[TWBI] Sick Spock
Title: Sick Spock
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,153
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Sick Jim
I am sick, and I find myself irritable.
I hike the seven layers of blankets over my head, trying to escape the cold air, which is actually set for 42 degrees Celsius.
I am achy. Sore. Tired but cannot manage sleep. Nauseous even though I do not have the ability to vomit. I shiver even though I feel warm.
Jim is across the room. Through the layers of fabric, I can only just hear Jim's erratic typing on a PADD. He pauses and I can hear the ice in his water glass as it clinks together. He takes a few considerable gulps. The room is very hot to him, but he has made sure to keep himself hydrated. He is there as a comforting presence. To get me anything I require.
I do not want him to be over there. I want him to be beside me, to be wrapped around me much as I had been wrapped around him when he was sick.
But he cannot.
My body temperature is far too high for him to touch me for long periods of time while in this high-temperature environment.
Also, my mind is too erratic. I cannot hold my mental shields while in such a state. I would be greatly influenced by Jim's emotions, which would most likely not be detrimental as his mind is calm and cooling; however, although our bond weak, my own emotions would also travel to Jim.
And I am irritable.
I grunt.
"You say something?" Jim suddenly asks.
"No," I call out, but say, "Come here."
There's a short silence before I hear him get up and walk over. He hums questioningly and it sounds like he is crouched down.
I move the covers and wince when the light hits my eyes.
I feel fingers brush against my face and wisps of his contentment tease me. "You okay?"
I pull the covers up to under my nose. They smell strangely musty. "Your hands are too cold," I accuse.
"Maybe it's your forehead that's too hot," Jim suggests.
I pause. "It is plausible," I say begrudgingly.
"You should get sick more often. I win more arguments this way." I can hear the smirk in his voice.
"Do you wish for more victories at arguments or more sex?" I ask.
Jim's fingers still. "Well, when you put it that way…" he concedes. "Is that the trend for how much you allow me to seduce you? The more arguments you win, the more sex you give me?"
"I never considered it, but I would not rule that out as a possibility," I say, a small smirk on my face that I'm too tired to prevent.
"That's just going to make me try and argue with you more on things I know that are wrong so I can get more rollin'-'round-in-bed time."
"Your annoyance factor weighs more heavily on the probability you will get sex."
"Touché. I'll just have to work out more in the gym to offset it."
If I was not already bright green from illness, I knew I would blush at that. Jim emits a rather… interesting smell after he has participated in an activity that causes him to sweat. I find it extremely irresistible. Not that I would admit it, especially to Jim. "I allow you more sex than is necessary," I snap.
He snorts. "Maybe by Vulcan standards. My standards, you're very stingy."
"We would need to quit our jobs to meet your standards."
"Doesn't sound like a bad life to me."
"It does to me." I pull the covers over my head, blocking Jim's touch.
There's a pause before a feel a small dip where I assume Jim put his arms on the edge of the bed. Most lightly with his chin resting on his forearms. I like when he looks like that, but I refuse to remove the covers.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say quickly.
"Are you always this grumpy when you're sick?"
I scowl and am grateful for the covers. "You were mopey when you were sick."
"Just asking. I know. You're sick. You're allowed to be grouchy."
"I am not grouchy," I say defensively.
"Of course not," he says, placating. "You're as grouchy as Bones is after shift."
"Do not insult me. Leave me be," I groan.
Jim pulls other covers suddenly from my face, and I flinch at the cold air. My eyes shut tightly. I feel a lingering kiss to my temple and, although I had not realized I was tense, feel my body begin to relax. "You want anything?" he asks in a quiet voice.
"What I want, you can not give me."
"And what is that?"
"Your mind," I say, attempting to mumble my words so he does not understand them and maybe he will leave and I can stop being such a nuisance.
"Why can't I give you that?" he asks.
"It would be uncomfortable for you." Vulcan healers, or loved ones, would often meld with the sick to calm them, but Jim's mind is not disciplined enough to enter my mind and remain unaffected.
"So?"
"Jim," I begin to say warningly before he palms my cheek puts his forehead against mine. I inhale deeply as his mind finds its way to mine and they begin to intertwine. His mind feels like the first breath of fresh air I have taken in days. It is finding a cool creek after trudging through a humid jungle for days on end. My muscles melt. I suddenly feel warm.
I feel his forehead twitch against my own and know he is feeling discomfort, if not pain. I try to pull back, but he moves his hand to the back of my head, and in my weakened state, I cannot move away.
Jim, I think, pleading him to stop.
Instead, never disconnecting our minds, he crawls onto the bed and lies next to me. I sense his movements through our mind more than feel the weight against me through the covers.
I'm not stopping until you're asleep.
His stubbornness is endearing and annoying.
Like you should be one to talk about stubbornness, Kitten.
Do not call me that… Is that truly how you refer to me in your mind? I wonder horrified.
Only when I want to annoy you. Once you're relaxed and asleep, I'll stop, he repeats.
I do not want to harm you.
I don't want you to be so uncomfortable.
I hesitate, but sigh and relent. I find myself relaxing again at his calm mind and content emotions. If Jim wishes to be a fool, there is nothing I can do to stop him in his state.
I feel his triumph at my defeat and his scoff at my notion that he is fool. I do not know if he physically flicks the tip my ear or only thinks about it, but I feel it either way.
Next: Pointy Eared Bastard
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,153
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Sick Jim
I am sick, and I find myself irritable.
I hike the seven layers of blankets over my head, trying to escape the cold air, which is actually set for 42 degrees Celsius.
I am achy. Sore. Tired but cannot manage sleep. Nauseous even though I do not have the ability to vomit. I shiver even though I feel warm.
Jim is across the room. Through the layers of fabric, I can only just hear Jim's erratic typing on a PADD. He pauses and I can hear the ice in his water glass as it clinks together. He takes a few considerable gulps. The room is very hot to him, but he has made sure to keep himself hydrated. He is there as a comforting presence. To get me anything I require.
I do not want him to be over there. I want him to be beside me, to be wrapped around me much as I had been wrapped around him when he was sick.
But he cannot.
My body temperature is far too high for him to touch me for long periods of time while in this high-temperature environment.
Also, my mind is too erratic. I cannot hold my mental shields while in such a state. I would be greatly influenced by Jim's emotions, which would most likely not be detrimental as his mind is calm and cooling; however, although our bond weak, my own emotions would also travel to Jim.
And I am irritable.
I grunt.
"You say something?" Jim suddenly asks.
"No," I call out, but say, "Come here."
There's a short silence before I hear him get up and walk over. He hums questioningly and it sounds like he is crouched down.
I move the covers and wince when the light hits my eyes.
I feel fingers brush against my face and wisps of his contentment tease me. "You okay?"
I pull the covers up to under my nose. They smell strangely musty. "Your hands are too cold," I accuse.
"Maybe it's your forehead that's too hot," Jim suggests.
I pause. "It is plausible," I say begrudgingly.
"You should get sick more often. I win more arguments this way." I can hear the smirk in his voice.
"Do you wish for more victories at arguments or more sex?" I ask.
Jim's fingers still. "Well, when you put it that way…" he concedes. "Is that the trend for how much you allow me to seduce you? The more arguments you win, the more sex you give me?"
"I never considered it, but I would not rule that out as a possibility," I say, a small smirk on my face that I'm too tired to prevent.
"That's just going to make me try and argue with you more on things I know that are wrong so I can get more rollin'-'round-in-bed time."
"Your annoyance factor weighs more heavily on the probability you will get sex."
"Touché. I'll just have to work out more in the gym to offset it."
If I was not already bright green from illness, I knew I would blush at that. Jim emits a rather… interesting smell after he has participated in an activity that causes him to sweat. I find it extremely irresistible. Not that I would admit it, especially to Jim. "I allow you more sex than is necessary," I snap.
He snorts. "Maybe by Vulcan standards. My standards, you're very stingy."
"We would need to quit our jobs to meet your standards."
"Doesn't sound like a bad life to me."
"It does to me." I pull the covers over my head, blocking Jim's touch.
There's a pause before a feel a small dip where I assume Jim put his arms on the edge of the bed. Most lightly with his chin resting on his forearms. I like when he looks like that, but I refuse to remove the covers.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say quickly.
"Are you always this grumpy when you're sick?"
I scowl and am grateful for the covers. "You were mopey when you were sick."
"Just asking. I know. You're sick. You're allowed to be grouchy."
"I am not grouchy," I say defensively.
"Of course not," he says, placating. "You're as grouchy as Bones is after shift."
"Do not insult me. Leave me be," I groan.
Jim pulls other covers suddenly from my face, and I flinch at the cold air. My eyes shut tightly. I feel a lingering kiss to my temple and, although I had not realized I was tense, feel my body begin to relax. "You want anything?" he asks in a quiet voice.
"What I want, you can not give me."
"And what is that?"
"Your mind," I say, attempting to mumble my words so he does not understand them and maybe he will leave and I can stop being such a nuisance.
"Why can't I give you that?" he asks.
"It would be uncomfortable for you." Vulcan healers, or loved ones, would often meld with the sick to calm them, but Jim's mind is not disciplined enough to enter my mind and remain unaffected.
"So?"
"Jim," I begin to say warningly before he palms my cheek puts his forehead against mine. I inhale deeply as his mind finds its way to mine and they begin to intertwine. His mind feels like the first breath of fresh air I have taken in days. It is finding a cool creek after trudging through a humid jungle for days on end. My muscles melt. I suddenly feel warm.
I feel his forehead twitch against my own and know he is feeling discomfort, if not pain. I try to pull back, but he moves his hand to the back of my head, and in my weakened state, I cannot move away.
Jim, I think, pleading him to stop.
Instead, never disconnecting our minds, he crawls onto the bed and lies next to me. I sense his movements through our mind more than feel the weight against me through the covers.
I'm not stopping until you're asleep.
His stubbornness is endearing and annoying.
Like you should be one to talk about stubbornness, Kitten.
Do not call me that… Is that truly how you refer to me in your mind? I wonder horrified.
Only when I want to annoy you. Once you're relaxed and asleep, I'll stop, he repeats.
I do not want to harm you.
I don't want you to be so uncomfortable.
I hesitate, but sigh and relent. I find myself relaxing again at his calm mind and content emotions. If Jim wishes to be a fool, there is nothing I can do to stop him in his state.
I feel his triumph at my defeat and his scoff at my notion that he is fool. I do not know if he physically flicks the tip my ear or only thinks about it, but I feel it either way.
Next: Pointy Eared Bastard