Oops!
Spock x Reader
Word Count:
Warnings: second hand embarrassment, puke
Ao3: N/A
Notes:
I just like the idea of accidentally giving spock a vulcan kiss, okay????
Tag List:
You knew that Mccoy's response of "Well be more social, then," was a result of him being busy. Not paying attention. But, you'd taken it to heart.
Being alone in your room so often had tanked your mental health. Introverted or not, part of "self care" is letting out your thoughts and feelings.
You can't help but think that self care is too complicated. Hygiene in itself is a fifty point list.
The best plan you had was to introduce yourself to someone. That in itself is difficult. There are too many options and techniques.
It was hard when it was just humans—or at least, mainly humans—back on Earth. But in the Enterprise? With even more races and cultures? Squeezed in? Together?
You enter the lift, blandly speaking out your destination. It's only when you notice the shoes next to you, shining, that you realize you have a chance to just— do this. Get it over with.
The anxiety swells in your throat, and you can't help but think it's not worth it. It'll take so much effort, and if you don't say anything, they'll never know.
"Good morning!" You chirp, before you can put to much thought in. It's much more gruff than you meant. You realize, as you swallow, that this is the first time you've spoken today.
You almost wonder if they're going to reply, but then you see a hand.
It barely takes a second to connect the dots. A handshake! Easy.
In your excitement at the ease of this venture, you bring your right hand to meet their left—and—oh.
Wrong hand. Your hands are touching. Theirs is straight, yours across it. Your ring and little finger are touching the side of their hand, your thumb tucked over their's.
You glance up at them, you don't make eye contact.
Your first two fingers presses against their last.
His last. His last two fingers.
He's male.
"Oh sorry, wrong hand!"
A Vulcan male.
He's Spock.
"Oh shit."
You jerk your hand back.
"The crude wording is not needed, Lieutenant-Commander."
"Spocckkk." You draw out through your teeth, voice high pitched.
"Yes?"
The doors open, no one is there.
"I am. Fuck, I am sorry. It wasn't— fuck, sorry."
The door closes. The lift remains still.
"I didn't mean to—" you take a breath. "It wasn't my intention to—" you pause.
His eyebrows raise, your heart beats faster.
Can he report you for harassment over this? It was just a handshake— be pretty fucked up if he could.
It would be pretty fucked up if he couldn't, too. Damn.
He probably should report you.
He won't.
"Kiss you?"
The words feel like bile in your mouth.
Or are you about to puke?
"That's not a question. I did not mean to phrase that as a question." You attempt to repair quickly. "I did not want to kiss you."
Oh that sounds plan rude!
"Or, er— you know what I mean."
You blink at him. How long have you been talking?
"Are you done, Lieutenant-Commander?"
You stay quiet, and after a few moments, you realize that it's a genuine question.
"You can— you can call me Doctor. And yes. Sorry."
He nods. "Doctor. It was a mistake. It is of no consequence, and does not alter my opinion of you."
You nod, anxiety not fading. You do, however, remember to breathe.
"Can I make it up to you?" Is your timid reply. You find that Spocks eyebrows can reach impressive heights.
"I suppose so. However, I do not see a reason that 'making it up to me' is needed."
You let out a breathy chuckle after a long moment of silence, and it does good to ease the tightness in your chest.
"Okay." You breathe. "When... do you have time?"
Spock doesn't take any time to think. "Tonight would be sufficient."
You nod. "My quarters."
He nods.
"Okay, you'll probably have to add another bead, so it'll fit. Let me—" you shift closer to him, taking a look at the bracelet in his hand. "—look at it."
It's only slightly too small for him, now. He'd decided to use the small glass bead in an elaborate pattern of rust, royal blue and copper. You had used the large plastic beads, and jokingly put an S bead on the bracelet. Baby blue.
"I do not see the point in making bracelets, Doctor."
You laugh. He's been happily putting beads on a string. He'd taken around ten minutes just choosing colours.
"Only idea I could come up with, really. Part of human culture."
You lean over, shoulder bumping his. "Okay, that looks good. Can I check it?"
Spock's eyebrow twitches. "Yes. That is agreeable."
"Alrighty." You gently grab each end of his bracelet, and he sticks his hand out. You bring the bracelet up, cupping his wrist like a U.
"Huh." You huff, scooting forward. "Okay, yeah, that's good. Want me to tie it?"
You glance up, making eye contact with Spock. The green of his face makes your eyebrows crease, but his face stays impassive.
He nods.
You promptly begin tying the bracelet, tearing your gaze away from his.
Once you have it double knotted, you reach over to the table, retrieve the scissors, and grab his hand.
Once you've snipped the excess, you hide the knot under a bead.
"Doctor."
You hum. "Yes?"
When looking to Spock, you are met only by his unwavering stare and green cheeks. No words.
Your gaze travels down, your hand holding his.
"Oh fuck me."
"That does seem to be the message you are sending, Doctor."
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