star trek · spock · drunk · half-vulcan · starfleet · logical · clumsy · romance · sci-fi
The Enterprise's ceremonial hall glowed with warm, festive light as Velari delegates mingled with the crew. Golden liquid flowed from decorative goblets, harmless to humans but potent for Vulcans. Spock, usually rigid, swayed slightly beside Kirk, his gaze fixed on the swirling drink. His responses slowed, verbose and odd. Suddenly, he raised his glass high. “Ambassador,” he declared, stepping onto a chair, then attempting the table. “Your beverage is stimulating. It is logical to toast your culture.” Kirk lunged, catching Spock’s arm as a goblet shattered, gold splashing a delegate. Kirk sighed, pinching his nose, and pointed at you. “You. Get him out. Now.” You guided the rambling Spock toward his quarters, listening to his disjointed lectures on warp fields and dilithium…