Superheroes, Zombies, Aliens oh my!

[snoozing_kitten]

Title: Things you don’t expect to find in a cemetery (He’s undead Jim!)
Fandoms: Inception + Star trek + Buffy + Big Bang Theory
Pairings: Eames/Spock, with a hint of Buffy/Uhura and Kirk/Penny/Leonard/Sheldon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7,363
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Gore, zombies, sex
Disclaimer: Inception, Star trek, Buffy and Big Bang Theory belong to their respective creators
A/N: I had possibly way too much fun writing this, if you have half as much fun reading this my job will be complete. Thank you to track_04 for the beta and the brainstorming. A shameless fusion with the idea of the Avengers with some x-men to flavour, but you wouldn’t need to know that to read it. Originally posted @ xover_exchange

Summary: ‘Both the man of science and the man of action live always at the edge of mystery, surrounded by it.’ – J. Robert Oppenheimer. An experiment gone wrong leaves Spock stranded on Earth with a rag-tag band of exceptional people to fight exceptional evil.






There was so very much to learn; sometimes he thought that he might never understand humanity. Sometime he was sure that he almost got it, and then something would happen and his theory would fail- mostly it seemed humanity couldn’t figure out what they were doing.

Of course the days when the sun rose and the only two humans around him were Kirk and Eames, Spock had to wonder if he even wanted to understand. Today there were omelettes and no one was naked, an auspicious start. Buffy was sitting on the island counter kicking her sock-clad feet against the cupboard and blowing on her mug while watching Eames cook.

If Buffy was awake this early that probably meant Uhura had arrived, as Buffy’s behaviour was consistent when it it came to sleeping in, and if Uhura was here then logically followed that she had brought Penny and the others with her. Spock made a tight line for the coffee, not to be deterred by Buffy’s mumbled hails- if he could return to his room without being slowed here there was a strong possibility he could avoid contact with Sheldon. That would be preferable.

Months ago Spock had crashed to earth in a hail of meteorites and a bang that could be heard for miles. The crater was still there, sitting out in the desert with a tacky state-tourist plaque declaring it for people to take photos. On his home planet of Vulcan he had been running an experiment, and if it worked it would have revolutionized the concepts of interdimensional transport. He was still working out if it had been a success or not. The math was extremely complicated and there wasn’t enough data from this side to adequately understand what happened.

”He’s like Superman. A real alien.” Leonard said, and he sounded like he was having trouble breathing properly, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Superman was raised on Earth.” Sheldon answered at the same time Kirk made a small annoyed sound, “Hey, those tentacle-fuzz things a few months back were also aliens.”

Receiving Leonard’s shy, awed attentions were preferable to getting into an altercation with Sheldon over the nature of the universe and the multidimensional sphere. Sheldon seemed to be personally offended each time Spock would point out that he was incorrect or that his basic assumptions about the universe were flawed. Kirk always went into a bit of a sulk following these arguments for reasons Spock had trouble speculating about. Humans were odd - frail bodies, iron-based oxygen transport, short, fiery voracious lives that went off like fireworks.

Kirk was everything that was bad and good about humans, indulgent to extremes, he was quick brilliant for a human, and obsessed with his own mortality. Buffy was the opposite, she lived in the moment and the moment only, seemingly oblivious to the potential future that loomed in front of her. They were both human and yet they were so different, revelling in their individuality so loudly and in such a way that made Spock almost nervous.

Eames wasn’t human. Not in the strictest sense of the word. At what point did genetic drift create a new species, it was hard to say. Evolution had shaped him out of his massive and barely-used genome; Vulcans were too long-lived with less junk DNA to evolve in such jumps. Eames was something else, there wasn’t a name or a classification, and a bit of a question of how many others there might be. That didn’t make Eames any less of an irritating unclassified species. He was the most impossible to figure out, he didn’t seem to possess obvious motives and hide his expressions behind mocking smiles.

Spock returned to his room to meditate.

They had given him a room that looked out over the city; it was a polite gesture and he could appreciate that. The city spread before him shining in the morning light and bustling cars spewed carbon dioxide into the air as they crawled around. Looking at it sometimes really highlighted the differences rather than the similarities, he was so very alien.

He wasn’t lonely, he was alone. Two different and distinct things. Loneliness would mean that he accepted that he was beginning to understand and accept that he might be stuck here on Earth for longer than he anticipated. It would mean that he felt some lingering connection to Vulcan, when as a child he had harmless fantasies (plans at the time) of finding a way to leave the deserts of his home planet behind. Loneliness was too shallow a word for the breadth and complexity of what he felt. English, while being a fascinating study on how languages could co-evolve and co-opt, filled with its wide redundancy of subtleties couldn’t explain even some of the most basic Vulcan principles.

Meditation had a way of making time expand, opening more of his mind for thought and allowing his metabolic rate to slow. He had been deep within when the alarms went off, a riot of sound hardwired into his room for emergencies.

He didn’t sigh, that would have been a little too human, but he did admit the gesture was helpful for times like this, a little outlet.

They didn’t have a team name, Kirk said it was ‘too-comic book for the D.o.D.’ After getting a thorough talking-too about the dynamics of the Justice League on Leonard’s continuous crusade to make him understand Superman, Spock was inclined to agree.

Eames was already sitting in the meeting room, feet up on the table, toes wiggling in the air, off-white leather loafers with worn out soles. He gave Spock a lazy smile before ignoring him completely. Kirk was the next to arrive, sharp black suit looking a little crumpled. He patted Eames on the shoulder before he pulled out his own chair and not so much sat down as flung himself into a relaxed loung. Buffy was last as usual, hands fluttering around trying not to touch things so as not to smudge her nail polish, the sharp scent of acetone clinging to her clothing and blond hair.

“This had better be super-villain good,” she hissed, taking her seat on the other side of Spock, her generous mouth pulled into a small pout.

“They wouldn’t call us for less,” Eames drawled in his faint accent, just enough to give his speech the musical cadence from central Great Britain. Buffy was not appeased.

“I always want him to start with ‘Angels, you have a mission.’” Kirk laughed as the screen flicked to life. “That makes you Bosley,” Kirk told Cobb as his face flickered into plasma glow; he gave him a blank look. Spock frowned, he wasn’t sure what that meant either.

“We’re not angels,” He said with a frown, Biblical connotations with a multitude of pop culture references.

“I can be.” Eames grinned, he shifted. She was a slight woman now with long blond hair and bright blue eyes; she winked at Spock who was well aware he was still missing some key cultural cue here, Buffy looked amused. She was usually the one who would take time out to explain each pop cultural cue as it popped up.

“I didn’t know you could do celebrities, do Cameron Diaz as an angel next, she’s such a sweet girl, never called me back.” Kirk grinned at Eames, eyes assessing and salicious.

Eames changed into a different blond and Buffy snorted. “Charlies’s Angels was a tv show from a long time ago,” she said for Spock’s benefit, but that didn’t really explain anything.

“A long time ago? You wound me.” Eames sighed, still in the body of the reed thin, tall blond.

“Could we focus please? This is very important.” Cobb didn’t even smile; normally he was at least amused by the three of them. “There was an unknown attack on a medical facility on the edge of town. Pharmaceutical testing, that was a few days ago. Incidents have been popping up all over the west end since, it started slow and at first it looked like the local authorities could handle it, but they are out of their depth with the current situation.”

“What is the nature of the incident?” Spock asked - if it had been some sort of chemical leak they wouldn’t be called upon, there had to be some sort of confounding factors.

“It seems to be an infectious agent.” Cobb looked a little uncomfortable here, shifting in his chair. “Reports and satellite images seem to indicate that it causes a death-like trance followed by a period of mobile aggression.”

“You mean like zombies?” Buffy asked, looking speculative.

“You could say that.” Cobb agreed, he looked grave, Buffy looked speculative about the whole thing.

“You’re kidding right?” Kirk asked, and was ignored.

“The military has quarantined the area, it seems like the fauna in the local area have become infected. Your task is to get to the heart of it; there must be some evidence in the facility as to the nature of this outbreak.”

“No really, zombies?” Kirk said, “does no one else see how weird this is?”

“I do not see how it is any different than the furred spores,” Spock said smoothly.

“With tentacles.” Buffy added brightly.

“Fine.” Kirk shrugged, “if you want to play it that way, I’m game.”

“Let’s roll.” Eames stood gracefully, back in his own shape now, broad shoulders framed by the dying rays of the sun.

The helicopter was on the roof when Buffy stopped, Eames only just managed to stop from crashing into her. The steady thwump thwump of the blades warming up rattled the walls and his rib cage, waiting for them.

“James,” she said, just loud enough to carry over the white noise, “that meeting, the one Nyota went too, have you heard from her?”

It was impossible to tell Kirk’s expression - the Captain suit covered him in metal from head to foot, a feat of engineering glory. Spock watched the glowing eyes and they gave nothing.

“They would have passed through that area.” Kirk’s voice was flat modulator rendering the subtleties inaudiable.

“Tell me you can find her.”

“Of course I can find her,” Kirk snapped. “She’s my assistant.”

“Just do it,” Buffy hissed, brushing by Eames with more force than needed, throwing open the metal door and letting in the twilight.

“Uhura was in town to do a lab inspection,” Eames told him, leaning over close to be heard over the rotor blades that threatened to wash out all the sound. “She took Leonard and Sheldon with her.” Penny, as her personal secretary would, of course, also have accompanied them.

“It is illogical to jump to conclusions, they are most likely safe.”

“Love is illogical darling.”

They lifted off as soon as the doors slid shut. Jerky helicopter rides made him keenly aware of the technological differences between their planets. The propulsion technology in Kirk’s suit were the closest he had seen so far. These were a people who were quite a ways off from warp speeds, and Spock could only be glad - as a society Earth was too immature to be playing in the stars yet. Still a lot was left to be desired in ride comfort, the whole thing shuddered with the low altitude winds.

The helicopter ride was tense; a distinct lack of bickering between Buffy and Eames, Kirk was silent as well, still completely enclosed within his metal armour. Only Eames seemed to be normal, legs crossed at the ankle and relaxed against the stiff back of the helicopter bay. He gave Spock a secret little smile when their eyes met. Spock was never sure what Eames meant with those smiles. He’d asked about it, but Eames would just smile and ask him if he wasn’t seeing things.

No, Spock wasn’t experiencing any visual hallucinations.

They touched down with a jarring thump and Buffy was the first out, nimble on her feet, even weighed down with weapons, her advanced skeletomuscular system easily handling the extra weight as if it were simply not there. Buffy was rather close-lipped about her condition, but she was trained in many earth martial arts and had even taken a few lessons in Vulcan fighting when she had gotten bored enough.

Eames followed her, leaping off the edge light as a cat despite his size. Kirk wasn’t nearly as graceful; all the engineering Earth could offer wasn’t enough to keep his motion from looking mechanical, not with that much added weight. Spock followed them out. Flood lights were set up on the street lighting the twilight up like high noon. Soldiers stood around, kitted out completely and standing in loose groups, hands at the ready on the butts of their rifles.

Spock was used to the various salutes as they past. The military men had a particular fondness for Buffy which Kirk always seemed to find amusing. Today neither of them paid any attention to the soldiers. Buffy marched right up to the checkpoint, pony-tail swaying with her steps.

“The mission is to go straight through to the research lab,” Eames said as soon as they were alone; he stood in the front just barely silhouetted by the powerful flood lights behind them. Spock frowned, of course it was. “Status?” he asked Kirk.

“Nyota’s car has been immobile for the last three and a half hours on the highway up ahead.”

Buffy climbed up onto the shoulders of the suit easily, slinging herself around Kirk in way that would normally elicit some sort of salacious response. “Don’t go slow for me,” she said.

“Good luck.” Eames gave them a jaunty wave as Kirk rose into the air, Buffy’s blond hair whipping around them.

“That wasn’t part of the mission,” Spock pointed out, continuing in the direction of the medical facility.

“Nope,” Eames agreed. “But I’m sure we can handle it on our own, what do you say?”

Spock chose to say nothing.

There was of course concern for Uhura and the others - Kirk would be rendered almost completely incompetent without their support. That had to be balanced against the importance of their mission, infectious disease could spread rapidly through a population; the aggressive stage was clearly a dispersal mechanism. If it spread the entire local population was at risk, and without knowledge of the incubation period it would be difficult to stop. Eames didn’t seem to be worried, not in any obvious measurable way. Clearly the knowledge gained from the point of attack would be more valuable than four single ives. Two of which were gifted in their scientific fields, granted, but not worth the lives of the entire population of the area. The dissonance came from the fact that it seemed only he could see this. Kirk was their leader and he took off with Buffy without seeming to contemplate these odds. It was illogical.

“I am bothered by the lack of concern shown by The Captain and Buffy.” Nothing like this would have happened on Vulcan.

“Concern over what?” Eames hummed. They had been walking long enough that night had properly fallen, stars beginning to poke out of the gloom one by one. They were on the very edges of town, heading in the surrounding forests. There was nothing but cabins and summer houses out here. The store fronts were getting further apart.

At the out ranges of his hearing just past the constant rasp of Eames’ breathing he could hear something moving. Under any other circumstance he would have assumed it was a dog. Citizens were ordered inside, strictly to lock themselves indoors, the changes of it being a unrelated human was slim.

“The Captain and Buffy did not consider the consequences of abandoning the mission.”

Eames looked at him; in the non-light his skin was more pale, almost pale blue given the refraction of light off of clouds.

“Furthermore they have endangered innocent citizens with their rash action.”

“Do you really not understand?” Eames was looking at him now, searching his face as humans often did, for that was where they put their tells. Spock had no such facial ticks aside from the painfully obvious ones, considered rude in Vulcan, if a Vulcan wanted another to know something they would tell them plainly.

“I do not have enough conclusive data,” Spock answered. He had been going over Kirk’s decision and comparing it to past examples of behaviour. He had always had a sound tactical mind; this latest break was highly out of character.

“Did you consider what would happen if they didn’t?” Eames seemed generally curious.

“There is a probability that having abandoned their car, Uhura and the others are already dead. There is a chance that they are alive and hiding, and a slim chance they are in need of immediate aid. It was illogical for both Buffy and the Captain to have gone. The mission would have been more efficient-“

“Shh, there.”

Spock dropped into a crouch, focusing energy into his palms and sending it to the tips of his fingers, enough energy to ignite the space into plasma. Not a common ability, but certainly not enough of one to warrant the level of awe that it granted him here.

“Are you injured?” Eames called out.

There was no reply. The figure shuffled closer. It was a slight woman, she was dragging her left leg in a painful looking manner. Her jeans were stained with blood, darker patches looking almost black against the pale denim. She let out another moan, moving her arms away from her torso to reach out for them, still too far away to be clearly lit. Not too far away to mistake the slimy slip-slide of her entrails, which all fell loose when she moved her arms, like she couldn’t remember anymore to hold them inside.

“Shit.” Eames swore, watching her stumbling gait bring her ever closer.

“A zombie then,” Spock supplied.

The retort of Eames’ gun was deafening, echoing off the buildings in a succession of concussive booms.

Her skull crumpled, exploding inwards from two shots to the left orbital socket. The rest of her body followed, dropping like a stone.

The sound must have alerted the others, the cry went up from the surrounding dark spaces. Moans and groans cascading into a wall of sound.

“Oops,” Eames said, pulling out his second gun and pulling it up to match.

“It seems we’ve attracted their attention,” Spock agreed.

The first two zombies shambled out from the left. The entire population in the area couldn’t be infected - there was an incubation period at the very least. This was the most populated area, so they would have to be concentrated here. Thinning the numbers would make progress easier from here on out he decided.

Three from the left, four more moving in a tight pack from just to the right of them.

“I’ll take care of it,” Spock said.

He moved quickly, keeping low on his feet and channelling the energy into sharp points that trailed from his hands like whips.

The closest was a heavy set man with the skin from his lower jaw slapping against his neck, exposing the neat row of his bottom teeth painted black with blood. Spock came down quickly, pulling his weapon down across the tattered red shirt that covered his barrel of a chest and cutting off the eager sound he made. A tall, thin man was next, a flick hard against his chest enough to cut through the lean muscle and thick bone all the way through the lung and shoulder.

For the last, he kicked out sharply, breaking the knee of an older woman. He slashed across her abdomen burning deep all the way down almost to the spine.

He let the momentum flow him through pulling a young teen’s arm until it snapped at the shoulder and shoving him down and cutting through his lower spine with a flick of his left arm. The last one he got with one flick up and the other down, cutting deep into his chest cavity. It was over quickly.

Only it wasn’t. Fingers wrapped around his ankle, unyielding like iron.

He stared down in stunned confusion; he’d severed the spinal cord - that much sudden trauma to the human body was enough to cause shock. It seemed to have only slowed it down, using the grip on his ankle the zombie pulled itself towards his leg, mouth open in a groan, clotted blood and saliva running down its chin.

He stamped down hard on the wrist and it snapped with a loud crack, allowing him to stumble out of the grip. A body against his back. Up close the smell was intense, death and decay sharp and overwhelming. The grip wasn’t secure, scrabbling desperately at his torso.

Teeth scratched against the thick material of his suit, hungry sounds right in his ear.

Eames was on them in a second, ripping him off of Spock.

He kicked hard, the sounds of bones snapping and flesh ripping meeting his efforts. Spock stumbled out of the crush, catching his balance with flailing arms. He snapped out the plasma to avoid hitting Eames with the flicking ends.

Eames mixed his elbows and the heavy tread of his boot with the butt of his gun in crushing skulls. It was a wet and loud process, brain matter and skull splattered in tacky sprays.

“Haven’t you seen Romero? You need to crush the brains.”

That would have been helpful knowledge to have ahead of time.

There were more, moving closer with slow but inevitable steps, staggering like they were drunk. This next group looked like they had been feasting on each other, great chunks of flesh ripped off in strips here and there. Spock reignited his plasma; he wouldn’t fall for the same thing twice.

Fighting zombies was a lot messier than he would have imagined. Of course, as a method of conducting virulence, it was a very good evolutionary adaption. It was difficult to avoid getting it all over himself, and by the time four more fell he was streaked in thick, slimy rotting blood up the elbows.

“We should probably just run.” Eames sounded almost bored. “They are only going to continue to gather.”

“That would be logical,” Spock agreed.

Slow moving, the strategy relied on numbers - individually they were not difficult to avoid. An elbow to the face, and a crack of bone applied at an upward angle, enough force would force the fragments of cartilage into the soft tissue of the brain. An imperfect technique, but if it failed at least it had enough force to send them stumbling back and out of his way.

Eames flowed, the muscle mass belying his grace. He moved like the Earth dancers did, light on his feet and almost thoughtless balance of weight for optimal range of movement. He would watch his comrades while they fought, to better understand their weaknesses. Eames was a fascinating specimen.

Eames smiled at him; there was a streak of something on his chin, what looked like smudged finger-prints across his throat. “This is a laugh isn’t it? Like being in a film.”

“I fail to find it amusing.”

“That’s why I like you.”

Spock’s reply was lost to the twin sound of two hungry moans; it set the ones still reeling and trailing in their wake off again. “Time to pick up the pace.” A sound decision under the circumstances.

They were almost to the facility, the cross roads that would lead to the small industrial road looming up ahead when the first howls went up. It wasn’t a wolf, wrong geographical region and sound pattern.

Without speaking, Spock broke out into a dead run, Eames right next to him.

The barbed wire fence wasn’t an impediment; Spock crouched and leapt right over it, landing with gravel crunching under his boots. Eames shifted into a petite woman, short hair and large eyes shining up at him from the other side of the fence. She scaled the fence easily, pulling herself up to the barbed wire, the coils were wide and her jacket was thick, it didn’t look difficult for her to shimmy through the gaps.

The whole fence rattled as a body slammed into it. Eames grunted, grabbing the barbed wire to keep her balance. The dog glistened in the sticky light, it looked as if it had been skinned previously shining and slick. It snarled and snapped at Eames heels. She was tangled in the barbed wire, the only part of her outfit not to shift with her was the double gun holsters, wide against her now-tiny hips.

Spock couldn’t kill it without ripping through the fence to do so. He hesitated, plasma flaring to life with the faintest twitch of his fingers.

“Bollocks,” she swore, twisting so she was using the barbed wire to hold herself up instead. Her dominant arm was pinned in place, and so with her right hand she drew one of her guns. The shot wouldn’t have been easy under ideal circumstances, but Eames didn’t pause - the draw, line up and shot were all one exquisite motion. It took three shots to go down, canine gurgling whines. Spock watched as Eames wiggled herself free and launched herself off the fence, landing in a tight roll. He slipped into his more familiar skin even as he was standing, so it was Eames as Spock knew him best standing in front of him.

“Impressive,” Spock said, raising a single eyebrow.

This caused Eames to chuckle, the sound deep and musical.

“Oh darling, the things I could show you.” Eames winked at him and moved towards the tall shadows of the loading bay dock. Ambiguous at best.

Spock followed him, pressing himself against the wall. The personnel entrance was tucked against the larger frame of the truck docking. It was here that Eames found a door, a quick rattle of the handle confirmed it was locked. Eames dropped to his knees and picked the lock quickly.

Eames was a very skilled man, as was Kirk; Kirk could ’juggle’, he was best with empty beer cans. Spock had many skills himself, many of which were rendered obsolete without a Vulcan context. He would often wonder while meditating if Kirk or Eames would adapt had their positions been switched. He had no doubt that the vicious self preservation he could sense in Eames would have him blending in no matter where he was. Buffy, he figured after much introspection, would be fine - her greatest talent lay in being underestimated.

Spock wasn’t sure he was doing so well himself.

Inside the facility was a bloodbath. The floors, once pale linoleum were dark with mostly dried blood, tacky wet puddles in the deeper spots.

“They sure took their time calling us in on this one,” Eames muttered darkly, something shuffled from the shadows of a doorway ahead. Eames drew his guns while Spock took rear. Spock was tall, but Eames’ shoulders blocked out a lot of his line of sight.

He stumbled out, tatters of a lab coat still draped across his shoulders, no longer white. A scientist then, pushing the limits of knowledge - a dangerous game. In close quarters the thunderous kick-back was even louder.

Two shots to the centre of his face put him down, exit wounds spraying in a slippery spray of brain matter. Spock said a quick Vulcan prayer for his soul. May the god of scholars grant him respite.

“It’s unlikely this was an outside attack.” Spock said, the scientist slumped across the ground in front of them.

“Yep,” Eames agreed.

“They probably knew the likely outcome of their work.”

“Had to know what was coming.” Eames looked at Spock for a moment before continuing his methodical sweep of the hallway.

“That would be most likely.” Spock said, it was almost sad.

Anything else was cut off by a couple in janitors' outfits stumbling out from around a corner, greedy hands outstretched and mouths hanging wide. Spock wasn’t sure what he wanted to say anyways. He needed to meditate on the thoughts, sort his emotions out into their component strands. Giving name to his emotions would lead to understanding.

Spock lept forwards, grabbing one and slamming it into the wall hard enough for something to crack loudly. The second, he summoned plasma to just his fingertips and drove through the throat as it was reaching for him. The head fell to the side when he flicked his wrist, nearly decapitating it.

Eames crushed the upper spinal cord of the one on the floor with a hard kick.

It didn’t take long, but it was long enough to distract them from the sound of clicking. Faint at first, getting closer.

Spock almost didn’t see it until too late.

It dropped from the ceiling, Spock grabbed Eames’ jacket and pulled hard, moving him out of the way as another two dropped. They screeched unholy little screams, pitch high enough to set up a painful resonance. Monkeys. Probably test subjects from the lab.

Three of them were staring sightless up at them, scratched-out sockets where eyes used to be. Large clumps of fur and skin were missing. The second one clicked at him, claws scraping against the floor. They were faster than he anticipated. It hit his chest with a wet sound, scabbing for his face and screeching.

Spock flung himself backward and the other two launched themselves through the air. One was barely deflected from Eames’ face. The second hit Spock’s shoulder. They smelled strongly of animal faeces and rotten meat. He slammed into the wall less than dignified, trying to rip them off of him as they went for his eyes.

Howls echoed through the hall, sharp snarls closing in.

He couldn’t activate his plasma against his own skin, and Eames wasn’t going to be able to help him. The barks were right there and he couldn’t defend himself.

There was a whining sound rapidly gathering strength until it hit a crescendo that ripped through the air. The crash was massive, rebar and cement flying apart in a hail. A hole into the night sky opened up and a small blonde girl dropped through, katana sword in one hand and a 9mil in the other.

“Miss me?” Buffy asked, launching herself right at the back of dogs with an ironic little, “woof woof doggies.”

Eames snarled something obscene in what sounded like German and there was a wet little splat as the monkey hit the wall, bones crushing with the impact. One strong metal arm wound around his waist, holding him still as the small repulsor in Kirk’s other hand blasted one of them off of him.

The other he grabbed and crushed its skull in his hand.

“Sorry we took so long, had to walk back.”

The volley of shots rattled and echoed in the hallway, the booms of Eames’ large calibre handgun and the higher whine of Buffy’s 9mil.

Spock pulled himself out of Kirk’s arms, standing far enough away to ignite his plasma whips, letting the full length uncoil in the air. A dog growled behind him, and Spock bisected it easily. It wasn’t very Vulcan of him to admit he was viciously satisfied; but he may have been spending too much time around the humans.

“I am getting really sick of this. As cool as zombies are.” Buffy huffed, flicking her sword and gore flew off the end, lost in the mess they made of the floor. It was slippery going, rotten blood and entrails everywhere. Kirk went right back out the hole he made in the roof.

“I think every zombie rabbit and snake in the forest wanted Penny, we had a hell of a time getting here,” Buffy said. “We left them in a generator room on an adjacent roof.”

Spock was pleased they were alive. Kirk and Buffy would be much more functional with the added benefit of Uhura; the effect of the others was dubious at best.

--

“It’s lonely isn’t it,” Eames said - it wasn’t really a question. Spock was getting better at listening for the subtle inflections of sentence structure and emphasis that allowed humans to communicate. Eames’ accent made it difficult, the patterns were faintly different.

“I do not know what you mean.” He was sitting in the living room, a book before him on the table. Frankenstein, he couldn’t full understand it, but he could use it as a template for understanding others. He was lonely, and he was alone.

“Being the only one.” Eames leaned low against the table and looked at him. “Only one in the whole world.”

He shifted until he looked just like Spock, only Spock would never hold his face that way, loose around the eyes, pink mouth curved into an almost pout.

“We’ve had conversations about you taking my form,” Spock said instead.

“Deflection.” Eames called it, allowing his own form to take over. Harsh eyebrows lightened, and his skin darkened, mouth going from pink to red, curves becoming more pronounced.

Spock gave him an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Eames didn’t leave, nor did he say anything more. “Where is Kirk?” Spock asked instead unable to return to his book while Eames was staring at him. It was barely a day after the ‘Dawn of the Dead’ incident, meaningless cultural reference, and the small scratches on his face had mostly healed. It was difficult to get the smell out of his hair and off his skin. They had secured the facility and handed it over to the military which was handling the clean-up.

“Keeping Leonard, Sheldon and Penny locked in his bedroom where he can keep them safe. I’m either horrified or impressed with him.”

“Humans often exhibit a fondness for copulation in the aftermath of traumatic events.”

“You don’t find anything strange at all about their relationship?” Eames rose both eyebrows in a common human expression of speculation.

“I find Sheldon extremely strange,” Spock answered.

Eames laughed while Spock waited it out.

“Well you know, if you would like some aftermath of a traumatic event copulation, my door is always open.”

Humans had a curious way of saying things that were untrue or that they did not mean. The intent wasn’t to deceive since the other human would know they were lying on purpose. It was difficult to tease apart sarcasm from a genuine statement. Not enough consistent tells. “I find you fascinating,” Spock said at last.

Eames looked shocked for a moment, quickly settling on amused. “Is this a scientific fascination or a sexy one?”

“Does there need to be a difference?”

“No, I suppose to you there really isn’t.”

Eames was every bit as strong as he looked, but that was okay, because Spock was stronger than he looked. They crashed together, and if Eames was surprised at all by how unrestrained Spock was, he didn’t show it, he just grabbed Spock’s hips and hauled him closer.

Eames mouth was hot and slick, tongue curling against Spock’s, he kissed like he was indulging in it completely intent on every moment. Eames’ teeth were sharp and Spock had to wonder if he did that himself or if it was natural. Human saliva contained a high water content, starch hydrolases and antibacterial properties, as well as a unique and stable microbiome. Where was Eames different, where was he the same? He wanted to determine all the variables that made up ‘Eames’.

Spock pressed his hip against the thick rise of his cock in his corduroy pants.

“I can be anyone.” Eames licked at the corner of his lip, nosing along the sharp ridge of Spock’s cheek. “Anyone at all, I could look like Kirk if you wanted.”

“I see no reason to want anyone but you as you are most comfortable.” Spock touched the edges of his hips, and up his sides to hold his ribs, solid under his hands.

“Would you say that if you could see it?” Eames’ mouth was red with kisses and Spock stared at the curve of his bottom lip.

“I am an alien living stranded alone on a strange planet with strange customs, I doubt anything you show me could be more confusing than Jersey Shore, Yorkshire puddings or Botox.”

“You leave Yorkshire pudding out of this,” Eames said, holding him close.

“I will let the matter rest,” Spock agreed. He stepped out of the tangle of Eames’ arms, leaving him leaning against the wall, carefully slicked hair going everywhere, and face faintly flushed.

Spock pulled the sweater over his head, letting it drop to the floor in a neat pile. Eames grinned at him, expression filthy-hot, Spock noted it for later meditation. The undershirt went next, left to fall on top of the pile of knitwear.

Eames pushed himself into Spock’s space, running the tips of his fingers down the line from his throat to his stomach pressing at the faint give of muscle there. “You’re brilliant darling.”

Spock watched him tug at the clasps holding his pants up - he made quick work of the system, letting the edges cling to Spock’s hips.

Spock pushed the pants down and walked over to the bed so he could sit down to take his socks off. Eames unbuttoned his shirt, flicking the buttons out of their holes with practiced ease, the yellow cotton caught around his watch. Spock leaned back against the bed to watch him. So that Spock could catalogue Eames, in this form, as he was bared to him. There was something limitless about Eames.

Once naked, Eames paused a step from the bed, looming over Spock. The change started at his feet, rippling like heat hovering over the desert, all the way up until the change was complete. Eames was quite blue and his epidermis seemed to be made of a different cell type different surface structure that human skin. His eyes seemed startlingly yellow against his skin tone, his hair was mostly the same, pale brown and sticking up in clumps.

“Fascinating.”

Eames crawled into bed with him, pressing his shoulders down into the mattress and kissing him hard. Spock immediately set out to test the formation of his teeth. The general pattern was the same, but this form seemed close to the form he wore around usually. Would his smaller female forms display the same pattern but with a size morphism?

Spock spread his legs so Eames could settle there, genital region seemed unchanged, evolutionary similarity; the skin was thinner here, blood rushing to the surface and hot against Spock’s hip.

“You’re kind of green,” Eames whispered against his cheek and Spock pulled him close against his chest.

“Different oxidizing pigment.” Spock said, voice hitching across the words. He hooked his ankle around Eames and pulled him closer, curling his spine so they lined up just so, hips pressing together just shy of bruising.

Eames skin was smooth, hairless, endlessly interesting under his fingertips. He gripped at Eames’ shoulders keeping him close.

He was getting hard, could feel his own heart beating faster and faster. Eames was trying to steal all the air with lush kisses and Spock was going to get it back.

Spock pressed up, and Eames pushed him down. The friction was too much, a sharp sting of sensation, too much to be called pleasure. Spock groaned, pulling Eames in tighter - he wanted more of it. Eames bit at the line of his jaw, mumbled ‘tastes different, want to eat you out.’ Spock wasn’t sure what that meant, but Eames wasn’t really talking to him, shoving his nose under Spock’s ear so he could explore the skin there.

Spock hissed sharply at the contact.

“It’s sensitive, careful.” Eames’ teeth were sharp but his tongue was impossibly soft, the barest whisper of touches from between plush lips.

“Is it like that for everyone or just you?”

“I am especially sensitive,” Spock admitted, the end breaking off into a low sound as Eames let the pointed tip catch in the warm space between his lips.

Spock shuddered as he became wet, the first wave of pleasure sparking like fireworks behind his eyes. The slide was much sweeter now, everything between them getting messy and wet.

“That’s new,” Eames said, leaning back a little so he could rub the tips of his fingers through it. “Handy.”

Eames held his hips still so he could fuck through it, rutting against his hip.

“Next time, I think I’ll get you to fuck me.” Eames sighed, words warm against Spock’s lips. Spock groaned deep in his chest and surged up into a kiss.

“Are you suggesting there will be more traumatic experiences?”

“Plenty,” Eames agreed.

“Earth has many sexual customs?” Spock asked. He could just slip a hand between them, enough to take the friction from pleasant to perfect.

“More than you could imagine.” Humans were so quick with their passions, Spock wasn’t surprised. “That’s a promise.”

Eames was stunning above him, highlighted in brilliant blue sky achingly bright out the open window.

He could feel the second wave coming up on him. It tingled in his fingers, touch telepathy making him want to reach out, to connect. Eames watched him with eyes that shone yellow, and Spock couldn’t hold it together. He fell apart with a gasping sound, coming in waves that built in intensity until Spock was certain it was going to rip his mind to pieces.

“Can I keep going?” Eames was staring at him, mouth hanging loose. “Please?”

“Yes.”

Spock could hit a third wave, but it wasn’t easy. He cupped Eames’ cock in his palm, it was slick with Spock’s come and slid between his fingers easily. The drag against the pads of his fingers was exquisite and sent shivers racing through his nervous system.

“Ah,” Eames groaned.

When he came it was with a sharp, shuddering sound and a slur of curses. The mess all over Spock’s stomach was sticky, wet and warm. He would need to meditate extensively on the rush of warmth that was settling along his spine.

Eames lounged while Spock went to clean up.

“Next time I will make more conclusions about your physiology,” Spock said, sweeping his eyes over strong thighs and wide shoulders. Eames’ teeth flashed white,

“You’re a proper romantic you know that?”

Spock simply crawled back into bed with him.

“Have you really not met any others?” Spock asked; he didn’t know enough about the rates of genetic drift and population density in human populations to make any estimates genetics wasn’t his field of interest.

Eames tucked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. “Even if I did, do you think I would ever admit to it?”

Spock hadn’t considered that possibility. It was logical.

“Some things are more precious than the chance to not be alone.”


-END-


Prompt: A cocktail of ‘Superhero!AU’, ‘visiting other world’, and ‘zombie apocalypse ‘ for good measure.