My prompt this week was “Irritation”.


The air was heavy in their quarters when Jim stepped inside. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but there was something a little off about his husband.

And it was also unbearably hot.

He immediately tugged at the collar of his uniform.

“Computer lower temperature twenty degrees,” Jim called out.

Spock, who was at the terminal, glanced up at Jim, his dark eyes stormy.

“Uh, sorry. It’s really hot in here.” He paused to take in the cold look of his husband. “Are you mad at me?”

“Vulcans do not get angry,” Spock returned coolly.

Normally, Jim might have teased Spock and said that it was his human side that was mad then, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well, so he just smiled and removed his tunic.

“Did you eat?” Jim asked as he tossed it on the bed.

Spock rose, walked around the desk, and snatched up Jim’s tunic. “Is that where this goes?”

“No.” A smile. “Did you eat?”

“Considering you have been gone for hours, I would have thought you would not expect me to wait for you.”

Jim kept his smile. “Good point.”

Spock sniffed. “You are inebriated.”

“I had a few drinks with Bones,” he said easily.

“You spend too much time with him.” His voice was low and almost a growl. Spock turned away and placed Jim’s tunic in the laundry chute.

Jim decided to let that go. He went into the bathroom, stripping out of his undershirt as he did so. Even twenty degrees cooler, it was far too hot in their quarters. Spock usually kept the temperature down for Jim’s comfort. Apparently that was not the case tonight.

He splashed water on his face and then rubbed soap in, washing away the day’s dirt. He really did smell like alcohol, which he knew Spock found unpleasant, so he brushed his teeth too.

Spock stood on the edge of the bathroom watching him. “Water is everywhere,” he admonished.

“Uh.” Jim looked at the sink. “Sorry. I’ll—”

“I will clean it up,” Spock said, pushing him aside. “You will just spread it around.”

Jim tamped down his own irritation with effort and reached for a towel to dry his hands. “Spock, are you—” He put his hands on Spock’s upper arms.

“Your hands are wet,” Spock snapped, pulling out of Jim’s grip. “I have never understood how a brilliant starship captain is incapable of drying his hands properly.”

“Sorry,” Jim mumbled. He went to pick up his undershirt, but Spock had already scooped it up. Jim turned and left the bathroom. He took off his boots and pants, putting the boots in the closet, and the pants in the laundry chute, even before Spock came out of the bathroom. He slipped out of his briefs next and reached for his sleeping shorts.

When he turned around, Spock was standing just inside their quarters staring intently at him. He tried another smile.



Jim didn’t push it. Instead, he pulled on a tank top, and went over to the replicator.

“You are going to eat now?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry. Didn’t eat before.”

Spock said nothing to that though Jim could definitely feel his disapproval through their bond. Which, by the way, was thrumming with irritation. Jim decided, for the moment, to ignore it. Whatever had his husband in a tizzy, he imagined Spock would get around to telling him eventually.

He chose a chicken sandwich because it would be easier to eat at his desk, so with the plated sandwich, he headed to the desk and the terminal.

“You are not going to bed?” Spock asked.

Jim resisted the urge to say since he intended to eat, obviously not. Instead, he practiced his smile once more. “I have a report that has to be done tonight.”

“You had a report you knew had to be finished tonight and yet you continued spending hours drinking excessively with Doctor McCoy.”

The smile became just a little harder to form. “It was not excessive. I had a couple of drinks.”

Spock said nothing to that. Just sort of glowered.

“Did you meditate tonight, Sweetheart?” Jim asked then as he pulled up the report he had to finish.


When Spock did not elaborate further, Jim picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and then began to work.  After a few minutes, he realized Spock had moved quite a bit closer to the desk and was now sitting on the edge, staring at Jim with heated eyes.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Spock did not reply but his gaze lowered to Jim’s lips and then down to Jim’s body. Even though Jim wore a tank top and shorts he suddenly felt very naked.


“Yes, Jim?”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“I am not.”

“Yet you are acting—”

Spock scooted closer.

Jim licked his lips.

Spock grabbed his wrist and pulled it from the keyboard.

“Hey! Spock, what are you—”

“You will cease working and come to bed,” Spock ordered.

“What? Who do you think…?”  Jim’s stomach suddenly dropped. “Oh, fuck. You’re-you’re–”

He was pulled to his feet. Then the room lurched as Spock picked him up and slung Jim over his shoulder.

“Wait! Spock. I have to notify Bones and—”

He was slapped on the ass.

“O-okay. You notify Bones then.”

He found himself thrown on the bed as he watched a very flushed Vulcan pull out a communicator. “Doctor, we will be busy for approximately three point five days. Do not interfere.”

“Three point five days? Spock, what are you—”

“Spock out.”

“Wait, you stupid hobgoblin!”

Spock closed his communicator and tossed it across the room.

He pounced on the bed, laying on top of Jim, crushing his mouth over his.

Jim broke the kiss with a huge gulp of air and before Spock could dive back in, he said, breathlessly, “Not that I’m complaining but—”

“You are complaining.”

“Okay.” Jim licked his lips. “But a little more notice would have been ideal.”

“Acknowledged,” Spock said in the softest of voices and for a moment Jim thought, well, maybe it wasn’t what Jim thought after all. But then he saw the wicked, possessive gleam in Spock’s eyes just before he tore the shorts from Jim’s body.

Okay, for sure.

Pon far.