Jul 162009
 

Title: Drunken Lullabies
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters: Spock, Scotty, Chekov, McCoy, Uhura, Kirk
Rating: G-
Warnings: drunk!Spock
Notes: I’m so sorry that Scotty sounds Irish through this whole thing, but I can’t write Scots worth a sprightly damn. *looks sheepish* *avoids jokes involving sheep and Scotsmen* Also, the Black Forest, if you’re not familiar with it, is a drink involving cherry brandy, vodka, and chocolate syrup. It’s really chocolatey. The songs are Drunken Lullabies by Flogging Molly and Irish Whiskey by Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. I am also insanely pleased with the idea of Spock as a drunken sentimental mess.


For this prompt, at the kinkmeme:

Scotty should get drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough to grab his First Officer and start twirling him around in a weird half-drunken mix of tango and scottish dance.

Cue horrified/confused Spock. Cue camera phones (if they still have those) filming the entire scene.


Scotty should get drunk. Very drunk. Drunk enough to grab his First Officer and start twirling him around in a weird half-drunken mix of tango and scottish dance.

Cue horrified/confused Spock. Cue camera phones (if they still have those) filming the entire scene.

By the time Spock entered the celebration in the mess hall, Scotty’s choice in music had gone from Scots to Irish, but Spock was wise enough to know it wouldn’t matter if the music were Romulan, if you could dance a drunken reel to it. In the centre of the floor, Mr. Scott danced with Ensign Chekov, the two swinging each other in drunken circles, through a variety of hand holding and arm linking. Spock raised an eyebrow at Dr. McCoy, who stood on the opposite side of the floor and received a terrorised grimace, in reply. Clearly, Mr. Scott’s birthday had gotten out of hand hours ago, and Bones had yet to conceive of a way to sneak out.

As the song came to an end, Scotty nodded at Chekov, spinning him off into Bones, and grabbing at where he expected to find a bottle of whiskey, but finding Spock’s arm, instead. Across the room, Chekov had grabbed Bones, and was attempting to show him the dance, as the next song started up. The skinny Russian seemed to be doing all the work, swooping, twirling, and dragging McCoy in circles. Spock just stared down at the Scottish engineer, currently clutching his upper arm.

"A fine time to join us, Mr. Spock!" Scotty assured him, pulling Spock toward the open expanse of floor. "Take yer shot with me, here!"

"I do not dance, Mr. Scott, but thank you for the offer." Spock stiffened, one eyebrow arcing far beyond its usual bounds.

"He isn’t dronk enough, Scotty!" Chekov called, from where he was enjoying himself, much to McCoy’s lasting dismay. "And Wolcans don’t drink wodkeh!"

"Well, how do we get him right an’ pissed then? I’m after having a spin with our First Mate!" Scotty looked offended at the idea that honest whiskey, or even vodka, would be insufficient for anyone.

"If I tell you, will you let me sit down?" Bones complained.

"Maybe," Chekov teased. "You are getting very much better at this, Doctor!"

"I’m getting very much nauseated, Ensign," Bones grumbled. "Sorry, Spock, I’m selling you out. Black Forests. Ten minutes, tops. Can I go, now?"

As Chekov continued to pester the doctor, Scotty ordered a Black Forest from the replicator. Since the alcohol wouldn’t be the active agent, subbing synthohol wouldn’t hurt it too badly. In the back of the room, money changed hands as the captain placed a bet with his communications officer and two Orions.

"Your intention is to get me intoxicated, is it not?" Spock asked, warily, as Scotty presented him with a glass filled with brown liquid.

"Of course it is! Just need to loosen you up a bit, and you’ll be the life of the party, you will!" Scotty pressed the glass into Spock’s hand, and with another raised eyebrow, Spock took it.

The liquid — the Black Forest, they’d called it — didn’t smell bad, Spock reflected, sniffing the glass. In fact, it smelled faintly chocolatey, and that smelled rather good. He considered that the captain had wanted him to participate in more activities, with the crew — to prove he wasn’t a ‘cold fish’. Protesting that Vulcans were more closely related to cats than fish, and were unquestionably warm-blooded, had had no effect, not that he’d really expected it to, so, here he was, at Scotty’s birthday party, with a glass of chocolate something in his hand. With a sigh, he raised the glass in a small toast to Scotty, and downed the contents.

Sure enough, within ten minutes and three songs, Spock was starting to relax to the point that he was tapping his foot to the music, as Scotty swung the captain around the room, and Chekov got passed back and forth between the two Orion girls the captain had been betting with. Uhura, he noticed, was pretending to be invisible, behind a console. He was entirely uncertain what on earth she was fiddling with at a time like this, but she definitely looked busy. No matter, he’d ask later.

A very 20th century song cued up, and Spock found himself swung out onto the floor before he could protest. The empty glass from his third Black Forest slipped from his fingers, exploding across the floor as he realised that he no longer had the balance to resist Scotty’s desire to dance with him. And however drunk Mr. Scott was, his control was perfect, leaving Spock with a split second fear of falling each time he switched directions, but never actually allowing him to even wobble.

Spock began to understand why Bones had begun to feel ill, a few minutes into the dance, but determined to prove once and for all that he was just as much a part of this crew as the captain and the chief engineer, he caught his footing and tried to follow Scotty’s steps, somewhat clumsily. As their timing got better, Scotty began to sing along with the song, nodding at Spock to try the chorus with him. Mr. Scott winked at Uhura as he swung past, and she nodded, looping the song, although Spock didn’t realise it, at first.

Slowly, but surely, Spock got better at the dance, and tried to put his mind to singing along, with Scotty, as he stomped and reeled across the floor with the engineer. "And we find ourselves in the same old mess, singing drunken lullabies," they sang, careening into the edges of the crowd as they both got dizzier, and Spock’s metabolism continued to process the chocolate, intoxicating him further, though he’d stopped drinking.

At some point, the song changed, finally. Spock wasn’t wholly sure when, or whether that was Chekov he was dancing with, or if Chekov came later, and that was Kirk. He knew the Orion girls were in there, somewhere, because he could remember the flashes of green skin. In fact, when he woke up, still dressed, in his bed, hours later, he found that he didn’t remember much.

Rubbing at one sticky eye, he reflected that the chalky sensation in his mouth was one of the worst things he could remember experiencing in that particular part of his anatomy, and he’d been punched in the mouth more than once. Sitting up, Spock discovered a folding table next to his bed, with a tall glass of water and a data disc on it. Drinking the water certainly cleared most of the filthy feeling from his mouth, but he eyed the disc with suspicion. This was going to be bad.

With a sigh, Spock stood, testing his balance and resolution time. He seemed to have recovered from the intoxication of the night before. For several minutes, he flipped through the latest set of orders on his PADD, trying to ignore the data disc, but, finally, he had to know.

Watching the disc, he wished most sincerely that he hadn’t known. It was video of the night before, from the moment Scotty had swung him onto the dance floor, until two hours later, when Uhura and one of the Orion girls helped him stagger out of the room, still singing along — "I am a drunken, sentimental mess!" he sang cheerily, on the screen.

"Aye, that you are!" Scotty called after him, crashing into Chekov, and depositing them both in a drunken heap on the floor.

The worst part was that he knew — knew for a fact that this was not the only copy of the disc in circulation, and he had a creeping suspicion it was Uhura’s doing.