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"Spock!" Kirk's voice cuts through the sudden silence of the astrometrics lab, trying to interrupt his first officer's determined retreat. "Spock, wait."
He doesn't mean it to sound like an order—more like a desperate plea—but it comes out somewhere between the two, and Kirk is just grateful Spock listens.
Spock hesitates and stills, just short of the door that would take him out of the lab and into the corridor beyond. There will be dozens of crewmen about at this hour, and Kirk knows he could never call Spock out in public. Not about this.
But he's got questions, and with Spock no longer actively retreating, Kirk takes a cautious step forward. His senses are sharply focused, though he has little enough data to work with. Spock's back is an unreadable line of tension, and he doesn't acknowledge Kirk's approach. Kirk stops three paces away, hesitant to move closer. From Spock's mind he senses a chaotic jumble of feelings, indecipherable and muffled behind a protective wall that is clearly intended to keep Kirk out. He can discern no detail, and the lack of information frustrates him.
"Spock, look at me." Kirk holds himself perfectly still, as Spock turns and regards him with the semblance of calm composure. It's an imposing façade, but Kirk knows better. Even if he didn't have a direct line into Spock's head (muted now, but still present), Kirk would know his first officer too well to fall for the calculated expression.
"Are you going to talk to me?" Kirk keeps his voice quiet, his hands at his sides. He can't quite prevent his body's instinctive step forward, but that's all right—two paces still separate them, and Spock no longer seems a split second from bolting out the door. "Because the alternative seems to be me asking dozens of questions and you not telling me squat, and that just hasn't been working for me."
Spock hesitates, but he doesn't evade Kirk's eyes.
At last he admits, "I am uncertain what to say."
Kirk still can't wrap his head around the thought of Spock lost for words, though it's become an alarmingly frequent occurrence.
"You kissed me." Kirk honestly can't tell if it's pity or frustration that pulls the statement so bluntly from him. But it needed saying.
Spock kissed him. And Kirk is so turned around he doesn't really know what to say either, which is why they're staring at each other in stupid silence now, nothing but the quiet pings and pips of the lab computers surrounding them.
"Why did you kiss me?" Kirk finally asks, praying he doesn't sound disapproving.
Because the thing is, Kirk enjoyed it more than a little. As completely unexpected kisses go, this one was pretty spectacular. Spock's hands on him out of nowhere, grabbing Kirk and dragging him away from the console—Spock backing him against the bulkhead, framing Kirk's face, every touch a command.
And Spock's mouth, even better than the fantasies Kirk has squirreled away in recent months.
But it was also over so fast he barely had time to master his surprise, let alone respond or reciprocate. And then—
Spock can move damned quick when the situation calls for it.
So Kirk figures he's justified in asking this question, and asking it flat-out. Protocol and propriety be damned, he deserves some answers.
"Why did you kiss me, Spock?" he repeats when several seconds elapse without response. He wants to move forward and let himself fall into Spock's orbit. He wants to rewind, go back to the moment when Spock's hands and mouth were on him and do something about it—
"A momentary lapse in judgment, Captain." Spock's words send ice down Kirk's spine, but worse is the moment he continues, "I give you my word it will not happen again."
Then Spock is gone, and Kirk stands in the empty lab, gaping at the closed door and wondering if this is what insanity feels like.