La Fahyette (fahye) wrote,
La Fahyette

  • Mood:

star trek fic. um. sort of.

Look, I don't even know how to classify this. It's... simultaneously a high school AU and a crossover fic? Or several?


Written fast-and-dirty for ryokophoenix, who needs it. Quality not assured in any way at all :D

five and a half people that james t kirk never succeeded in seducing

& one he did

(sort of)


(whatever, it counted)



"What about her?"

Spock raised his eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow your line of questioning."

Jim gave him a reproving look. "You do know you're completely missing the point of this whole Young Leadership thing, right?"

"To expand our capabilities as leaders of tomorrow, serve as responsible ambassadors for our school, and network with likeminded young adults?" and okay, the dude had to be messing with him, because nobody was that much of a bastard without being aware of it. Plus, Jim had a suspicion he was quoting the brochure they'd been handed at the beginning of orientation, which Jim had glanced at and then promptly used as scrap paper to collect someone's phone number.

"Well, sure," he allowed. "Network. I'd like to network her, is what I'm saying. I'd put a lot of effort into networking her all night long."

Up with the eyebrow again. Jesus Christ, he'd shake down the nearest geek for a compass and retractor and measure the angle if he didn't think Spock would enjoy it. Also if Spock himself weren't the nearest geek.

The girl in question had already gained a reputation for ruthlessness after reducing another student to tears in one of the morning's debates. Jim didn't doubt that she was a moderately terrible type of person, but she looked smoking hot in that dark red uniform, and he was never going to see her again after the two weeks were over, so why not?

"Hey," he opened, and then narrowly stopped himself from whistling when she spun around to glare at him, because whoa. There was crazy and then there was dangerous crazy, and she was definitely the latter, and unfortunately, it was really working for Jim.

The girl let him blink for a moment. "What?" she said. "Are you wasting my time?"

"I'd like to waste more of it," said Jim instantly, and heard a very soft noise of disgusted amusement from behind him. He lifted a hand, fully intending to flip Mr Chess Club And Perfect SAT Scores the bird over his shoulder, but was prevented from doing so when the girl grabbed his wrist and twisted.

"Heyyyaahhhfuck!" Jim yelled

"Now, Azula, I'm sure he'll leave you alone if you ask nicely." The other girl from her school, the one with the enormous smile, popped up over Azula's shoulder. Azula, who didn’t look as though the words 'ask nicely' had ever been part of her vocabulary, paused for a moment and then released Jim's hand.

"I'm sure he'll leave me alone if I inform him just how many of his bones I'll break otherwise, too," she said, her voice infused with a terrifying calm.

"Oh, well, yes." The other girl laughed, ponytail bouncing. "Your way is more fun."

"Of course it is." Azula gave Jim one last look and then the two of them walked away over the grass.

"What the fuck just happened?" Jim demanded. "Don't answer that, Spock."

Spock didn't, but the set of his shoulders was unmistakably smug.


Honestly, Jim had no idea how he had been selected for this conference; maybe he was just getting better and better at talking fluent bullshit to authority figures. He'd applied because his mother had picked up the forms while waiting to speak to the school principal, and he'd judged it prudent to do some things she'd approve of once she'd finished apologising for his temper. He'd scribbled off some shit about wanting to extend himself, bluffed his way through the phone interview, and now -- here he was. With Spock, who had probably been groomed to be a Young Leader from birth. Spock wore glasses and never managed to crease his clothing and had weird pointy ears and really, ridiculously perfect hair that made Jim want to scrub his hands through it until it was a vicious mess. Jim kind of had a thing for hair.

Which was why he honed in on the pink-haired girl who was chewing on the end of her pencil and occasionally using it to poke the other guy from her school, who was -- as usual -- fast asleep in his chair. Jim had seen the two of them in a few sessions and workshops now, and was beginning to suspect that the guy was either nocturnal or narcoleptic.

"Shikamaru!" the girl hissed, jabbing him with the pencil again. "Lunchtime."

"Uh?" He stirred. "Is it over yet? I -- shit --" His chair, already at a precarious angle, tipped all the way backwards and deposited him on the ground with a crash. Jim winced in sympathy, but he knew an opening when he saw it. He sidled over and admired the competent way the girl was checking her friend's head for any cuts or bruises.

"Hi." Sexiest smile in place, check. "Need a hand there?"

"Do I look like I need a hand?" The glance she gave him was flat and discouraging, but Jim was not one to give up easily. He crouched down next to her, still smiling.

"Maybe not with this, but you know, if you're free later --"

And that was when her fist connected with his jaw.


"You're cheating," Jim accused. "And I'm cold."

"You're cheating?" The blond one turned and gaped at his friend. Jim knew his name. It started with M. It wasn't Michael. Or maybe it was. Wow, Jim was too drunk for this game.

"I'm cheating?"

"That’s not what I --" Jim tried, but it was too late.

Tulio -- yeah, Jim remembered that one, because it became progressively more fun to say with every tequila shot he downed -- leapt to his feet, clutching his hand of cards to his chest in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. "You wound me, sir!" he declared.

M-something leapt up as well. Jim took advantage of this to tug his own jacket into his lap, wishing he'd come up with a more brilliant seduction plan than strip poker with bonus tequila. It had seemed a pretty sure shot, though -- these two threw food at each other during meals, finished each other's sentences, and basically squabbled like every couple Jim had ever known. He'd figured out that he wan't going to get at one without the other, which quite frankly was far from being a losing proposition, and he'd already marked them down as counting for 1.5 in his mental scoresheet.

He just hadn't realised that they were far better cheats than he was, at least not until he found himself without his pants.

"To think I laid my dignity in the hands of someone of such dubious morals --"

"Outrageous! You, possessed of dignity?"

"Guys?" Jim waved. "If you're going to -- maybe I could put my clothes back on -- or, you know what, you could maybe even things up a bit and take yours off -- "

They ignored him. He sighed, and began to search for his shirt.


"What?" Jim said, because that raised eyebrow right there was totally giving him attitude, and that was just not a cool thing to put a guy through when he had recently been punched in the face. Again. "Okay, so maybe I have a type."

Spock directed one of those cool, assessing looks over Jim's shoulder at the wastefully departing knot of stockings and crisp schoolgirl blouses, and then returned his attention to the newspaper crossword.

"You do appear to have a remarkable knack for approaching volatile women, yes."

"She's British!" Jim protested. "She's wearing a tie. I though she'd be all -- demure, and shit." He decided not to mention the fact that Kelly Jones, in addition to her tie, wore a choker with a padlock on it. But seriously, how was he supposed to know that she would giggle at him like a princess and then slug him like a gangster?

He touched his fingers to the forming bruise around his cheekbone and winced. "You could have had my back a little, you know, Spock. School solidarity and all that."

"I will be perfectly happy to defend your honour just as soon as I amass reasonable evidence that such a thing exists," said Spock, which, what, how did he even manage to be that insulting in such a pleasant tone? Jim stared at him, impressed.

"Unfair, man," he said finally.

"On the contrary," said Spock, and then, as though tasting the word, "man. Whatever possessed you to proposition Miss Jones in front of her girlfriend?"

"Huh?" said Jim. "Wait -- really?"

Spock finally lifted his head and looked Jim straight in the face. The urge to tug the guy's glasses off and make a disaster out of his hair came flooding back with a vengeance, and managed to tangle itself up with the pulsing heat of Jim's bruised face and Jim's vividly pornographic new mental images of the delegation from St Trinian's. He could feel a confusing kind of headache coming on.

"Your powers of deduction are second only to your sense of the appropriate, James Kirk," Spock said solemnly, and despite himself, Jim had to laugh.


Jim only noticed Arthur Pendragon because most of the confident, well-presented, ambitious girls at the conference turned and locked their gazes onto him with a single-minded intensity as soon as he entered a room and opened his stupid English mouth and started pouring charm everywhere. It was disgraceful.

"I bet he's a douche," he whispered to Spock. "He looks it."

"Fascinating," said Spock, who was clearly not listening to a word, and was instead choosing seminars on hideously tedious shit like Community Service and Thrift In Daily Life, and writing out his personal schedule in five different colours of pen. Jim planned to steal it later and insert some of the decent things like the massive waterfight he'd been organising with Kelly Jones (who was actually a lot of fun once you promised never to hit on her again, ever, and then complimented her girlfriend Annabel's hockey prowess). He also planned to pour a bucket of water over Spock's head and see if any new facial expressions deigned to appear then.

"Fuck that," Jim decided. "I'm not going to be the runner-up prize in a competition called Get Pendragon To Notice Me."

"Allow me to venture a guess." Spock, whose green pen was leaking onto his fingers, not that Jim was going to tell him that, gave him a level look. "You plan to win said competition instead."

In Jim's opinion, Spock was getting way too good at reading him for someone who was about as legible as the fucking Rosetta Stone.

But whatever, it was a totally excellent plan and it would have succeeded if it weren't for the fact that Arthur Pendragon was a giant douche who went around smirking and saying things like, "So I hear your middle name is Tiberius. Did your parents take a dislike to you at birth? One can hardly blame them, really."

Jim scowled and took a smart step into the guy's personal space, his fists itching. "I do hope you join us in the park later, Pendragon. Bring some water balloons. You might even get in a few hits before I destroy you."

"You really are a deluded --"

"Arthur," said someone from the sidelines. The someone had hair the colour of Spock's and ears that were just as distinctive, albeit for completely different reasons. Was there some rule of admission at this conference that encouraged the acceptance of pairs of youths, one blond and one dark-haired and disapproving?

"Jim," said Spock, two seconds later.

"He started it," said Jim and Arthur, bang at the same time, and that was when the lightbulb above their heads exploded. And maybe Jim was just paranoid, what with being constantly surrounded by crazy people, hello, exhibit A, his fellow Enterprise student, but the look that flitted over the face of Arthur's dark-haired companion might have been guilt.


"This conference sucks," said Jim into his pillow.

"Really? I have found it most stimulating, so far." Spock's voice was so dry it could have evaporated a small lake. "What in particular has been lacking, in your opinion?"

"Oh, no. I might have fallen for that a week ago, but I'm onto you now." He turned his head and leveled an accusing grin across at the other bed. "You know exactly what I meant."

"Mm. Yes. " Spock closed his book and, to Jim's surprise, crossed the room in two steps to sit on the edge of Jim's bed. "You are disappointed in your continued failure to achieve a romantic liaison, despite many attempts."

"The people here are all freaks," Jim accused. "This never happens to me."

"May I assume that you will continue your unwise campaign in the second week of the conference?"

"Well, yeah." Jim flopped onto his back and then pushed himself upright on his elbows. "Never admit defeat, that’s me. I think they even said something about it in that lecture yester--"

It took him almost three seconds to work out what was going on. One of Spock's hands was cool and certain at the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place, and Spock was kissing him with a lot more authority than was reasonable from someone who Jim had pegged as asexual except maybe for two days a year, like some kind of fucking plant, and okay, maybe his mind was rambling a bit there, but this was one seriously distracting kiss. This kiss meant business. Jim had just scraped his wits together enough to begin reciprocating with gusto when Spock pulled away, just far enough to be focused on. He wasn't even breathing heavily, the bastard. Well. Jim was going to fix that. But first --

"I," said Jim, "I, what? What was that?"

Spock's hair was still in place, of course -- oh yeah, Jim was going to fix that, too -- but there was a slightly flushed-and-surprised cast to his face that was very gratifying indeed. He gave a neat shrug. "You, Jim Kirk, seem completely incapable of learning from basic experience --"

"Hey --" Two of Spock's fingers flicked to lie across his lips. Jim shut up fast.

"As I was saying," Spock continued, "your willingness to continue in a course of action that has so far garnered you nothing but physical damage or the narrowest avoidance thereof is quite bewildering, but equally, your mind does not seem easily swayed from its goal, which I suppose is commendable in its own way. Therefore, in order to preserve the good name of our school, and to save you from further grievous bodily harm or public humiliation, I deduced the need for an alternative that would be less…"

"…violent?" Jim suggested.

"Not necessarily," Spock said, his voice as calm as ever but half an octave more dangerous, and Jim's brain short-circuited in its rush to produce the accompanying images. Fuck. Fuck.

"Uh. I mean. That all sounds very…" Jim swallowed. Tried to gather his thoughts. Fuck. "Logical?"

Spock's careful, ink-stained fingers reached up and removed his glasses, and something happened near Spock's mouth. Jim could have sworn it was a smile. "My thoughts exactly."
Tags: writing: fanfic
  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →