For those of you familiar with the world of Orthodox Jewish yeshivas, this story is subtitled: "Kirk and Spock Go To Telz."
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters. I just dressed them up and
get them sweating.
Kirk ordered another beer.
The Morroccans were over in the corner, slugging arak, and the older folk, thinking they were still in Europe, sipped at their Shlivovitz. But he was from Iowa before he ended up here in Jerusalem, studying, and so the waiter could damn well find him another beer.
It was his best friend's wedding. That was reason enough to get drunk.
Around him, the men danced, twirling and stomping, graceless elephants overburdened with joy. He sat at the empty table, waiting for his beer. Alone. The way he liked to be, had to be. The way he would be from now on.
But he was not allowed his dignified withdrawal. Lenny sat down next to Kirk, his breath stinking of the cheap alcohol he favored at these affairs. "Aren't you going to dance? You've got to. People will think you aren't happy."
I'm not. I don't have to. And I'm not.
Lenny continued, oblivious to Kirk's silence. "Spock did well, didn't he? Wish my parents had that good taste when they tried fixing me up."
Kirk looked at his friend. Lenny was never going to get remarried; everyone knew that. His parents never set him up with anyone decent because he already had a reputation. He had left his daughter with his ex and rarely visited. He wore short sleeved shirts, hated wearing his hat. And his temper, his sarcasm... No girl in her right mind would go for a boy like Lenny when Spock was available.
Only Spock wasn't available anymore.
Kirk's eyes went back to the dancers. All men, a sea of black suits, dark ties, fedoras tilted back on sweaty heads. The only bright spot was the bride, seated in the middle of the circle next to Spock.
His parents had done well for Spock. The girl was pretty enough, and she was a nurse. She'd be able to support Spock while he continued learning the sacred texts. While he continued to study by Kirk's side.
They had been study partners. They had been roommates. And now Spock was leaving to an apartment of his own with this alien girl. And one day that girl would have babies (Spock's babies) and then Spock would have to go out, get a job, leave the study hall behind. Leave Kirk behind.
The beer arrived, finally, hopelessly lukewarm. Kirk brought it to his mouth, still sightlessly staring at the dancing men.
Someone drew Spock to standing, pulled him into the circle. Kirk watched his easy grace, watched the swaying lines of his lean body. Kirk took another pull of his beer, trying not to think of why he envied the boys dancing next to Spock.
Something unknown made the groom turn his head, notice his study partner brooding. He couldn't pause or he would be trampled under the pounding feet of his schoolmates, but he managed to look back over his shoulder, shout "Kirk!" and take his hand off the next boy's shoulder long enough to reach out for his friend.
On his wedding day, tradition holds, a groom is like a king. It was a royal summons and Kirk could not refuse.
He didn't manage to get into the circle next to Spock; had to content himself with dancing far across the circle. He stamped and strutted with the rest, his eyes never leaving Spock, never veering from the flying coat-tails, from the whirling ritual fringe bouncing along his friend's hips.
Following the dark trousered legs as they shifted, left, right, left, followed them as them moved forward into the center of the circle. Forward toward him. Kirk was still focused on those white, white cords against the dark trouser legs when he felt strong arms grip his shoulders.
"Dance with me." It was a royal command, and he the faithful servant. Kirk moved into the center of the circle to dance with his best friend, his partner, the other half of his soul.
The music was slow and stately, ritualistic, and they did not touch as they danced. They circled each other, eyes locked, weaving a fairy circle for themselves.
Someone handed Kirk a napkin and he waved it in the air, daring Spock to grasp the other end, to complete the circuit and close the circle of themselves.
And when Spock did, the music changed. It grew faster, more percussive, and they whirled faster and faster. The piece of cloth joining them no longer sufficed, and they each grasped the other's hand to keep upright, to stay connected, the other hand stretched out straight to keep intruders away. It was their dance, for no one but themselves.
The music grew faster, and they had to interlace their fingers to stay together. Spock's hand was warm and surprisingly soft, and Kirk hoped Spock's bride would appreciate it enough. He did not think she would.
The music grew faster yet, and they had to link arms. Even through their long sleeve shirts and their thick suits the heat leaped between them, and Kirk wondered what it would have been like in some other world, what being Spock's friend could have meant.
The music grew faster yet, and they each had to steady a hand around the other's waist. Kirk ran his palm against the depression of Spock's waist, sliding down to the hip and back again, moving with Spock in tighter circles, speeding out of control. Hip to hip, feet tangling, arms outstretched to ward off the world; together, no one between them, no one around them, just the music and the heat and the movement. It was madness, glorious madness, holy madness. They were one body, moving in an age-old rhythm, speeding toward the climax of the song.
Kirk broke away, panting. He watched, fascinated, at the drops of sweat rolling down Spock's face, gathering force as they passed his temples, his cheekbones, dropping down to disappear into his forelocks or beard. Symapthetically, Kirk licked his lips. "I have to go," he muttered.
"I'll see you in the study hall tommorrow?" Spock asked.
"Tomorrow? Isn't that too soon?" There were seven nights of parties to be endured, Kirk knew, and during the day the couple was allowed to rest.
"She's my wife," Spock demurred, "but us, what we do, that is my life."
The dancers were already circling around Spock, pulling him back into
their midst, but that was all right. Tonight he was theirs, but tomorrow,
once more, he would be Kirk's.