Jim's Personal Quarters

She moved awkwardly with him. She was not sure she liked this dancing, but she did enjoy the proximity to Jim, and the joy their closeness seemed to bring him, and thus she continued with the activity. She was fairly certain she was terrible at it though. "I am sure I could find something," she muttered dryly.

"Nothing I wouldn't mind losing to a dance lesson." An idea floated through Jim's head and he latched onto it. He paused. "C'mere," he murmured, picking her up and setting her feet back down on his. "Feel the way my feet move. Relax your hips. They're too tense. You need to be fluid to dance. I've seen you be fluid in your martial arts and when you're moving around people in the lab, especially when they get in your way." He started to dance again, easily moving with her on his feet. "Just move with me, and let your body relax."

Jim picked her up, and Pock thought fleetingly that it was almost disconcerting how much he seemed to be doing that. Not that she particularly minded. Not when it was Jim.

He placed her atop his own feet, moving his body slowly. She tensed despite his orders.

"I am sorry," she said awkwardly. "I believe fluidity may have eluded my nature despite your claims to the contrary."

Jim smiled slightly. "You're doing fine, kitten," he said, voice light and happy. "I'm not wrong on this. Trust me. Now, relax. How would you relax your hips normally, to do those complicated forms I've seen you do." His hand kneaded at the muscles just above her hips, encouraging her to relax under his hands.

Pock took a deep breath, calming herself. Jim's hands rubbed the tension right out of her hips, though it did nothing for the constant thrumming of her heart. Any time he touched her, her heart did that. It was illogical and ridiculous, but what was, was. "I trust you," she murmured, still anxious. There was honesty in her voice however.

Jim's own heart fluttered in his chest. He smiled down at her. "Now, just relax. Feel the way my feet and hips move? Yours need to move exactly the same way, just backwards. Just remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in heels. So, just breathe, let your body relax, and just try to follow my movements."

Pock looked confused. "Who is this Ginger Rogers woman, and why was she mimicking the movements of Mr. Astaire?" Humans were infuriatingly complex sometimes. Nonetheless, she did as Jim did: she predicted and mimicked his movements perfectly, in a relaxed manner, as though she were his reflection in a mirror.

Jim actually stopped his moves to drop his head to her shoulders and chuckle. "Sorry," he murmured against her shoulder, hands moving from her hips so he could wrap his arms against her and pull her flush against him. "I sometimes forget other people didn't watch old 20th century films for fun like I did. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were a pair of professional dancers who also made movies. Sometime, I'll get you to sit down and watch some of them with me." He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her neck. He lifted his head to look back down at her, eyes twinkling.

She lifted an eyebrow, smirking up at him with bright eyes. "I would be amiable to this activity," Pock said lightheartedly. She continued to move with him, just loving the feeling of being close to him, enjoying this with him. It made her happy to hear him planning for the future like they had one, like it was imminent. Like they would be spending more of their tomorrows in the same way they'd spent their today.

The song ended and another more upbeat song started to play. He called for the stereo to go off, and he looked down at her as he stopped. Jim's hand came up from her hip to brush some of her hair out of her face. So many things were on the tip of his tongue... You're beautiful. I want you by my side for the rest of my life. I think you're gorgeous. I love you. But none of them seemed to find their way out of his mouth.

Before he could say anything, a voice rang out from the living room area. "James Kirk, get your pretty little ass out here right now! Why the hell didn't you come in for your check up?"

Jim froze. His eyes widened comically and broke his hold on Pock to snatch the sling up off the ground. He grabbed a yellow command shirt and threw it on. His sleep pants would have to do for now. He slipped his arm into the sling and turned to the mirror. He ruffled his hair slightly, and kissed Pock on the cheek before speeding out into the living room.

Pock chuckled as Jim fled the room, hastily attempting to appease the disgruntled doctor. For a moment, she just stood, taking in the room. It was a dream come true to be in such a situation with Jim Kirk. She had never believed that he was a possibility for her, and yet this was her reality: this wonderful, fantastic reality.

Her eyes flitted around the room as time drug on, and her attention wavered. They rested on the shelf of books at the leftmost edge of the room. It was rare to see so many paper books these days. Overwhelmed by curiosity, she stepped towards it.

Pock's fingers brushed the edges of the books, feeling their texture. It was curious. She inhaled the smell of them, then lifted on, flipping rapidly through the pages just for a glimpse of what they held. It was a small, paperback thing. She wondered how many times Jim had read it. Had he liked it? Where had it come from.

As she replaced the book and reached for another, she noticed something: a small book, hidden behind the rest. She reached for it, freeing it from its hiding place. The cover was blank. Pock opened it and scanned the first page.

Pock to Standard: A Guide to Reading Your Confusing-Ass First Officer, by Captain Jim Kirk.

Jim gave his best friend a smile as he screeched to a halt in front of the doctor. McCoy just scowled and jabbed Jim with a hypospray. "Moron," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Thought you could get out of this."

"No," Jim protested. "I forgot!"

"Uh-huh," McCoy growled, running a tricorder over Jim's shoulder. "Bullshit."

Jim's shoulders dropped slightly. "Fine. I overslept my alarm because I had a nightmare last night." It was true, but Pock sleeping beside him, using his chest as a pillow had lulled him to sleep faster and easier than any sleeping hypo ever had.

McCoy's eyes snapped up. He and Jim had been roommates at the Academy, and he had a vague idea of what those nightmares were about, though Jim had never said. "I see..." he said slowly. "Your arm's a bit more stiff than I would like, especially if you didn't move it like I told you not to." Jim's eyes didn't meet his friend's, and McCoy nodded. "Thought so. Took the sling off."

"Only when I slept," Jim muttered, trying to defend himself.

"Either way, the sling isn't necessary anymore," McCoy said, hold his hand out. Jim handed it over gratefully. McCoy kept his eyes locked on Jim. As a doctor, he'd been trained to spot certain details, and Jim was more relaxed than he'd ever seen him before. "So, what's this rumor I hear about you and our green-blooded hobgoblin finally getting your acts together and getting together?"

Jim's face drained of blood and then heated up again. "Uh... Where did you hear that?"

"Heard it from Scotty," McCoy said, a smirk on his face. He'd have to remember to push Pock's physical up so he would warn her that if she hurt Jim in anyway, she'd best spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. Especially when in his sickbay. Before Jim could respond, he sauntered over to the door. "Have fun with your... administrative details."

Shit, did the whole ship know? Jim wondered. Hell, how did the whole ship know?

Jim shook his head as he entered the sleeping chambers again. Pock was holding a book. A book that Jim had made.

Oh, fuck me.

Pock turned to see Jim standing in the doorway, his eyes glued to the book in her hand. Her eyebrow lifted in bewilderment. "An interesting tome," she said, gesturing to the manuscript. "I find the translation of my left eyebrow on page 11 to be incorrect, however."

Jim's eyes snapped up to hers, face flushing a deep red. That was the curse of his scottish and german heritage: he blushed really easily. "I need a drink," he muttered.

Honestly, he had never intended for Pock to ever see that. In fact, no one was ever intended to see it. "I'm sorry, when I made that, we were just getting settled into our roles as Captain and First Officer and..."

She lifted a hand to silence him. "Do not apologize," she commanded. "I am not upset, Jim. I am merely correct your inaccuracy. When I lift my left eyebrow, I am not conveying sentiments of "You are a dumbass, Jim." - an exact quote - but rather, I am expressing sentiments of, to use your vernacular, "I want to sucker punch you in the testicles right now." A pause of contemplation. "Did I speak Jim-to-Pock properly?"

The teasing was clear in her tone now.

Jim's hands went instinctively down to cover his groin area before he could stop himself. "Close enough," he said, voice wavering with embarrassment.

Oh god, she was teasing him about this. He tried to relax. "Any other inaccuracies you see?"

"Well," she said, "there is page 26, in which you state that me biting the inside of my cheek means, "Oh Jim, please kiss me and run away with me into the sunset."" Pock's eyes flicked up pointedly to meet his. They were rimmed with laughter. "We are in space, Jim. There are no sunsets into which we might abscond."

Jim flushed again. He was fairly positive he had never written that one. "It's a figure of speech," he muttered.

Oh god, could someone just come please shoot him and put him out of his misery? Pock was obviously getting a kick out of this, which he supposed was good. But Jesus, did she have to actually read it?

Pock softened, closing the text and taking a step closer to her lover.

"You are blushing, consistent with the human reaction to the emotion of embarrassment," she observed. She draped her arms over his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. "I apologize, ashayam. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I was merely amused by your manuscript."

She placed a soft kiss against his lips. "Forgive me."

Jim reciprocated the kiss and then buried his still burning face in her neck. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close. "You didn't. I just never intended for anyone to find that thing," he said, voice muffed slightly by her neck.

Once he had his blush under control, he lifted his head and graced her lips with another kiss. "So, really, kitten, there's nothing to forgive."

She chuckled. "It is a rather brilliant text, though," Pock teased. "Perhaps you missed your calling as a linguist. Your talents are obviously wasted on Command. Should I tell Lieutenant Uhura you would like to replace her in her position as Communications Officer?"

Jim's face flushed again. Linguistics was something he'd contemplated before going into engineering as his his secondary track. He buried his face in her neck again. "Just because I'm good with languages and body language..." he trailed off. He pressed a kiss onto his lover's neck. His hand came up to play with her hair again. He breathed in deeply, taking in that unique scent.

Pock unconsciously angled herself to give him better access to the sensitive skin of her throat. "Is it possible you are attempting to distract me?" she asked, amused, fond laughter evident in her voice. "And if you are so skilled in reading my body language, Jim, then do attempt to translate me now."

There was a playful challenge in her words.

"Well, I wasn't trying to distract you, but now that you mention it..." he murmured, his tongue flicking out to taste her neck. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to her pulse point before pulled back to rake his eyes up and down her body. "Your body language says you want me to continue, so I think I'll do just that." He tilted his head back down and focusing his attention on her neck.

Pock's eyes fluttered. "You are adept at this," she murmured, running her fingers gently against his neck as soft as whispers. "As I said, you may very well have missed your calling, Jim Kirk. The Federation weeps for its loss."