Jul 312009
 

Title: Fabulously Smug
Fandom: ST XI
Characters: Spock, Uhura, Kirk
Rating: T
Warnings: Kirk opens his mouth, expletives ensue
Notes: Anonymouse wanted Spock to be FAAAABULOUS, DAHLING. I wrote some and then I just couldn’t do it any more.


From this prompt:
So, it turns out that Spock is totally gay. As in. Like. Holy shit. Here’s what I mean: he’s, just, really fucking stereotypically gay. He’s completely cliché: he’s a fashionista (he lists clothes brands like regulations). He does little snappy hand motions and pops his hips. He has a fucking lisp. He wears eye makeup. He is such a bitch. He and Uhura are actually, it turns out, just bffs, not lovers, and they spend their time together reading GQ and watching Audrey Hepburn movies. She is the only one who is allowed to see his real personality, which he has always kept under wraps. (To everyone else he is Logical Spock.)

And then Kirk walks in on them in a compromising position (Spock doing Uhura’s nails? Trying on high heels?) and is utterly shocked and likewoahomg turned on.

Somehow, it leads to sexytimes—sexytimes during which Spock flawlessly melds his personalities together and tops the shit out of Kirk… without messing up his mascara.

Bonus: Spock says, at some point, "idk, my bff nyota?" and dear god please, chats about Gossip Girl.

Wow, long prompt is long. tl;dr, Spock/Kirk (in that order) with fabulouslygay!Spock being very competent.


"Oh, honey, nooooo!" Spock’s face contorted in horror, tips of his fingers resting on one cheek. "That shirt? Those shoes?"

And that was how Kirk found them — Uhura reconsidering her footwear and Spock hip-shot in comic horror. He stared blankly at the scene before him, trying to decide if he’d taken a wrong turn, somewhere, and perhaps ended up in some recreation room simulation. As he looked on, Spock folded back into a more standard presentation, like an origami butterfly becoming a crane. Heels tucked, shoulders straightened, layers of nuanced expression fell away like veils.

"Yes, Captain? Was there something you required of me?" Spock’s eyebrow lifted slightly, but his voice remained flat, like nothing at all had happened — as if what Kirk had seen had all been a dream.

"I wanted your opinion on the modifications Scotty’s proposed for control routing to the impulse engines." Kirk looked and felt terribly awkward. Had he imagined the scene? What had he walked in on?

"Certainly. I will examine the proposal, once I have finished assisting Lt. Uhura with her footwear." Spock nodded to the captain. "It is extremely challenging to find footwear that is both sensible and appealing, and I dislike the idea of leaving a friend in need."

And Kirk began to wonder if he hadn’t hallucinated it, at all… "So, you really were talking about her shoes, when I came in? I’m just making sure we’re all on the same page, here."

"Captain, look at those shoes. Those shoes with that shirt? Even you’d have to be drunk to find that combination attractive." Spock sniped, voice still smooth and uninflected.

"These are perfectly good shoes!" Uhura protested. "I wear them all the time!"

"And they look fine, with your uniform, which this is not." Spock gestured narrowly, with one hand.

"Okay, I don’t know about your Vulcan fashion sense, but my eyes would never make it to the shoes, with her in that shirt. Seriously, guys, shoes are those things that end up at the foot of the bed. In the morning, I might remember the shirt, but I’m not going to know what shoes she was wearing." Kirk realised that he wasn’t quite taking Uhura’s side here. "If you’re going planetside for shore leave, I can guarantee your shoes are not going to matter."

"This is why you’re not sleeping with him, isn’t it, Nyota?" Spock’s eyebrow arced up, as he looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant.

"He’s like this about everything. It’s incredible he’s managed a reputation like he has with such limited aesthetics," Uhura replied, with a smile and a roll of her eyes.

"Hey, hey! Limited aesthetics?!" Kirk pointed, defensively. "If my aesthetics are so limited, then why was I in bed with your Orion roommate, after you turned me down in that bar, hm? Interspecies appreciation of a damn fine figure!"

Uhura and Spock eyed each other in amusement. Spock raised an eyebrow, inquisitively, and Uhura nodded.

"Captain, I propose a test. Uhura is a female of your species. You are biologically inclined to find her appealing. Orions are designed to be appealing to the males of all humanoid species — it is part of their culture to embrace that as thoroughly as possible." Spock couldn’t quite restrain a smirk. "I propose that you express the high points of my aesthetic appeal, if you wish to prove your enlightenment to the lieutenant."

Uhura grinned smugly, and Kirk just gaped, witlessly. "You want me to talk about why you’re hot. But, Spock, you’re not hot. She’s hot. Not you."

"You are failing rather rapidly, Captain," Spock commented.

"You’re not looking at him, properly." Uhura’s hand traced the line of Spock’s cheek, teasingly, not quite touching. "Stop thinking ‘Vulcan male’ and start thinking ‘objet d’art’. He’s a sculpture. Critique."

Spock’s lips pressed together, tightly, tipping up at the corners as he reached out and pinched Uhura’s cheek.

"Sculpture. I was never any good at art appreciation." Kirk sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, fine. If I’m going to do this, I’m doing it right. I would never date a woman who stood like you do. It’s got bitchy and self-centred written all over it. As a man, it makes me want to start a fight with you — a point I think I’ve made repeatedly."

He stepped back, eyeing Spock in terms of mathematics. "The curve of your hips is too femme — especially after those shoulders. Do you wear a girdle for that, or do you just never eat? And your legs are too short for the length of your torso, by the golden ratio. I’d never noticed that, before — you usually look like you’re all legs."

Spock looked smug, in an indefinable way. "It’s the cut of these pants. I chose them to compensate for that very phoenomenon. And my hips are quite natural. Vulcans have better balance, because of that very feature."

"And you’re a smug bastard. That’s a real turn-off. No one should ever look more smug than I do. I am the number one arrogant bastard, aboard this ship, and don’t you forget it." If Kirk were a cat, he would be fluffed in annoyance. "Do I really have to find appealing things about you? It’s really difficult. I don’t want to find you appealing. There’s no benefit in it, for me. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite of beneficial — if anyone hears about this, my innate and very well established heterosexuality is going to come into question. And it’s not like she’s going to go on a date with me, even if I say you’ve got perfect, lush, dick-sucking lips — which, I might add, you do. And it irritates me."

Kirk paused, looking Spock straight in the eye. "You stand there looking smug, lording your Vulcan superiority over all of us, and all I can think is that you wouldn’t look so smug with my dick in your mouth. Or, hell, maybe you would. I’m not sure which is more upsetting."

Uhura swallowed hard, fighting off the insane fit of cackling that hovered in the back of her throat. Now that Kirk had said it, she couldn’t unsee that image, and she was quite certain that Spock would look smug, no matter what he was doing. He just had that way about him. Right now, though, the smugness had manifested in the form of a thin lipped smile and a very high eyebrow, as Spock cocked his head to the right, displaying his throat in a gesture that spoke of the absolute certainty that he would come to no harm — that he could not be harmed.

Smug fuck, thought Kirk.

"And your eyes — what the fuck is with your eyes? You have a nose like a goddamn buttress, but your eyes are somehow the dominant feature. And back to the golden ratio? Yeah, your face is not balanced. You have too much chin." Kirk slowed down. "Your eyes really annoy me. I never knew how much one person could express with just an eye, until I met you, and you make me sound like a fucking loon, when I try to tell someone else how incredibly much shit you give me — because they’re not looking at you. They can’t see that fucking look on your face. Fucking eyes. Damn."

Spock appeared to shrug, with nothing but his eyebrows, reaching into a pocket Kirk hadn’t even realised was there, to draw out a swampy-coloured eyeliner pencil. "The eyes, unlike the hips, are assisted."

"You — you — fuuuuck. You seriously — I — fucking eyeliner? Are you even slightly serious?" Kirk’s hands hovered in front of him, trying to wring sense out of the very air, as he looked on, in horror.

He was starting to come to the unsettling conclusion that he wanted to fuck Spock — and not in the interest of sex, but for the power of so doing. He wanted to put that smug Vulcan in his place, but then he’d have to go bleach his own dick, and that probably wouldn’t be at all enjoyable. In fact, the entire idea seemed less than enjoyable, the more he thought about it, but none of that disturbed the raging (and rage inspired) hardon he had. At least his pants weren’t as tight as Spock’s. He’d never be able to hide it in those.

"You appear to be experiencing some difficulties, Captain."

Dammit. It was impossible to hide anything from the Vulcan’s perception, and one day, Kirk would actually remember this.

"I assure you, Spock, it’s not difficult at all, for me. Relatively easy, in fact. Why, do you find that sort of thing difficult?" Kirk knew he wasn’t going to win — he never did, when it came to wits versus Spock — but at least he’d go down swinging.

"Hardly," Spock punned, and Kirk couldn’t even tell if it was intentional, but that faintly smug look really made everything a personal offence.

Kirk twisted his head, leading with the chin, and his neck popped. It was his standard lead-in to a barfight, as anyone who had ever been in a bar with him knew. Starting a fight with his first officer was absolute ass, as an idea, but it would be extremely satisfying, even if he got his ass kicked, which he would. And it would not, in any way, be a homoerotic experience. At all.

"Uhura, would you be so kind as to excuse us? Commander Spock and I need to have a discussion that I don’t think is fit for a lady like yourself, which is really saying something, coming from me." Kirk’s face was flatly calm, but his blue eyes had turned to glittering ice, violently amused. "And I like your shoes, Lieutenant."

Uhura laughed and made for the door. "Thank you, Captain. So do I. You boys take care not to hurt each other, you hear me?" Or I will fuck you both up, directly, remained unsaid, but was clearly heard by everyone in the room.

"Yes, ma’am," Kirk responded with a cocky grin, and Spock just raised his eyebrows in a way that said, ‘Why are you worried about me?’

The door slid closed behind Uhura, who had left, shaking her head in resignation, and Kirk and Spock just stared at each other, in wordless challenge. Kirk finally broke the silence.

"Give me one reason not to kick your ass, and get it out of my system."

Faint, smug amusement registered on Spock’s face. "You can’t."

And that was when Kirk snapped. He threw himself at Spock, ramming one fist into the Vulcan’s belly, and grabbing an ear with the other hand. "You insult my aesthetics, question my sexuality, and then take on my goddamn masculinity? Fuck you, Spock. Fuck you very much."

Spock retched on impact, but grabbed Kirk by the collar, scruffing him like a kitten, at arm’s length. Unfortunately, his arms were not long enough for this to prevent the captain from punching him in the face. As the green blood ran down from his thankfully unbroken nose, Spock backhanded Kirk hard enough to make the captain’s neck pop, again.

"Not my face. Not ever my face." Spock hissed, finally visibly irate.

"Oh, is that vanity I hear, half-human?" Adrenaline coursed through Kirk so hard and fast that his joints prickled like pincushions. "I thought vanity was a Romulan affectation."

Spock swung his arm, snapping the wrist, and sent Kirk into the wall, across the room. In less than a second, he had the captain pinned there, forearm to throat, millimetres of space between their faces and no room at all, anywhere else. "As you have so succinctly pointed out, I am half-human, and if nothing else, your own vanity proves it a very human affectation."

Kirk sincerely hoped there was another pocket he hadn’t noticed, in Spock’s pants, because otherwise that was — Nah, couldn’t be. He crammed a hand between them, feeling that cold spray across the inside of his skin from the adrenaline cranking up his senses. His hand cupped the impossibly heated bulge in Spock’s pants, the hand separating it from the identical phoenomenon in his own trousers. Shock painted his face, and his mouth kicked into overdrive, without taking his brain along for the ride.

"Is that a phaser in your pocket, or are you just happy to choke me?"

((I don’t know if this is going any farther. It’s a shit place to stop, but it’s getting really hard to write, for some reason. Possibly because Spock is seriously arguing with me about being so absolutely fabulous.))