Jim's breath caught. Somehow--maybe it was the bond, maybe just his sure instincts--he knew this was Spock. But Spock... with a deep, throaty, feminine voice, and a uniform suddenly too loose that nevertheless stretched a little across the torso. There was so much to take care of, to determine--the Romulans, the dilithium, what the ship was going to do with her masters gone--but surely he could be forgiven for marveling at this for a moment.
Spock was a knockout.
And then something occurred to him, a note in his own voice, which had not been his at all. He looked down to see too-small hands disappearing inside his sleeves, pants threatening to slip, and, most notably, the gentle rise of his chest under the dirt-stained tunic. Grabbing his pants in one hand, he looked up at Spock, beaming a familiar smile on a face one would have to look closely to find similarities in cheekbones, lips, eyes.
"Spock," he said again, partly for the novelty of hearing his own honey-rich mezzo. "We're girls." And he started calculating how much time they had to take off their clothes and check this out.
Re: Conference Room - Deck A
Spock was a knockout.
And then something occurred to him, a note in his own voice, which had not been his at all. He looked down to see too-small hands disappearing inside his sleeves, pants threatening to slip, and, most notably, the gentle rise of his chest under the dirt-stained tunic. Grabbing his pants in one hand, he looked up at Spock, beaming a familiar smile on a face one would have to look closely to find similarities in cheekbones, lips, eyes.
"Spock," he said again, partly for the novelty of hearing his own honey-rich mezzo. "We're girls." And he started calculating how much time they had to take off their clothes and check this out.