Disclaimer:  Star Trek is the property of Paramount/Viacom.  This story is copyright (c) 2006 by Mistress V.  Rated PG. 


Date Night

Mistress V


James Kirk was never so glad to see his shift end.  It had been a tedious day between planetary visits, filled with reports to be written, crewmen to discipline (Lt. Riley's latest festive event, the Midwinter Blues party, which had apparently involved minimal tropical attire and maximum-strength tropical drinks, had once again escalated into several altercations...that boy would need some dressing down, he decided) and communiqués to catch up on.

As he headed towards his cabin, he absently rubbed his amazingly knotted neck, wondering if a workout might be the answer.  Maybe Spock...

He thought again.  Spock probably had "other plans" this evening.  He had left the bridge in a hurry, even before Kirk could ask him if he was up for a visit to the gym.  It was likely Spock's workout this evening was decidedly more pleasant than the one he had planned, Kirk thought with a smile.  His First Officer and the ACMO had just recently told him they were, to use the polite old Terran phrase, "seeing each other."  Oh well, good for them.  Kirk decided a sauna and a massage at the ship's spa would do the trick on his aching muscles and stopped only long enough to change and pick up his gym bag.

Spock, meanwhile, was putting the finishing touches on the evening's entertainment.  He surveyed his cabin.  Candle (a new fragrance, one called "Desert Rain, which seemed a logical choice, as desert thunderstorms did produce amazing scents and sights), sparkling Terran apple cider (something he and Christine both liked very much), chocolate macaroons (they also shared a love for chocolate and coconut), sofa comfortably covered with a soft throw blanket his mother had sent over after he returned to the ship (she was still afraid the artificial environment would chill him too much) and a holovid to watch.  The corners of his mouth twitched in the smile he was learning to use as he looked at the title.  Christine surely would not think it was his idea of a joke ... and then he would surprise her by saying yes, it was!

They were still in the newness of their relationship.  Christine returned to her cabin in the mornings if she stayed with him, as she still had her things there (although he was hoping she would consider moving in with him, as much could be allowed, but he knew it was still early days to ask such a thing).  She had left that day before he'd had a chance to ask her if she wanted to watch a vid with him that night, since both had the next 2 days off, so he'd gone over to ask her himself.  He still was a little embarrassed to be seen on her corridor, but he soon realized that the gossip had died down and new topics of conversation had been discovered.  Still, to maintain decorum, he usually wore his regulation sweats on the premise he was going to pick her up for one of their walks (or, more recently, rollerblading) in the arboretum.

He had her permission to override the lock and enter anytime, but he always tried to see if he could hear anything amiss before he did so.  This morning, it had been almost impossible, as a sensual, throbbing Terran rock song was playing.  He opened her door and stepped in.  Christine's back was to him and she was dancing along to the music as she pulled her hair into a ponytail for work.  Spock listened to the words.  He had long since given up trying to understand often-illogical Terran lyrics, having decided that if the words and music sounded good together, that was good enough.  Christine had been amazed he danced -- and so well.  Spock made a mental note to thank his mother for forcing dance lessons on him years ago, her rationalization being that a future diplomat must be able to carry himself in all social situations.

The music's web drew him in.  He crossed the quarters in a quick two strides and put his arms around her.  She acknowledged his presence and moved into his embrace as the music played on.

"Riders on the storm ... riders on the storm....  Into this house were born, into this world were thrown.  Like a dog without a bone and an actor out on loan.  Riders on the storm..."

They melded together as the song continued its seemingly inane lyrics.  Spock did not even allow himself to listen to their illogic.  He merely turned Christine in his arms and swayed along with her to the beat.  It was, he decided, the logical thing to do.

When Jim Morrison's mystical voice faded away at last, he kissed her.  "What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.

"I was thinking a holovid evening in my quarters might be a nice start to the weekend?" he replied, with a gentle thrust of his arousal against her, a promise of things to come."

"That sounds ... delightful."

"Any particular preference on a vid?" he asked.

She handed him a holobook.  "Pick something from this, it should keep us amused."  And it was a date.

Spock had done his homework.  Her choices had surprised him, but he decided that two could play this game, and chose an appropriate title.  After all, it was clear she liked BAD FILMS.

The door chime sounded.  It was time.  "Come in," Spock said, as calmly as he could.

She entered his quarters then stopped short.  Her eyes raked his form from top to bottom, taking in the bare feet, tight, well-fitting faded jeans and soft woolen sweater.  Her breath made a sharp noise in her throat, but she was smiling.  He moved to embrace her.

"What is wrong?" he asked softly.

She looked up at him with a sly smile.  "Absolutely nothing.  I just never realized a Vulcan could look so sexy."

His eyes held mirth as he replied.  "There is much about me you do not know, T'hyla.  Shall we begin to find out more about each other?"  And then he kissed her, just enough, to remind her that dessert was a part of the evening's plans.

"So, what's on the big screen this evening?" she asked.

He handed her the holovid.  She read the title, her eyes wide, and turned to him.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" she asked after some moments had passed.

"Yes," he replied.  "It is."

"Th-this is 'I Married a Monster from Outer Space'!!!" she gasped.

"I am well aware of the title, Christine.  You gave me a list of vids to choose from.  This seemed to be the most amusing.  Do you not agree?" His eyebrow quirked upward as he stood there regarding her bemusement.

She began to read from the cover.  "Aliens come to Terra to mate with the women in a fiendish plot!"  Her voice stuttered.  "Is this what you think of me?" she asked.

"I could ask the same, beloved.  Is this what you think of me?  Surely you have seen this film before, it is deemed to be one of the worst examples of science fiction of the 20th century?"

His reply caught her off guard.  "Well, I did see it at the Academy, with my roommate Katya, and T'eloa.  It was a scream, I'll give it that much credit."

Spock's eyes grew suddenly cold.  "T'eloa?  That is an Andorian name is it not?"

"Y-yess, he was one of my classmates."

Then he lunged toward her and caught her in his arms, a laugh starting to chuckle out of his throat.  "So," he asked, "you make it a practice of viewing such a potentially questionable marriage proposal film with other species?  How many others have seen it with you?"

"No! Spock, it was..." and then she realized he was ... teasing her!

Her mouth opened and then closed in amazement.  Spock's eyes regarded her with downright humor.  "Are you in need of oxygen, Doctor?" he asked innocently.

She had no idea how she knew what to do next, but she started tickling his ribs.  Spock's face dissolved into ... laughter!

"No fair!  You have not answered my question!" he laughed as he tickled her right back.

They collapsed onto the sofa and continued their humorous foreplay.  Eventually they fell onto the floor, the unwatched holovid still on the table.  The lamp fell over with a crash, but neither one noticed as their tickles lapsed into kisses, then returned to giggling conversation every now and then.

Next door, Kirk, just returned from the spa and in need of sleep, heard an odd, twisting thump from the cabin next door.  Concerned, he walked into the bathroom and rang the chime to Spock's quarters, then entered.

"Spock?" he began, I was--"

Then his eyes beheld the scene before him.  His first officer, the most Vulcan of Vulcans (at least until recently, it seemed) had the ACMO pinned beneath him, tickling her mercilessly.  "SO," he was saying as he -- laughed? -- "you make it a practice to view bad cinema in your cabin, alone, with all races of the galaxy?  That is, as you say, history.  I am the last one you will view such films with on an in--"  His voice faltered, then stopped, as his focus took in the Captain standing there.  Christine, beneath him, just froze.


"I was just leaving, Spock, Chris.  Sorry to have bothered you ... it won't happen again..." and he disappeared into his cabin.  And left immediately.

The lovers looked at each other, amazed.  Christine spoke first.  "Now what?" she asked.

"We watch the extremely bad vid," Spock answered logically as he picked her up and carried her back to the sofa, "and 'neck' as the old Terran term is called, I believe, while we laugh at the bad plot renderings, and then ... I take you to bed and make you scream."

For once, Christine Chapel was speechless.

McCoy glanced at the chronometer, then went to his door, wondering what the emergency was.

The door slid back to reveal Jim Kirk, a stunned expression on his face.

"Let me guess," McCoy said.  "It's that Vulcan."

Kirk nodded.  "And your ACMO."

McCoy held up his hand.  "Say no more, Jim.  The bar is open."