

Whoever this university student was, Jim was suddenly jealous of him or her. Or
them - whatever, he wouldn’t rule out ungendered beings. “So you don’t think
sexual stuff is illogical or anything?”

“To deem a biological function illogical is, in and of itself, illogical,”
Spock said. “I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my natural need to relieve
myself, or of my need to consume food. Sexual activity is biologically
beneficial and perhaps even necessary.”

“That’s a no, then. Gotcha.” It would be a lot easier to do whatever with Spock
if he didn’t think that what they were doing was stupid or, gods forbid, wrong
(what? Jim didn’t know jackshit about Vulcan religious beliefs). “So, I, uh, I
haven’t ever actually had sex. I’ve made out and stuff, so I’m not stupid about
it or anything.”

“I did not expect that you would be ‘stupid about it’, as you term sexual
inexperience,” Spock said. His eyebrow went back up, and Jim couldn’t help
watching it. The eyebrow was pretty hot, after all. “I am, in technical Terran
terms, a virgin.”

“Sure.” At this rate, they’d spend all afternoon talking and no time at all
doing, which was sufficiently weird to make Jim take action. “So at the risk of
sounding creepy, can I kiss you?”

Spock answered his question by leaning over and, before Jim knew what was
happening, pressing their lips together. Jim’s eyes shot open, then closed;
that mouth was amazingly hot and even more of a turn-on than he ever would have
fantasized…even though it was closed.

“Mm,” he ventured, and took the opportunity to trace Spock’s lips with his
tongue. Much to his surprise (because he wouldn’t have expected that reaction
from a Vulcan, holy shit), not only did Spock open his mouth, but he also
touched Jim’s tongue with his.

Jim let out a squeak as his erection grew to full strength again. “S-Spock,” he
whispered, pulling away slightly to whisper against Spock’s lips. “What do you
want?”

“I w-wish to see your body,” Spock whispered back, and that hitch in his voice,
combined with his words themselves, threatened to set Jim on fire. “Remove your
clothing.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Spock wanted to see him naked…awesome. Jim pulled away and
skimmed out of his sweaty T-shirt, then kicked off his sandals and shorts.
“Like it?”

Spock’s eyes were wider than Jim had ever seen them (although, to be fair, he’d
known the guy like an hour – and he needed to stop thinking before the boner
died again). “Remove your undergarments,” he said.

“Nnnf,” Jim managed. That was one fucking sexy tone of voice. He took his
boxers off and kicked them onto the floor. “Okay?”

He didn’t even get to see Spock’s face before he was pushed back on the bed
with an extremely eager Vulcan dude on top of him, trying to eat his face.
Spock was all kinds of hot, Jim decided, and this proved it, even if those
kisses had too many teeth in them.

Spock obviously thought Jim was all kinds of hot, too; the hardness that pushed
against Jim’s thigh through Spock’s pants was pretty loud about it. “Pants
off,” Jim said, trying for the same commanding tone but probably failing pretty
miserably. He pushed against Spock and rubbed his nipples against the perfectly
rough fabric of the button-down. “Can’t…”

There was a noise in response, although Jim couldn’t really tell whether it was
from him or Spock, and then Spock’s pants were bunched around his ankles and
his dick was rubbing against Jim’s, and it was so hot, and…Jim was running out
of ands. This felt too fucking good.

Jim wrapped his arms around Spock’s back, all the better to hold him closer and
rub his nipples even harder against that shirt. Spock’s muscles flexed hard
under his shirt, and Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head when that flexing
translated to another thrust against his hips.

“S-Spock,” he gasped, and thrust up in return – or would have, if Spock hadn’t
kept him pressed pretty flat on the bed. Spock seemed to get what he was going
for, though, because he rubbed their dicks together in a wriggling motion that
almost made Jim black out. He could feel pre-come beading on someone’s dick,
maybe Spock’s and maybe his, or it could’ve been both – oh, god, that meant
Spock was really turned on.

Grunts filled the air, and Jim was kind of busy whimpering, so he could
definitely tell that Spock was making noises now. He was turned on, and that
meant he’d lost control, and…yeah, he couldn’t last. Jim’s back arched against
the mattress, straining feet digging into it, as his climax slammed into him or
soared or something that felt really fucking good. “Ohgod,” he groaned.
“Shitfuckinggod…” Blood and his own voice were roaring in his ears so hard that
he barely heard Spock shout something in a language he didn’t understand, but
he definitely felt the hot wetness on his crotch when Spock came, too.

Yeah, he blacked out then, or something close to it.

Spock was still sprawled on top of him when Jim’s eyes opened again, except now
Spock’s top half was propped up on his elbows and he was looking into Jim’s
eyes. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled, his mouth dry. “Wa’zat okay?”

“The experience was quite pleasurable,” Spock said. It might have been Jim’s
imagination, but it almost looked like Spock was smiling, which wasn’t
surprising after what they’d just done.

“Nnfuck.” Jim’s head flopped a little further into the pillow. “We didn’ do
anything illegal, right?” Who knew what kinds of laws Vulcans had regarding
minors and sex?

“We did not. You and I are both of sound mind and body, and consented to the
activities.” That eyebrow went up again; even though he’d just come, Jim’s dick
made a concerted effort to greet it. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen. Sixteen in January, but I’m a junior. You?” What if he’d just fucked
an adult? Did Vulcans count their ages differently or something?”

To his relief, Spock’s answer wasn’t far off his own. “I am seventeen standard
years old. No problem exists to hinder our sexual congress.” Jesus, Spock’s
voice was sexy, especially when he was talking about sexual congress. “I am a
senior.”

Well, Jim was taking senior-level calculus, so maybe they’d be in some of the
same classes after all. He couldn’t wait to tell Nyota that she was right –
about some things, anyway. This was one set of details he wouldn’t divulge
completely. “Hey, Spock?” He shifted, making a face when their combined come
made a sticky squelching noise. “We’re all gross.”

“You may utilize my shower facilities,” Spock said, and sat up. “Would you
allow me to join you? It is logical to use as many hands as possible in
cleaning activities.”

He and Spock had just frotted, and now Spock wanted to shower with him. Jim
would never think of Vulcans the same way again. “Yeah,” he said with a grin,
and sat up himself, ignoring the stickiness this time. Spock’s eyes glanced
down his chest. “Hey, Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching soreness
out of his leg muscles. “We gonna be sparring partners on Monday?”

“Indeed.” Jim definitely felt Spock’s eyes on his ass this time. “I believe
that our skills will be a formidable asset to the team.”

“Formidable?” Jim’s grin came back, even wider this time. That was a good word
to describe what they had.

Formidable.

What a team they would make.
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