Fan Fiction Friday: Kirk and Spock in “For Better or Immersed”


?I… I don’t even know where to begin with this one. Okay, I kinda do — it was sent to me by faithful reader J M, was written by someone named Farfalla, and… that’s all I got. After learning of this fan fic’s existence, nothing makes any sense any more. Shall we?

Jim Kirk gently ran two webbed fingers in an exploratory caress over the tender skin of Spock’s new
gills. “They feel so delicate,” he murmured, his voice other-worldly and unfamiliar even to his own
ears through the medium of water. “Almost like the skin on eyelids.”

KIRK AND SPOCK HAVE TURNED INTO FISH-PEOPLE. Oh, and they’re going to make out, but you probably assumed that. Let’s put the rest of this madness after jump, okay?

“The thinnest skin on the humanoid body,” Spock observed. Tiny bubbles like the carbonation in soda
water were expelled from the fringes of silken skin, floating to the surface of the tank to

Outside the tank, this section of Sickbay was empty and the room was dimmed, to give the
Enterprise’s top-ranking officers some time to relax even despite their malady. For nearly an entire
day, Dr. McCoy, Dr. Chapel, and a panoply of nurses had been running tests and making observations,
trying to figure out two very important pieces of information: what had caused the dumbfounding
changes in Kirk and Spock’s biology, and even more vital, how to reverse them.


Unfortunately, a day’s work had only succeeded in proving that two years into their second five-year
mission together, Admiral Kirk and Commander Spock had been surgically altered somehow into
creatures of the water.

Seriously, what the fuck? Who says, “Boy, I sure do like stories where
Kirk and Spock fuck each other, but you know what would be really sexy?
If they had gills.”

“At least they don’t have tails,” McCoy had muttered somewhere around dinnertime.

Chapel had snickered, picturing Mer-Jim sitting on a beach wearing a sand-dollar brassiere.


But the situation was serious. The Enterprise was in the middle of a mission, and she needed her
captain at the helm. They’d been sent to Argo, a world covered in water, to gather data vital to the
survival of another world facing impending flood. Now, Kirk and Spock were caught in a flood of
their own, and in a reverse of Noah’s Ark, were now trapped in a neat little pair in a large tank of
water, prisoners on their own ship.



The “head explode” pic is for “reverse Noah’s Ark,” which might be the most awful metaphor I’ve ever heard, partially because it makes no sense to this situation on any level. The “flood” was a stretch at the outset, but there’s no ark, no Noah, no animals, nothing in this situation that makes “reverse Noah’s ark” accurate in any way, shape or form.

On the other hand, “reverse Noah’s Ark” sounds like an intensely perverse sex act.

It was night, and although their life functions were being monitored by computer, McCoy had thought
it important that they rest in private, away from the eyes of other actual beings.

“I wonder if this is what it felt like to be in my mother’s womb,” Kirk mused.



“Vulcans retain a telepathic memory of the experience,” said Spock. “As a teenager, I once wondered
if I had been damaged by being more immersed in–love–than any fully Vulcan fetus.”


“It may have made you more unique,” Jim replied glibly, his wavy hair swishing in the water like the
dance of seaweed. He and Spock gazed at each other for a moment of companionable silence, both deep
in the same thoughts. “There’s got to be a way to reverse this–this mutation,” he said after a
while. “Even if McCoy can’t figure it out, someone down there knows how this works. This was done

By a very, very weird fan fic writer.

“What if we are unable to convince those who possess the knowledge to divulge it to us?”

Jim flashed him the patented James T. Charming Grin. “We can try!”

I usually wish I could launch most fan fic writers into the sun. This one I just want to punch in face.

“And if the process is revealed to be truly irreversible?”

Jim took a deep breath, which resulted in a thick stream of bubbles welling up from his gill-slits.
“Well, then, I–guess–we can always go on an oceanic expedition on Earth or other watered planets,
right? Plenty of new worlds to discover and study there.”

“I could never again return home,” Spock pointed out in a very soft voice. “Life as we knew it would
become a memory.”

Jim moved closer and took the Vulcan in his arms.

And here we we go. If any of you are eating at Red Lobster tonight, you might want to stop reading.

Spock took comfort in the waves of affection transmitted by his captain. He knew through the bond
that Jim had the same concerns for the future as he did, but the Jim Kirk way was one of tenacious
optimism. In his own mind, pessimism had always seemed more logical–once one came to terms with the
worst-case scenario and prepared for it, one was then prepared to deal with anything.

I’d say once you’ve been turned into a fish-man, you’ve earned a bit of pessimism.

But Jim was right. They *must* find a way to become air-breathers again, and Jim would not let any
of them, Spock or the medical staff, consider surrendering to fate.

“At least we are not separated,” said Spock solemnly.

Jim, holding him, peered around the tank that held them both safe and captive. “Yes,” he said
slowly. “I couldn’t bear to be on the other side of that glass from you.” All things considered, he
was grateful that whatever direction their lives would take, this bizarre adventure would not force
apart their life paths.

Anyone else imagining this happening in a big aquarium with blue pebbles and a little treasure chest opening and closing in the corner? Just me?

Spock moved his face closer through the water and kissed his Jim softly on the lips. Trying to
breathe air in this state may have made his throat raw and his head dizzy, and his once familiar
hands may now have been covered with strange layers of extra skin and webbing, but kissing his
bondmate felt just as perfect and natural and right as it always had. //Perfectly logical,// his
thoughts murmured, //since the bond is a creation of the mind, which has not been altered.//

Having webbed hands made the Vulcan finger-caress nearly impossible, so Kirk lifted Spock’s hand to
his lips instead. “What was that I said the first time that I held you?” he purred in a husky voice.
“I was going to kiss every square inch of your skin.” He suckled at the webbing. “You’ve got new
skin here, Mister Spock, and it hasn’t been properly baptized.”

He suckled at the webbing.

He suckled at the webbing.

He suckled at the webbing.

He suckled at the webbing.

He suckled at the webbing.

I wanted to make sure you got that.

“If you are speaking of traditional Baptism, Jim,” Spock replied in his I’m-a-sexy-smartass voice,
“then I believe we have both been sufficiently immersed.”

Jim’s tongue flickered between Spock’s fingers, causing the Vulcan to moan slightly–in bubbles!
Human eyes sparkled at this novel expression of pleasure. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that we’re
still wearing our uniforms?”


Spock lifted his eyebrow, and Jim was almost surprised that it wasn’t accompanied by another rush of
bubbles. “We may have grown gills and flippers, but we are still Starfleet officers.”

“But we’re off-duty! Bones wanted us to relax,” Jim reminded him.

“Surely you are not suggesting we disrobe.”

“I guess not.” Jim sighed. “We’d never be able to get wet clothes back on underwater.”

“That is not to say that we must refrain from intimacy,” said Spock. He slipped a webbed hand
underneath the bottom of Jim’s shirt and stroked his back. “The doctor has asked that nobody disturb
us while we sleep.”

If anybody calls a penis a “fish-stick” in this I’m going to set my computer on fire.

“Mm, how very fortunate,” Jim slurred, his eyelids closing as he shuddered with delight. Like a
caterpillar on a leaf flailing instinctively for its next foothold, his hands slithered
automatically to Spock’s rear.


He squeezed himself a few handfuls before finding something even more
interesting to play with. It didn’t take him long to free his new toy from the confinement of
uniform pants.

The webbing on Jim’s hands made a satisfyingly tight sheath for Spock’s erection. Spock’s nose
burrowed into the crook of Jim’s neck. Inspired by what he found there, he tentatively began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue.

[Spock] began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue.

[Spock] began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue.

[Spock] began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue.

[Spock] began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue.

[Spock] began to lick
Jim’s gills with the tip of his tongue


Jim thrashed slightly and let out a strange, almost cetacean cry.

If I ever find a genie, I swear one of my wishes will be punching this author in the fucking face. Screw infinite wealth or world peace. This is far more important.

“It comes as no surprise to me that these tissues are sexually sensitive,” Spock informed him, “as
they are composed of a mucous membrane similar to that which is found in the mouth, or the–“

“Don’t stop,” Jim gasped, interrupting him with lazy desperation. He tugged more tightly on Spock’s
organ for emphasis.

Spock dutifully returned to lapping at the translucent adornments on his partner’s neck, thrusting
all the time into the hands that pumped him so passionately. Jim’s answering arousal strained
towards him through the still-zipped pants, which Spock dealt with quickly and efficiently.

Grasping each other’s firm organs with their flippery hands, the two beings pumped in synchronized

Ah, the little known water sport of synchronized mutual masturbation. Yet another sport the NCAA turns a blind eye to.

Jim caught the lip of Spock’s ear between his lips and nipped at it playfully, relinquishing
it to the water as passion contorted his face. The liquid around them swirled and clouded with
bubbles, obscuring the lovers as the breathing through their gills grew heavier in sexual bliss.


Their mouths came together like the crashing of waves as they climaxed, pulsing heat into the nest
of webbed hands. It floated away quickly on the water, to be processed and cleaned away by the tank

I’m eternally grateful the tank has a filter in this story, because I really didn’t want to read about Kirk and Spock’s fish-batter floating throughout their fuck-pool.

They remained in the embrace, Jim nibbling on the edge of Spock’s chin.

“At least we are left this,” Spock said softly after a long while.

“Stop that,” Jim said sharply. “We’re getting out of here. Bones’s got the whole Sickbay working on
our condition. If that comes up empty, we’ll take the next step and go down there.”

“And we’ll keep jacking each other off, obviously.”

“But Jim, the water shuttle has been destroyed.”

“We’ll go ourselves. We don’t need a ship.” Bubbles puffed from Kirk’s gills, as if to emphasize his


“That is logical,” Spock was forced to admit, adding, “providing we have sufficient information
about the area to make such travel relatively safe.” He lifted his hand and twirled some of Jim’s
floating hair around his fingertips. “For now, we must rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jim squeezed him one more time, then lay down on the tank’s bottom. Spock soon
joined him there, and with his head on Jim’s shoulder, they both fell asleep with the water washing
gently over their mutated bodies.

 THE END. THEY’RE STILL FISH-MEN. Think about this: the author could have easily written a story about Kirk and Spock just having sex; many people do. She could have written a story where they had sex in a pool, if she wanted the water setting.

But no, Farfalla went out of her way to have them become fish-men, complete with gills, so that Kirk and Spock could scarees and nibble on them. The author was not at all interested in their plight as fishmen, he/she just really wanted to write story where Kirk and Spock were fish and gave each other handjobs. Very specifically. I don’t know about you, but that’s almost as disturbing to me as any poop-fic.