Title: The Love Song of J. Tiberius Kirk [part I]
Fandom: ST XI
Warnings: Too much T.S. Eliot…
Notes: Started for the crackmeme. Don’t know when I’ll finish it. OP asked for some K/S with an extra helping of T.S. Eliot.
From this prompt:
Okay, since actual print books are a rare commodity and are considered antiques- it would be pretty safe to assume that books are going to be pretty expensive.
SO, let’s say that Kirk has a favorite poet/playwright- and this playwright/poet is T.S. Eliot. And his significant other (or you can have it as an attempt to get with Kirk, if you like), attempts to find this rare and expensive gift for him.
So anon, what I would ask you to do for me is:
Write a fic in which
a.) Spock looks all over the place for this book and is constantly affirming to himself that it is logical give Kirk such an expensive and time-consuming present.
b.) McCoy looks all over the damn place for this damn book and is constantly cursing the heavens that he loves such a stupid picky moron with a love for books.
Mandatory/I’d really like it if:
1.) Kirk did not ask for the book.
2.) Work in some mention of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" or "The Hollow Men" or Murder in the Cathedral
(This prompt is long, specific, and not kinky at all)
Come on it’s the Hannukah/Christmas/Kwanzaa/Winter Solstice/etc. season- let’s see some sweet schmoopy gift-giving here.
Thank you anons. I patiently (lies!) await your fulfillment of my dreams.
"Let us go, then, you and I…" Jim smiled rakishly and held out his hand, to Spock, who was still seated beside his latest experiment.
"As you wish, Captain." Spock accepted the hand and stood, lithely, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as he caught Jim’s eye. They were due at an ambassadorial dinner, in a mere half hour, which was most inconvenient.
"I do wish, Spock. Do try not to look too disappointed." Jim smirked as they headed to the transporter room.
"I protest, Captain. I am Vulcan. I do not look disappointed." Spock lifted his eyebrow smugly.
Kirk lifted both eyebrows, with a deadpan look that said, oh, really? And without another word, they beamed down.
It was a diplomatic party, stilted and politic, as these things always were. Jim kept his hands in his pocket, neither smiling nor shaking hands, but merely cocking his head and nodding in acknowledgement. What looked graceful from Spock, looked distrustful from the human beside him, which was not an entirely inaccurate assessment of the situation. Spock knew that Jim wanted nothing more than to go back to the ship, where he could throw a dinner roll across the officers’ mess, if he wanted to get someone’s attention. Spock found it barbaric, but predictable and somewhat endearing.
In a brief moment of peace, Jim glanced over at Spock, and muttered, "In the room, the women come and go, talking of Michaelangelo."
"The Tyrellian trade pact, actually, but that is not nearly as appropriately rhythmic, in context." Spock responded, under his breath.
Jim’s lips thinned, as he held back laughter. Spock’s reliable logic made even the worst of times so much more bearable; it was simple and predictable.
The Tyrellian ambassador came to chat, briefly, and Jim spoke boldly and at length on the benefits of free trade in an ever broadening universe. He was quite good. These were the things he always said, at these times, in these places.
"There will be time, there will be time," Jim sighed, quietly, as the ambassador took his leave. "Time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea."
"You do not believe the pact will be as easily negotiated as both sides purport?" Spock asked, eyebrow cocked inquisitively.
Jim finally smiled, lazily, for the first time that evening. "I think that both sides are caught up in convention and the seeming necessity of tradition. I do not think they dare disturb the universe. I also think we should go back to the ship, before we get dragged in to something that isn’t any of our business, yet again."
"Duly noted and profoundly agreed," Spock answered, flipping open his communicator. "Two to beam up, Mr. Scott."