FANDOM: Star Trek - the oooooooold series

TITLE: Cleanliness is next to godliness

AUTHORS: Mick'n'Star

micknstar@yahoo.com

RATING: PG 13

PAIRING: Spock/Kirk

ARCHIVE: Ask us first, please.

NOTE: This is for Farfalla, maestro and storyteller extraordinaire whom we admire a lot.


CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS
by Mick'n'Star

Spock was early for his game of chess with his Captain. It irked him a bit not to be perfectly punctual, but his logical brain told him that to wait outside Kirk's quarters was as silly as it was time wasting so he knocked discreetly and went in.

No trace of Kirk.

"Unusual." The half-Vulcan murmured. It was not like Kirk to wander around his ship like Harun al Rashid in an incognito jaunt through his city. A systematical search of the premises should furnish some clues as to his whereabouts.

Spock had not gone three steps into the room when he heard it.

"Ah." He said "Perfectly logical. The Captain is taking a shower prior to our engagement in stylised warfare."

Mixed with the water's roar came the sound of Kirk's uncertain voice singing, or better aiming at notes in a ballistic hopeful way, a song extolling some beauty or other.

Impelled by his unquenchable curiosity, Spock went to the shower cubicle to try and decipher the words.

The door was open offering to the unexpected visitor the unimpeded view of an oblivious and self-absorbed Starfleet Captain in glorious full frontal nudity, head high, eyes closed and open mouth gargling and bellowing about a woman named Jeannie who was apparently famous for her copious hair.

Spock's jaw dropped.

His learned social behaviour told him he was intruding and should retire gracefully.

His scientific Vulcan mind jumped in glee at the chance to study a human intent in a cleansing ritual.

For a second he dithered and science won.

"Interesting." Spock said, but for some reason or other he didn't say it loud enough to be heard.

Kirk's body was not perfect, the half breed could clearly see that. The shoulders were good enough, well defined and manly. So were the arms, well muscled and nicely proportioned to the body. Good pectorals, the Captain clearly exercised in the starship's gym.

But he had a bit of a potbelly.

Clearly the Captain didn't exercise enough or ate too heartily.

Elegant legs, good long muscles strong and well defined, curiously dainty feet.

Spock couldn't tear his eyes away from the little potbelly. It was not flabby at all, but it shouldn't be there. Its presence irritated his Vulcan sense of propriety: it was somehow too human, too imprecise, too… too haphazard, sloppy, clumsy…

It was very un-Kirk.

Or was it?

Spock discovered that its gentle curve with its narrow line of hair pulled his eyes irresistibly down to the Captain's slightly engorged and triumphantly swinging sex.

Could that be its function?

Nothing James T. Kirk did was haphazard, when one analysed it in depth. Nothing James T. Kirk ever did was sloppy or meaningless.

Spock pondered the potbelly's function in the highly functional body of his Captain.

Suddenly he realised his eyes hadn't left the impertinently waggling sex to the point of following every swing and dip. With a slight sense of shock he realised he had unconsciously stepped nearer to the shower and that his slightly curved hands were coming forward of their own volition with the apparent intention of grabbing the offending member.

Spock's eyes opened wide in realisation. That was the function of the potbelly then! O wily Kirk!

His eyes never leaving their target, like those of a rabbit charmed by a snake, the half-Vulcan went nearer and nearer his warbling Captain.

"Fascinating." Spock said.

Kirk's eyes slammed open.


THE END