Contact High (A Star Trek XI Fic) - Part 1

[therumjournals]

Title: Contact High
(Part 1/2, Complete)
Author: therumjournals
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Word Count: 14,400
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Drug use
Description: Spock finds Jim Kirk in a cloud of smoke, and Jim discovers the entertainment value of a stoned Vulcan.
A/N: Inspired by the song Day N Nite by Kid Cudi: Listen
Many thanks to beta gwenaterra




Spock glanced idly over the Life Support system logs, his eyes coming to rest on the records for Deck 6. An indicator light blinked next to the Captain’s quarters. He pulled up the record. The fire detection system had been disabled, as had the atmospheric controls. “Computer, locate the Captain.”

“The Captain is in his quarters.”

“Commander Spock to Captain Kirk.”

There was no response. Spock left his station and entered the turbolift, jumping off at Deck 6 and practically running to the Captain’s quarters. He buzzed for entry. No response. Glancing down the hall, he quickly entered an override code. The door swished open and Spock stepped inside, directly into a cloud of strange smelling smoke. His eyes stung and he squinted as he saw the captain moving towards him.

Kirk pushed him roughly toward the door. “Spock, get the fuck out, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Captain, is there a fire?”

“No, there’s no goddamn fire, now get out of here.”

“Captain, I am concerned…” he trailed off as the door slid closed in front of him, leaving him in the corridor, still smelling faintly of smoke. That had been a…very odd experience, Spock thought, as he turned to walk down the hall to his quarters. He looked down as he walked, idly pondering how interesting it was that when he put one foot in front of the other, the motion created was sufficient to carry his body forward a few feet. Repeating the process had the same affect. Fascinating. He trailed his fingers along the wall. It was cool to the touch, something he’d never really noticed before. He stopped, pressing his palms to the wall, then his cheek. An ensign passing in the hall gave him an odd look, and he stood back abruptly, picturing how strange he must have appeared just then. He made it the rest of the way to his quarters with no further incidents.

He had planned to spend a few hours of his free time meditating, but as he entered his room a wave of dizziness washed over him and he lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could probably meditate from here, he decided. He already felt quite calm. He attempted to find a point of focus as he usually did before beginning meditation, but his mind seemed to wander aimlessly from point to point. He thought of the day’s events, of Nyota, of the captain glaring at him, bright eyes shining through a haze of smoke. The captain had looked quite angry, but his anger somehow seemed to make him appear more attractive. Now, that was illogical, Spock thought. Shouldn’t the goal of anger be to scare and intimidate the antagonist? Not to make them want to give you a hug. Spock imagined wrapping the angry captain in a big bear hug. He pictured the shock that would certainly appear on Kirk’s face, and smiled at the image. Wait, what? He sat up abruptly, walked quickly through the room that seemed to spin around him until he was in front of the mirror. He looked at himself. Indeed that did appear to be a smile on his face. How strange. He tried to un-smile, turning the corners of his mouth downward. He pushed out his bottom lip a little. Hmm. That looked like what Dr. McCoy always called a “pout” when the Captain did it. He inhaled through his nose and blew air into his cheeks, puffing them out. The sight was so strange that he let out a little laugh. He clapped a hand over his mouth. What was going on here? He decided the most logical course of action would be to attempt meditation again, to see if he could regain his focus and attempt to determine why he was acting so strangely. Yes, he would try the meditation again, this time in his meditation corner. After he just took a quick rest on the bed. After he lay down on the bed for a minute. After he took a little nap.

***

Spock approached Captain Kirk as he sat alone at a table in the mess hall.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Captain?”

“Sure, Spock,” Kirk sighed. He had kind of suspected he’d be facing an interrogation after Spock’s little visit the night before.

“Captain, after I left your room last night, I…began behaving strangely.”

“More strangely than usual?”

“Indeed. I…I exhibited a facial expression that-“

“Whoa, stop right there. You what?!”

“I…I smiled.”

Kirk stared at him, a grin playing about his lips.

"I believe I had a reaction to a smoky substance that I encountered -"

"SHH! Spock!" The captain somehow managed to yell at him while whispering. "Sit down."

"But I've already eat-"

"Spock. Sit. Down."

Spock sat down. Kirk looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Spock. Any chance you, uh, might want to try it again?"

"I am afraid I do not understand, Captain."

"I mean, do you want to try...having a reaction...to that smoky substance again?"

"I confess to being curious to see if it is possible to recreate the effects."

"Right. Okay. Come by my quarters tonight after your shift."

Spock nodded and moved to stand.

"Spock. Do not tell Dr. McCoy."

"Why would I...?"

"I have no idea. Just...don't."

"Very well."

***

"Computer, adjust Captain’s Quarters settings to the following: Fire Detection System off, Atmospheric Monitor off, lock door-“ he looked pointedly at Spock “-Captain’s override only.” The computer complied. “Oh, and lights at 60 percent.” The room dimmed. Spock watched the captain curiously as he grabbed an armful of pillows and stacked them against the side of the bed. “The key,” he said to Spock, as he grabbed a blanket and arranged it on the floor, “is to recreate the correct environment – specifically, my mom’s basement. Starfleet hasn’t really caught on to the importance of a comfy couch.” Kirk grabbed a few things out of the cabinet at his bedside and sat down against the edge of the bed, wiggling in amongst the pillows until he was comfortable. He looked at Spock expectantly and patted the blanket beside him. “Come on, Spock. What are you gonna do, smoke standing up with your hands behind your back?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but gently set himself down on the blanket next to Jim. He watched with interest as Jim produced a small pipe and as he proceeded to pack it with what appeared to be a leafy green substance.

"Captain, please enlighten me as to the type of substance we will be inhaling."

"It's a plant, Spock. It's called marijuana." He glanced nervously around and dropped his voice.
"Also known as pot. Also known as weed. Also known as illegal, banned from Starfleet, and really fucking bad news if anyone finds out I have this, so keep your trap shut, okay?"

"My trap?"

"Just, don't tell anyone, okay?" He looked at Spock. "Look, are you sure you want to do this? It's against regulations and everything. I thought you weren't really into that."

"You have given me to believe that there will be no negative consequences if no one else is made aware of this."

"Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."

He lit the pipe and inhaled deeply, his eyes widening as he held his breath. Spock observed him closely. Finally, Kirk exhaled, a cloud of smoke escaping his lungs, swirling around them both. "Breathe in, Spock." Spock quirked an eyebrow at him, but nonetheless took a measured breath, then released it. He looked curiously at the pipe in Kirk's hand. Kirk followed his eyes. "I don't think so, Spock. Not if you got high off walking into a cloud of smoke last night. Plus, we don't really know how a Vulcan will react to pot, so let's take it easy, see how you feel after a couple second-hand hits."

Spock felt great. He relaxed his stiff upright posture, letting his head fall back onto the arrangement of pillows that Jim had so considerately provided. Jim stared at him, a smile at the edge of his lips.

"Feels good, right?" he asked. "Feel like smiling yet?"

"Not yet," Spock responded seriously.

Jim took it as a challenge and lit up the pipe again, holding the flame over the bowl as he pulled smoke into his lungs, his cheeks turning pink with the effort. He pulled the pipe away and leaned into Spock's space, letting the smoke out slowly as Spock closed his eyes and inhaled. Jim stared at him, not moving back, waiting, until Spock could practically feel Jim's eyes boring into him.

Spock spoke without opening his eyes. "Captain, might I request that you please stop staring at my mouth."

Had he been doing that? Shit, yeah, he had, but only because he was watching for that smile. Jim sat back a little, but didn't really stop staring. He didn't want to miss it, after all. "Come on, Spock. Smile."

"Usually a smile is proceeded by something pleasing or humorous."

"What, being here with me isn't pleasing enough?"

Being here with the captain was, in fact, terrifying, if Spock were to admit it to himself which, strangely enough, he found that he did. He began to consider why exactly that would be, when Jim interrupted his thoughts with what sounded suspiciously like a quack. Jim was holding up a hand, his fingers together and his thumb pressed against them in what he supposed some Earth inhabitants might interpret to look like a duck. Jim moved his hand and talked out of the side of his mouth.

"Hi Spock, I'm a duck. Quack quack. Space Duck, boldly going where no ducks have gone before!" He wiggled his hand around and made more quacking sounds.

"I am sorry, Captain, but that is not the slightest bit amusing."

"Oh yeah? Then why do you have a huge grin plastered to your face right now?"

Spock was shocked to find that Kirk was right, that he was actually smiling, and apparently for no logical reason, either, if there ever were to be a logical reason for smiling.

Jim grinned back. He couldn’t believe Spock was sitting here in front of him, smiling (though he was not surprised that the duck thing had worked – Space Duck was always a winner). The possibilities presented by the combination of Spock and weed were so overwhelming that he almost didn’t know where to begin. He frowned at the pipe – only enough for one more hit. He wondered if Spock would ever be interested in trying this again, or if this would satiate his curiosity.

“Alright Spock, one more and then we’re done for the night.”

Spock let a look of disappointment cross his face. “Do you do this every night, Captain?”

Jim shook his head as he took the last hit, coughing toward the end, but still managing to blow a thin stream of smoke in Spock’s direction. “Call me Jim, Spock, Jesus,” he said, coughing. “And no, I don’t smoke every night. Just when the energy gets to me, ya know?” At Spock’s questioning look, he continued. “I have this energy, like this adrenaline, flowing through me all the time, which is awesome for, ya know, captaining and studying and hacking rigged computer simulations,” he said, winking, “but not great for sleeping. Sometimes I need to calm down and make my heart stop racing and my brain stop running a mile a minute.” He gestured toward the cabinet and the pipe and the pillows. “This helps.”

Spock was quiet for a moment, his face serious again. “I am sorry if I have interrupted your routine.”

“No, no, Spock, this is awesome, I mean, it’s crazy, I never in a million years would have imagined smoking pot with you, but it’s actually pretty nice to have someone to talk to. You’re a very calming presence, Spock. For the most part. Unless, you know, you’re strangling me.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth turned down.

“No, Spock, come on, don’t be sad, I’m over it, and anyway you know it was my fault. Shit man, come on, I like happy Spock!”

“I will endeavor to remain cheerful in your presence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jim looked carefully at Spock. “You okay to get home?”

“I believe I can return to my quarters without incident, if that is what you are asking.”

“Okay, great. Go get some sleep, Spock. It’s been fun.” He yawned and climbed onto bare mattress, snuggling into it like it was the softest thing in the world. “Night, Spocky,” he said sleepily. Spock shook his head, but didn’t say anything as he turned and headed out the door.

***

Two nights later, Jim was at his desk when the door chimed.

“Enter.”

Spock came in, standing stiffly as the door swished shut behind him.

“Spock, what’s up?”

Spock didn’t say anything, but a series of expressions seemed to pass behind his eyes as he thought about how to phrase his question.

Jim’s mouth quirked up in a smile, yet he still managed to look serious as he asked, “You want to smoke again, don’t you?” His voice had a mocking quality, but his eyes shone with sincerity.

Spock took a deep breath and nodded. “I…had considered it.”

“Yeah, well, you did more than consider it if you made it all the way to my quarters. What were you going to do, stand there staring at me for a minute and then leave?”

“I had considered it.”

Jim laughed and looked at the clock. “Alright, well, I’ve had about enough paperwork for the night anyway, so let’s do this.”

Spock exhaled, relaxing visibly.

“Wow, Spock, you’re really hard up for this, aren’t you? I don’t know, I don’t want to be responsible for getting you addicted or anything.”

“I was merely anticipating your response,” Spock said, and Jim thought he detected a little defensiveness in Spock’s tone. Spock remained standing as Jim prepped the room, but needed no further prodding to take a seat once Jim had flopped down on the makeshift couch, pipe in hand.
“Jim, may I ask you a question?”

Jim held up a hand. “One sec.” He held the flame over the packed weed and inhaled. When he breathed out a few seconds later, Spock was already leaning forward to catch the smoke with a deep breath. Jim couldn’t help but grin at his eagerness.

“Okay. You can ask me a question now.”

“Do the effects of marijuana on humans include a heightened sensitivity to touch?”

“That’s your question? I thought for sure you would have researched the shit out of pot over the last two days.”

“I thought it prudent to avoid using official Starfleet resources to ascertain the effects of illegal substances.”

“Yeah, alright, good point. Very…prudent of you. But anyway, in answer to your question, yeah, definitely. I once spent like twenty minutes rubbing a blanket against my face. And sex while high is amazing.” He hadn’t meant to go into that much detail, but Spock didn’t seem too shaken by the revelation. “Here, check it out.”

He took another hit of the weed, but didn’t hold it too long so he could blow a considerable cloud of smoke in Spock’s direction. Spock inhaled and already his mouth was turning up on one side, a lopsided half-smile that Jim found adorable.

“Okay, now close your eyes.” Spock complied, and Jim reached hesitantly toward him, then ran his index finger over the tip of Spock’s ear. Spock inhaled sharply, twitched, and made a breathy sound like “Ahh-ahh-ahhhh-ahhhhh” and pulled away. Jim dropped his hand and looked concerned. “Good ahh, or bad ahh?”

Spock was flushed, panting, and propping himself up with one arm to keep from slumping to the floor as the sensations traveled through his body like a shockwave, sweeping through his extremities, speeding his heart rate, and settling rather unexpectedly in his groin. He swallowed back a groan, tipped his head back, and ground out, “Good ahh.”

Jim smiled, relieved, and reached out for Spock’s ear again, but was stopped abruptly as Spock’s hand shot out to grip his wrist. “Jim, I think that’s enough. For now,” he felt compelled to add.

Jim frowned a little but backed off. “Okay. No more sensations. For now.”

***

Jim had debated all day whether or not he should do what he was about to do, and he continued to debate for another few minutes as he stood in the corridor staring at Spock’s door. He had just made up his mind when the door slid open and Uhura walked out. Jim backed away from the door and Uhura shot him an annoyed glare as she went past. He watched her for a second, then turned back to see Spock standing stiffly in the middle of the room. He entered, and waited for the door to close behind him. He felt out of place, nervous, as he looked at Spock, trying to decide what to say.
“Hey Spock. Sorry if I, um, interrupted something. I was just coming by to see if maybe you wanted… I mean, to let you know, that I was thinking about…”

“Yes.” Spock nodded curtly and walked past Jim toward the door. Jim felt his shoulders relax and he smiled and spun on his heel to follow Spock down the hall to the captain’s quarters.

They were three hits in and Spock hadn’t even cracked a smile yet. Jim was about to comment on it, when Spock suddenly looked at him and said “Jim, I have a confession.”

“A confession! Awesome! Confessions are, like, the best part of drugs!” He turned to face Spock, sitting cross-legged and looking entirely too eager for Spock’s liking.

Spock looked to the side, avoiding eye-contact. “I have been having… difficulty sleeping these past few nights.”

“That’s a boring confession, Spock,” Jim said warningly.

“My confession is that I have been hoping to engage in…” he nodded toward the pipe.

“Smoking pot?” Jim supplied helpfully.

“In smoking pot, again. Like you, I have found smoking pot to be helpful in calming my mind so that I may attain a restful sleep. In fact, I feel that it may the most effective remedy I have discovered thus far.”

“What, really? What about, like, meditating and stuff?”

“I have found meditation frustrating as of late. The effects of the marijuana serve to free my mind from the limitations that I normally impose upon it, but without the detrimental intensity of the emotional response that would normally accompany the lifting of those barriers. When I meditate, I seek to suppress those same emotions that I… enjoy indulging in here. Vulcan meditation requires that one focus on the desire to be free from emotion, but…”

“But if you don’t want to be free of it, you can’t convince your brain that you do?”

“Something like that, yes. During the day I am able to remain fully in control, and have had no difficulty relying on logic to guide my actions. But at night…”

“At night your wild side comes out?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you want it to.”

Spock paused. “I do not know.”

“Alright, well, try it! Come on… do something illogical!”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but shifted to his knees as though he were about to stand. Jim watched expectantly, wondering what Spock would do, figuring he would probably put his left shoe on his right foot, or something equally mundane. What he did not expect was for Spock to lean forward and press his lips against Jim’s in a hot, dry kiss that lasted for seconds, only, before Spock pulled back and Jim tried to remember how to breathe.

Jim felt the weed hit him and he thought Spock probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he laughed out loud right then, so instead he just stared at him for a moment while he tried to figure out what to say. He decided on the particularly eloquent, “Fuck, Spock,” followed by more staring.

Spock sat back, looking pleased with himself. When Jim finally regained his composure, he gave a short laugh and said, “We just won’t tell Uhura about that, then.”

Spock’s satisfied smirk disappeared and he looked away. “Lieutenant Uhura has requested that we discontinue our relationship.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Spock! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not wish to dwell upon it.”

“Is that what… oh God, Spock, is that what I walked in on tonight?”

“Our discussion had concluded, but yes.”

A flash of anger twisted Jim’s features. “What the hell is wrong with her?” he said, more to himself than Spock. To Spock, he said, “I thought she was really into you.”

“Apparently, the feelings that she had for me have shifted from a desire for intimacy and exclusivity to a preference for friendship and a professional working relationship.”

Jim leaned back against the pillows, still in shock. “I’m sorry, man.” He looked at Spock and said, earnestly, “I’m sorry.”

Spock shook his head and stood. “I believe I shall return to my quarters.”

Jim nodded absently, lost in thought, but when Spock reached the door he called, “Hey Spock!”

Spock turned to look at him. “Do you, uh, do you wanna do this again tomorrow night? I mean, so you don’t have to be alone?”

Spock seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. “That would be satisfactory.”

It wasn’t until long minutes after the door slid shut that Jim remembered to think about the kiss.

***

“Dude, dude, dude!” Jim was laying on his back amongst the pillows, laughing hysterically and trying to form sentences. He’d finished smoking twenty minutes ago but the effects were still going strong. “Dude, you know how sometimes…. on the Bridge…. Chekov, like, sits in his chair…” He interrupted his story with a fit of giggles, interspersed by attempts to catch his breath. “Ya know, he sits in his chair and, like, looks at Sulu and like sometimes… ha ha….sometimes, Sulu, like, looks back at him! Oh my god, oh my god,” and he laughed so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks.

Spock looked on, a smile on his face, amused at Jim’s antics (although not at the story, of which he’d already heard three different variations that evening). Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he should be concerned at how Jim would suddenly handle some sort of emergency that required him to act more like a captain and less like a drunk five-year old. He was grateful that the cottony effect that pot had on his mind prevented him from being more concerned, because that probably would have interrupted the pleasant stupor that he found himself in.

Jim rolled over onto his elbows and looked up at Spock, frowning. “Spocky,” he began seriously, “You’re not laughing.”

“You seem to be laughing enough for the two of us,” Spock intoned.

Jim grinned. “You’re funny, Spock. Tell me something funny.”

“I would prefer not to.”

In fact, they’d been doing this for five nights in a row, and Spock had exhausted his supply of funny stories, which was pretty sad given the fact that Jim found just about everything that came out of Spock’s mouth hilarious when he was high. The story about Vulcan bonding rituals had been particularly well received, and Spock’s recitation of the recipe for plomeek soup had had Jim rolling around on the floor in hysterics for a good ten minutes.

“Fine,” Jim said, pouting. “I have a better idea anyway.” He scrambled to his knees and scooted closer. “Hey, Spock. Do something illogical.” He closed his eyes and pursed his lips a little bit, leaning forward. When no kiss was forthcoming he cracked one eye open. Spock was staring at him with an eyebrow raised. “Come on, Spock!”

“Jim, I merely kissed you in an attempt to determine to what extent the marijuana would allow me to overcome the boundaries of logic. That experiment has been successfully concluded. I have no further interest in kissing you.”

Jim squinted at him suspiciously. “I thought Vulcans didn’t lie.”

“We do not.”

“Damn,” Jim said, flopping back against the side of the bed. “Jim Kirk charm failure. That hurts.” He turned toward Spock with a mischievous look on his face and raised his hand, extending a finger to brush lightly against the tip of Spock’s ear. Caught off-guard, Spock’s uncontrolled reaction was to tilt his head back and moan, a surprisingly sexual sound that had Jim instantly hard. Spock twitched away from Jim’s hand, biting his lip as though he couldn’t quite believe he was capable of making such a sound. Jim followed Spock’s retreat with his hand, running the back of his knuckles lightly down Spock’s cheek and along his jaw. “You like how that feels, Spock. Bet you’ll like how a kiss feels even more.” Spock stilled, and Jim took the opportunity to grip his chin lightly, turning him until they were face to face. Spock didn’t resist, letting Jim pull him close, until their lips met. At the touch of Spock’s lips, Jim felt his world collapse in on itself, until all that remained was the heat of their open mouths, their tongues touching, tentatively at first, then sliding together, hard and eager. Jim’s cupped Spock’s cheek in his palm, holding him steady so he could press his tongue in farther, every sensation heightened, the rough texture of Spock’s tongue against his, the softness of his lips, the taste of smoke. All Jim could think about was exploring Spock’s mouth, about the press of their tongues, half battle and half dance, slow and lazy and intense. He felt like he was falling and he pulled away, tipping his head back to catch his breath, his mouth open, cheeks flushed. Spock observed him, something pulling at the back of his mind, and remembered that he had seen Jim Kirk like this one time before, his back pressed against a console on the Bridge, only then there had been defiance in his eyes and not the mixture of sweet mischief and surprise that he saw there now. Spock’s whole body tingled pleasantly and he felt himself smile in response. Jim echoed his smile, slowly, still breathing hard. “Fuck, Spock.” He lay back on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. “Fuck. I love weed.”

Spock was inclined to agree. He really didn’t want to move, opting to sit as still as possible and let the lingering sensations of the kiss wash over him, the taste of Jim still in his mouth, the feel of Jim’s hand on his cheek, all of it magnified by the effects of the drug. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before he realized that Jim had fallen asleep. He let his eyes wander over Jim’s body, watching the rise and fall of his chest, examining the lines of his muscles under his t-shirt, then flicking up to look at his full lips and the curve of his jaw. Spock tore his gaze away and stood to leave, pausing, then kneeling down to pull a blanket up over Jim’s figure before he headed out the door.

***

Spock paced in his quarters, his eyes darting to the clock, the bed, the door. He was having trouble making a decision, and logic wasn’t helping him at all. As of this morning, he had been determined that he would not go to Jim’s quarters tonight. After all, they’d been smoking together every night for almost a week now, and perhaps he should attempt to pursue other leisure activities. The past two nights he hadn’t even waited for Jim’s invitation, had just shown up, and though Jim had seemed happy to see him, had everything already set up, still he couldn’t help but think that he might be intruding on the captain’s personal time. At dinner time, he had still been determined not to go, and as he sat alone in the mess hall finishing his meal he had steadfastly reminded himself of the reasons why, and they had sounded convincing. But back in his quarters he was hit by the overwhelming desire not to be alone, the fear of a sleepless night, or of sleep disturbed by the dreams that had been pushed away by smoke and Jim. And then there was that kiss, that kiss, that tingling sensation, like nothing Spock had ever felt before, and to be honest, he kind of wanted to try it again. He stopped to lean against his desk, staring at the clock, pressing his palms onto the desktop in frustration. Then the comm beeped and he heard Jim’s voice saying “What the hell, Spock, are you coming over or what?” He was halfway down the hall when he realized he hadn’t even answered the captain, then he was at Jim’s door and Jim was opening it and saying “Wow, that was fast.”

Spock nodded and pushed past him, taking a seat against the pillows, his back straight but his forearms resting on his knees. It was strange. Jim had been observing Spock on the Bridge, and during the day he was as inscrutable as ever, his eyes, his face never betraying an emotion. At night, after a couple hits of weed, Spock was an open book, smiling, frowning, pouting, biting his lip with impatience or nervousness. But what Jim found most intriguing was the in-between time, before he lit up the pipe, when Spock’s control started to slip – or he started to let it slip, and Jim could discern through slight twitches of his hands and at the corner of his eyes how he was feeling – eager, antsy, frustrated. Like right now, he could practically see Spock’s impatience, imagining that if he were fully human, he’d be shaking his leg and giving Jim a look that said “well, get on with it!” Jim smiled and moved quickly to sit down next to Spock and grab the pipe and lighter. He took a hit, then turned to Spock, moved so close that Spock thought maybe he was going to kiss him again, and a jolt of electricity shot down his spine, but then Jim stopped an inch away from his lips and exhaled. Spock breathed in slowly, sucking in the smoke as it poured from between Jim’s lips, so close that only the smallest wisp escaped from between them. Spock held his breath for a moment, then breathed out, tipped his head back, and smiled. “That was quick,” Jim observed. He leaned back and they sat quietly as Jim took a few more pulls from the pipe, blowing the smoke lazily in Spock’s general direction. He set the pipe down and bit his lip, looking at Spock. Funny stories didn’t seem so appealing tonight, but the sight of Spock’s pale skin, his neck, his hands, seemed to call to him, begging to be touched. He took hold of one of Spock’s hands, turned so Spock’s palm was facing up, and ran a finger from the tip of Spock’s middle finger, down over his palm and over his wrist. Spock’s breath hitched and he shuddered slightly. It would have been bad enough to have Jim touch his hand like this on the Bridge (an image which in itself sent strange sensations traveling through Spock’s chest and stomach) but the effect of the weed increased the sensitivity of his already sensitive fingers tenfold, and it was all he could do to keep from crying out.

Then Jim pulled his hand away and Spock opened his eyes to see Jim looking at him seriously. “Take your shirt off.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on, Spock, take your shirt off.”

“I do not think that would be appropriate.”

“Spock. You’re doing illegal drugs in the captain’s quarters and the other night, we made out. I think we’re well into inappropriate territory already.”

Spock wasn’t sure if Jim’s logic was truly sound, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt and pulled his shirt off, revealing his pale, muscular torso. Jim stood up and gestured to the bed. “Lie down. On your stomach.”

“Why, Jim?”

“You’ll see, come on, trust me!”

Spock looked dubious (an expression that didn’t change much with the weed, to be honest), but did as Jim said, stretching his long frame across the bed. Jim stared for a moment, then shook his head and remembered what he was doing. He reached into the drawer of the bedside cabinet and pulled out a vial of oil, then climbed onto the bed and positioned himself with his legs on either side of Spock’s hips, straddling him.

“Jim…”

“Shhh…wait.”

He opened the vial of oil and the smell of peppermint wafted out. He held the vial over the center of Spock’s back and poured a few drops of oil onto the smooth skin. Spock hadn’t known what to expect and the cool feeling of the oil on his skin came as a shock, a good shock, the sensations of cool air and slick liquid mixing on his skin and setting his nerves ablaze. Jim touched a finger gently to Spock’s back, ran it through the oil and traced a line down Spock’s spine, from his neck to just above his waistband. Spock squirmed underneath him, panting, reveling in the touch. Jim poured a few more drops of oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together. He placed his hands on Spock’s shoulders and squeezed. “This is called a back massage, Spock. When you’re sober, a backrub feels great. When you’re high, it feels like the most amazing thing you could ever imagine.”

Jim slid his hands down Spock’s back, pressing his fingers into muscle, kneading, massaging his way down. Spock was losing all sense of coherent thought, trying to understand what he was feeling, to which his mind provided confusing images and metaphors, like melting and molded clay and what he thought might be angels singing. His eyes were closed and he could feel his breaths deepening, his muscles relaxing, and he could think of nothing else besides Jim’s hands on his back, across his shoulder blades, sliding down his sides and along the top of his waistband. Spock wondered what it would feel like to have Jim’s hands move lower and he pressed up against Jim, a question that Jim answered with a laugh and a “like that, do you?” but nothing more. His hands slowed and he pushed them once more up Spock’s back and over his shoulders, then climbed off Spock to lie next to him.

“So…what did you think?”

Spock looked at him, breathing hard. “Jim. What have you done to me?”

“What do you mean? I just gave you the best backrub of your life!”

“I find myself unable to move.” He attempted to lift an arm, but could only get about two inches up before he had to set it back down again.

Jim grinned. “That’s because you’re floppy.”

“I am what?”

“You’re floppy. It’ s what happens after you get a backrub. You feel all floppy and you don’t wanna move. Does that sound accurate?”

Spock nodded his head against the pillow and they lay in silence for a moment.

“I would like to try giving you a backrub, Jim.”

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t stop you.”

“However, I feel that I may be unable to do so at this time.”

“That’s okay, Spock. I have a feeling I may see you back here tomorrow night.”

Spock sighed, thinking about his earlier conviction not to come. “I have a feeling you are correct.”

***

Jim swaggered into sickbay and hopped onto a biobed. He spread his arms out. “Okay, I’m ready!”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Jim, it’s not really time for your quarterly physical.”

“What? Really?”

“Really. I just said that to get you in here. DON’T even think about it,” he said, grabbing hold of Jim’s arm as he slid off the bed and headed for the door.

“Look, Jim,” Bones started in a low voice. “What is going on with you?”

Jim cocked an eyebrow at him. “Um…nothing?”

“Don’t lie to me, Jim. I’m looking at your eyes right now and they’re all bloodshot. And yesterday, you wore sunglasses to the Bridge.”

“Hey man, I looked cool!”

“Yeah, whatever. So just tell me what’s going on, okay? Are you sick? Are you stressed, having trouble sleeping? Just tell me Jim."

Jim bit his lip and glanced around sickbay. The fact was, he was kinda dying to tell someone about the “new Spock” that he’d been hanging out with on a nightly basis. He grabbed Bones by the arm and dragged him into the medical office, closing the door behind them. He leaned against the desk. “Okay, look, you have to swear not to say anything. And not to do anything.”

“Okay.”

“Swear.”

Bones really didn’t want to swear to those particular conditions when it came to Jim. But, he was also really curious. “Okay, I swear.”

“I may have picked up a little weed last time we were on Earth.”

“You may have… a little …WHAT? James Tiberius Kirk, are you out of your mind?! Do you know how many laws you're breaking? Do you know how much trouble you could get into?!”

“Bones, chill the fuck out, okay?” Jim said, his palms out in front of him in a calming gesture. “Whoa, Bones, seriously, your eyes are about to pop out of your head or something. Deep breaths. Need me to get a hypospray?”

Bones closed his eyes and put a hand on the wall, breathing deeply. Then he glared at Jim. “Jesus, Jim, what if…what if Spock finds out!”

Jim grinned. “See, that’s the thing Bones. Spock did find out.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jim shook his head, still smiling. “Yeah, but listen to this. Not only did Spock find out…but Spock’s been smoking with me, like, every night for the past two weeks.”

Bones opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out, partly because he was trying to decide which to freak out about first, the fact that Spock had been smoking at all or the fact that the Captain of Starfleet’s flagship vessel had been getting high every single off-shift for the past two weeks. Or the fact that this activity had somehow escaped his considerable Chief Medical Officer observation skills. Eventually he just settled on breathing out a very weak, “What the fuck?”

“Bones.” Jim reached out and pulled him close, even though there was no way they could be overheard. “You can’t even imagine what it’s like to see Spock get high. He smiles.”

Bones pursed his lips together. He too looked around the room before stepping back and crossing his arms. “Alright. I want in.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t keep this kind of entertainment to yourself, Jim. Invite me over. Tonight.”

“Bones…you’re a doctor.”

“So? You’re a fucking Captain! Anyway, I won’t actually smoke. I just want to observe.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not completely kosher, Bones,” Jim said. “But okay, you can come over. My quarters tonight at 2230. Wait, make that 2300. That way I can get Spock loosened up a little bit so he doesn't, say, flip a shit when you come over.”

“2300? Jesus, Jim, do you ever sleep?”

“Not recently,” Jim said as he headed out the door. He turned at the last minute to add, “But trust me. It’s so worth it.”

***

The door buzzed promptly at 2300. “Computer, unlock door. Kirk authorization.” The door slid open and Bones walked in. Spock stiffened beside Jim. “It’s okay, Spock. I invited him.”

“Hey Spock! What’s up?” said Bones, talking as though Spock were a child, and possibly a slow child at that. Spock looked at him for a moment, then turned to Jim.

“Why?”

“I just thought, you know, he could hang out with us one night. It’s fine, he’s totally chill about the pot – right Bones?”

“Sure,” Bones said, taking a seat on the floor facing them. He stared intently at Spock for a moment.

“Captain,” Spock said out of the corner of his mouth. “Why is the doctor staring at me?”

“I may have…told him…about, you know…how you smile sometimes.”

“Jim, I am not here for Dr. McCoy’s entertainment!”

“I know, I know, Spock, look, relax okay?” He slid an arm up Spock’s back and massaged Spock’s neck lightly. Bones turned his stare toward Jim, an eyebrow raised. “Spock.” Now Jim was leaning toward Spock, his lips almost brushing Spock’s ear. “Hey. Would it make you feel better if Bones smoked?”

Spock had actually been pouting a little, but now his face took on a satisfied look. He nodded. “That would be acceptable.”

“You heard the man, Bones,” Jim said, handing the pipe to him. “Smoke up.”

Bones rolled his eyes and looked suspiciously at the pipe for a long moment, before finally raising it to his lips and inhaling deeply. He held it in for a long moment, until his face started turning a bit purple, then finally breathed out, a cloud of smoke enveloping the three of them.

Jim whistled appreciatively. “Geez, Bones, you don’t mess around, do you?” Bones took another hit right away, shaking his head in response.

"Do you know what this is doing to our lungs, Jim?" he wheezed, exhaling.

"Terrible things, I'm sure. Still," he said, taking the pipe from Bones and inhaling deeply, "you gotta admit, it does wonders for the pain," he finished, smoke seeping out among his words and drifting toward Spock.

"What pain?" Bones asked. Jim leaned over and punched him in the arm.

"That pain."

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a punching bag."

"Not a stoner either, I thought, but apparently I was wrong there."

Bones leapt forward and tackled Jim, who fell over into Spock's lap, laughing. The three of them thrashed around for a minute, before Bones disentangled himself and sat up, leaving Jim lolling in Spock's lap like a cat.

Jim reached a hand up to the corner of Spock’s mouth and gave it a little push. Spock pulled Jim’s hand away and smiled down at him, then looked at Bones and pointed out his smile to make sure the doctor would notice it. Bones’ mouth dropped open in shock.

“Oh my God, Spock, you almost look…normal.”

Jim grinned at him. “You’re the best, Spocky.”

"Spocky?" asked Bones, his look of surprise morphing into an idiotic grin.

"He lets me call him that sometimes," Jim said. He sat up and leaned forward, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone."

Bones started laughing, and found it really hard to stop, especially once he started thinking about Jim and Spock doing this every single night. What the hell did they even do? Bones thought it would take more than just the occasional Vulcan smile to keep Jim Kirk entertained for two weeks straight.
“So, what, you guys really just sit in here smoking every night? Doesn’t that get boring?” he asked.

“Boring, no way!” Jim said enthusiastically. His head was back in Spock’s lap and he flailed his hands around as he recounted their various activities. “Sometimes Space Duck comes to visit,” he said, making his hand into a duck and quacking in Bones’ direction. “Sometimes Spock tells funny stories. Spock, you have to tell him the one about the plomeek soup, that one is hilarious!” Spock rolled his eyes and shook his head McCoy. Jim didn’t notice. “Oh, and then there’s this,” Jim said, sitting up and reaching a finger out to touch the tip of Spock’s ear. Spock was prepared for it this time, but that didn’t mean he didn’t shiver and whimper a little in response. “Just imagine the sensations, Bones. Vulcan sensitivity, magnified by pot. Must feel fucking awesome. C’mere, try it.”
Bones scooted forward and reached to touch Spock’s ear. Spock twitched out from under his touch with a girlish shriek. Bones laughed, and kept laughing as Jim put a finger in his mouth, then ran the spit moistened tip around the shell of Spock’s ear. He laughed even harder as he watched Jim run his finger along Spock’s eyebrow, then down his nose and across his lips. He laughed as Spock opened his lips to take Jim’s finger into his mouth, at the glimpse of Spock’s tongue, at the way Spock wrapped a hand in Jim’ s hair to pull him closer. Every time Bones thought to stop laughing, he would picture Jim and Spock acting like this on the Bridge, or during some diplomatic dinner function, and it would send him into even greater hysterics, until Bones was literally rolling on the floor in tears. He continued laughing, even as Jim replaced his finger with his tongue, plunging it into Spock’s open mouth with a small moan.

"You guys, stop it, stop it, you're killing me here," Bones wheezed, his laughter trailing off to a nervous giggle.

They didn't stop, and in fact Jim put a hand behind Spock's neck and pulled him in, deepening the kiss.

Bones sat up. Suddenly, things had gotten a lot less funny. "Um, hello? I'm still here."

Jim waved a hand lazily at him, lips and tongue still very much occupied with Spock's mouth.
Bones' stare had turned into a deep scowl. He stood up a bit woozily. "Whatever," he said petulantly. "I don't need you guys anyway! I can do whatever I want," he said, walking directly into the wall next to the door. "Ow." He put a hand on his head. "Door, open. Computer, door. Open, computer." Nothing happened. He stared dully at it. "Hellooooo....doooooor?" He felt dangerously close to laughing again. "Uh, Jim?" he asked, not turning around. He really didn't want to turn around.

He heard a small moan behind him as Jim pulled away from Spock. "Computer," Jim panted. "Let Bones out."

"That command is not recognized," the computer replied.

"Unlock door. Kirk override." The door slid open, and Bones exited in a haze of smoke.


Continue to Part 2