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Jim stared at his hand, currently being cuddled against Spock’s face, and then glanced over at Ch’vac’rian, who didn’t even seem fazed by the turn of events.
“So let me get this straight. This . . . holy light . . . allows a person to know his heart’s desire. Which, in Spock’s case, is apparently me.”
“That is correct, Captain.”
“Um, are you sure?” he asked, hand twitching, because that was just fucking weird, no lie. Spock was holding his hand. Spock was. Mr. Do Not Touch Me Unless You Want to Die an Excruciating and Inventive Death. Rubbing his face against it. Licking—oh, fuck, he was licking it.
Jim didn’t even mean to try to jerk free; it was just his instinctual response to the unexpected touch. But that just made Spock more aggressive, made him tug Jim’s hand even closer, causing him to stumble, and start sucking on his fingertips. He could feel his face flush on Spock’s behalf, because while he had done far more adventurous things than letting someone fellate his fingers in public, not-high-off-the-holy-light Spock would sooner be eviscerated than do something so obscene in front of an audience.
“Yes, Captain Kirk. I am certain. There is no doubt. To be with you is the Commander’s greatest wish.”
“Riiiight.” He wondered if it would make a difference to the high priest if he explained that while he and Spock were finally getting into a good groove as a command team after almost a year of working together, they weren’t exactly what he would call the best of friends. Somehow though, he doubted it would help.
“Spock, can you let go of my hand?” Jim frowned when Spock didn’t respond, just kept doing what he was doing as if he never planned to stop. “Why isn’t he talking?” he asked Ch’vac’rian, eye twitching at a particularly slobbery lick. “He hasn’t said a single thing this whole time, and while Commander Spock has never been a man of many words, he’s never been a man of no words either.”
“That is a fairly common side effect—”
“Ah!” Jim yelped, jumping slightly when Spock took it into his head to add teeth to the mix. “What the hell do you have in there, fangs? No biting, damn it! How long is this effect supposed to last?” he demanded, turning back to Ch’vac’rian. “Can we—is there any way to, you know, reverse it or something?”
Ch’vac’rian frowned, drawing himself up to his full height. “Captain Kirk, I do not think you fully appreciate the great honor that has been conferred on your first officer. The Five do not grant true vision to all the pilgrims who journey to the temple, and even among those They bless, the means to achieve that heart’s desire is provided to but a select handful—”
“Will you stop?” Jim demanded, yanking his hand down. It seemed that Spock had decided to apologize for his over-enthusiastic biting by increasing the sucking, which was distracting and wet and painfully loud, and horrifyingly enough, it was kind of starting to turn him on, which he totally didn’t need when he was acting as the Federation’s . . . ambassador . . .
He managed to smile pleasantly instead of wincing like he really wanted to. “I apologize for my outburst, High Priest Ch’vac’rian. As you can imagine, this . . . change in Commander Spock has taken me by surprise, but I assure you that we are honored to be acknowledged in such a way by your gods, and we hope that this is a sign of how our societies will be able to work together in the future, hand in hand. I am certain that Commander Spock—” if he were in his right mind, “would be particularly fascinated by this experience—” . . . or something . . . “—and I can only regret that he cannot join in our discussion. Stay!”
That last command was addressed to Spock who had been steadily inching closer as unobtrusively as possible, as if Jim weren’t going to notice a 1.85 meter tall Vulcan trying to grab his hand. He didn’t really have any hope that Spock would listen—when had he ever?—so he blinked when Spock froze in place, his shoulders slumping.
“Er, sorry about that, High Priest.”
“I understand, Captain Kirk. The revelation of one’s heart’s desire is a momentous event, not only for the seeker but for those in his life as well. To discover that you are what the seeker truly longs for will take a period of adjustment.”
That was one way to put it. Jim glanced back at Spock and barely controlled a sigh. Spock was pouting. Pouting. It was—it was weird and disturbing and so incredibly pitiful that he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It wasn’t Spock’s fault that he’d been whammied by the light. He was sure that Spock was going to be absolutely mortified and pissed off when he finally came out of it and remembered how he’d acted—Jim really, really hoped he wouldn’t remember, for Spock’s sake and because he was too young to die—so open and vulnerable with his feelings of affection. For Jim.
It was all Jim could do not to cover his face and groan. He didn’t believe for a second that he was Spock’s heart desire. Sure, they got along nowadays, but love? Lust? Yeah, unless stranding someone on an ice planet and then trying to choke him to death were the Vulcan equivalents of pulling the hair of the girl you had a crush on in kindergarten, he really didn’t think Spock was that into him. This was just going to make everything one thousand times more awkward once he finally recovered.
Still. Until then, Spock was . . . in love with him. Or crazy. Or crazy in love with him, he didn’t know. And he didn’t deserve to suffer just because Jim was a little—okay, a lot—freaked out. Jim sighed and held out his hand. He couldn’t even look at the expression of relief and joy that flashed across Spock’s face before Spock clutched his hand to his chest; Spock, who normally had only two expressions: cool and collected, and cool and collected and disdainful. Fuck.
“High Priest Ch’vac’rian, while we are, once again, very appreciative of the mark of distinction handed down by the Five, Commander Spock’s Vulcan physiology is very different from yours and even from Terrans, and—” Jim watched as the high priest’s face tightened, his shoulders tensing visibly, “—and I’m sure that didn’t make a bit of difference to your gods who would have seen and accommodated that fact.” He blew out a big puff of air and smiled charmingly. “So . . . how long is this supposed to last again?”
-----
“This better be a damn emergency, Jim—” He almost laughed when Bones nearly tripped over his own feet when he walked into Jim’s quarters to see Spock sitting side-by-side with him—well, plastered side-by-side with him really. But he didn’t, because, yeah, not as funny as it could have been.
“Hey, Bones. So . . . how’s it going?”
“What the hell?”
Jim grunted as Spock pulled him even closer, obviously not liking the entrance of another person. Damn, his poor ribs were never going to be the same.
“What is Spock doing?” Bones yelped, finger shaking as he pointed at the two of them. Oh right. He’d gotten so used to the light kisses on his face and neck that he’d started ignoring them.
“Funny you should ask—get down, Spock!” He pushed Spock off his lap—damn, for such a skinny guy, he was fucking heavy—and back down onto the cushion, rolling his eyes when Spock tried to scoot even closer, wedging him against the sofa arm. “Yeah, so, interesting mission.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Bones said, already pulling out his tricorder, because of course something had to be wrong with Spock for him to be so unabashedly clingy, and really, Jim was surprised he hadn’t gotten it out sooner.
“Er, be careful about how close you get, Bones.” Jim had already made the mistake of assuming Spock was too focused on him to pay attention to anyone else. However, Ch’vac’rian had been very gracious about Spock’s aborted attack when the high priest had attempted to embrace Jim in the customary farewell gesture, which was only fair of him considering it was his planet’s fault they were in this mess in the first place. “Spock gets a little . . . upset if people come too close to me.”
“Of all the . . .” Bones rolled his eyes. “What happened?”
So Jim told him. To his credit, Bones stopped laughing relatively quickly.
“You? Spock’s heart’s desire? You? Spock?”
“I know, I know!” He ignored the small part of him that wanted to demand why Bones sounded so shocked considering how freaking awesome he was and what a good catch he’d be for anyone, even a perfectionist like Spock. They actually had a lot in common: they were both very intelligent and curious, enjoyed challenges and puzzles, took their jobs and their duty seriously, liked working out and sparring way more than they should—
He cleared his throat. So not the point right now.
Spock chose that moment to nuzzle his cheek against Jim’s, glaring at Bones all the while and making it clear that he was marking his territory.
“Okay, that’s just creepy.”
“You’re telling me.” Jim rolled his shoulders, trying to get comfortable in his cramped position, and stretched out the arm that had been loosely wrapped around Spock’s waist. Spock’s body temperature was high enough that sitting next to him for so long was like being covered by a thermal blanket, and he took a deep breath of blessedly cool air, wondering if he were sweating.
Spock frowned, and fuck, he took full responsibility for what happened next since he should’ve known better than to do something that seemed like he was moving away from Spock right after he’d been so obvious about asserting his claim on Jim in front of Bones. Spock curled around him, draping his far leg over Jim’s thighs, and grabbed his hand, placing it firmly right back on his body.
On his ass, to be more precise.
Jim’s shoulders hunched down, even as he tried to leer for Bones’ benefit—when had Jim T. Kirk ever passed up a chance to grope another humanoid?—but he could tell it came off as weak and sickly. There were just so many levels of wrong feeling up Spock’s ass—two words that he would never have thought to put in the same sentence before that day—in front of Bones. Just no. No.
Spock pressed Jim’s hand even more securely against his ass, and he tried to ignore how muscular and surprisingly round it was in his palm. Yeah, Spock having a convenient bout of amnesia regarding the whole trip down to the planet sounded pretty good right then. Especially considering the look of horror on Bones’ face. Actually, ship-wide amnesia might be even better. Maybe they could erase the trip from the computer’s logs? Hmmm, something to think about.
Bones finally managed to wrench his eyes away—thank heavens since Jim couldn’t think of a single thing to say for a change—and stared down at the tricorder.
The room was pretty quiet for a while other than the sound of the tricorder and Spock’s kisses, which had resumed once Spock had decided Bones wasn’t actually attempting to steal Jim away from him. Joy. He tried to go back to ignoring all the physical affection, but with Bones in the room, it was like he was hyperaware of each brush of Spock’s lips, and it was getting harder—he cleared his throat—and harder to act blasé about the whole thing. Spock was so warm and damn cuddly, was all lean muscle but still fit into the curve of his arm nicely, and he—he smelled really good. Like, really good. It wasn’t one of those things Jim had ever noticed about him before, because, come on, who went around sniffing people, but it was this mild, somewhat—
“Well, his readings are normal,” Bones said at last, obviously disgruntled by that fact, like science had failed him in the face of such explicitly erratic behavior on Spock’s part. “But maybe once we take him down to Sickbay—”
“Bones. I can’t take him to Sickbay! Not like this!” He gestured at Spock who was once again trying to crawl into his lap like Jim hadn’t specifically told him not to three times over the past twenty minutes.
“Look, Jim, I understand you’re trying to look after Spock, but this could be something serious, and it’s my job—”
“You just said his readings were fine! And the high priest said the effects should wear off by tomorrow morning. Come on, Bones, just give me until—”
“He’s not even talking! He’s growled and made these weird rumbly noises, but he hasn’t said a single word since—”
“That’s par for the course! The high priest said that would wear off in a couple more hours. Something about the presence of the divine power, blah, blah, blah. But it’s standard for them. Spock hasn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary, and Ch’vac’rian assured me over and over again that—”
“Jim! You’re taking the advice of one of the people who did this to Spock in the first place! Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that picture? Hell, with this picture?” he asked, gesturing to the cuddle fest going on right in front of him. “How can this not bother you?” Bones demanded, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.
“Of course, it bothers me! This is Spock we’re talking about! Spock doesn’t do this kind of stuff! I don’t know if he did this kind of stuff when he and Uhura were still dating to be honest, and it kind of scares me that I now have that mental picture in my head. I feel like the whole world’s a little off-kilter,” he added, lifting his chin in order to keep eye contact with Bones as Spock kissed his way down his neck. “I mean, he has facial expressions and everything! Who knew? Even the not talking thing is getting to me. He hasn’t said “illogical” or “fascinating” for the past few hours, and I’m ashamed to admit that I might actually be starting to miss ‘em.”
“Now, don’t get carried away,” Bones muttered.
“And yeah, I could do without the kissing,” he said, twitching as Spock sucked an enthusiastic hickey on his jaw. “But the Slr’dvns aren’t a hostile race. It doesn’t make sense for them to go out of their way to piss off the Federation, especially considering how advantageous this trade route is going to be for their planet. It’s just not . . . logical. And you know I’m right, Bones. Please. Just until tomorrow morning,” he wheedled, trying to look as cute as possible and knowing he’d managed when Bones just scowled that much harder. “If Spock isn’t back to normal by 1000 hours, I’ll bring him to Sickbay, I swear.”
“And what’s he going to do during all that time until then, huh? Are you going to put him in the brig? Lock him in his room? How are you going to know if his condition doesn’t take a turn for the worse or—damn it, Jim! You’re planning to keep him in here all night, aren’t you?”
“What else am I supposed to do? He’s like an octopus, all arms and legs and suckers. I can’t very well let him roam the halls of the Enterprise, and all he wants to do is be with me anyway.”
“Because you’re his heart’s desire.”
Jim rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in Bones’ voice and didn’t even squirm when Spock hugged him a little closer. “Exactly.”
“How do we know he won’t turn violent?” Oh yeah, Jim was so going to win this argument if Bones had gone from harping about the health of his patient to wondering about hypothetical scenarios.
“Bones!” he exclaimed, aghast. “You can’t be suggesting that—”
“I know Spock wouldn’t do anything if he were in his right mind!” Bones flushed, looked guiltily at Spock for maligning his character but pressed forward anyway. “But he’s not in his right mind, and I’m not letting you risk—”
“Besides, I’ve already thought of that.” Jim grinned, completely unrepentant. “I’ve programmed the computer to alert you if my heart rate goes over ninety beats per minute. You can have Security down here in thirty seconds flat.”
“Don’t sound so sure that I’d want to save you,” Bones grumbled, shoving his tricorder back into his bag. “I still don’t think this is wise. Mark my words, this is going to end badly, and then you’ll be all, ‘Bones, I should’ve listened to you! Why am I so stupid and stubborn and such a jackass? Why, why?’”
“Uh huh.” Bones looked way too cheerful at the thought of Jim admitting he was wrong. Like that would ever happen. “And don’t worry, Bones! It’ll be fine.”
-----
Okay. So not fine. Not fine.
Spock was naked. Naked. Not that Jim was looking, because he so wasn’t. He wasn’t even a little bit tempted. Alright, maybe a little bit tempted. Out of morbid curiosity really. He’d never seen a Vulcan naked before after all. Definitely not any other reason.
The biggest problem, however, wasn’t even the fact that there were things in his face—even though, once again, not looking—that shouldn’t be in his face. The biggest problem—not to say that Spock’s “problem” wasn’t big, of course—okay, getting distracted—the biggest problem was that Spock was trying to get Jim to join him in said nakedness.
In retrospect, letting himself fall asleep hadn’t been the best decision Jim had ever made.
“Will you just—damn it, Spock, let go—hold on a sec—watch where those hands are going, buddy!” Jim managed to heave himself off the couch and put the coffee table between them, his shirt askew and his pants unbuttoned. Like an octopus.
Damn, Jim might have to take lessons.
“Captain—Jim—I require—”
“Woah, you can talk? That’s great! Do you remember what happened? Do you know where you are? What’s the stardate—”
Okay, Spock obviously wasn’t interested in chit-chat, Jim decided as he narrowly managed to evade Spock’s arms. Really not interested if the way he was starting to crouch down like he was planning to spring across the table at Jim was any indication.
“Spock! You’re under the influence of some kind of lust ray!” Eh, close enough. “You need to snap out of—
“Jim, please refrain from speaking for the next seven point four minutes.”
He narrowed his eyes, disgruntled that Spock had just told him to shut up—ha! As if!—and tried really, really hard not to think about what the seven point four minutes signified and what it said about Spock’s stamina. Which was why he almost didn’t roll to the ground in time to avoid Spock’s leap, somehow getting his legs under Spock—adrenalin was a wonderful thing—and shoving him away.
He bounced back to his feet and hoped to hell that his heart rate hadn’t spiked above ninety bpm, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment if it had. They’d find out soon enough if Security came busting through his door in the next minute.
Spock was back on up seconds later, not even breathing hard, the fucker, and stood loose-limbed and relaxed—once again, not that Jim was looking—like he got hurled around the room all the time. Of course, if this was the way he typically went about wooing someone in his free time, maybe he did.
“Spock, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I would think it self-evident, Jim. I am attempting to disrobe you so that we may engage in coitus.”
Right. Duh.
“For seven point four minutes.” Jim winced. He hadn’t even meant to make the joke; sometimes, there was a slight disconnect between his mouth and his brain.
“The figure of seven point four minutes relates to the duration of time necessary to remove the remainder of your clothes and to ascertain a suitable location for copulation.” Jim stared in fascination as a slight green flush started to spread across Spock’s cheeks. Oh, fuck. Spock was blushing. “I did not expect you to remain quiet during the act itself.”
Heaven help him. He tore his eyes away from yet another sign that Spock was still in la-la land—Spock was blushing—and tried not to think about the fact that seven point four minutes was more than enough time for Spock to get Jim naked and throw him on the bed, so Spock had actually included some getting-to-know-each-other foreplay time in his calculations, and wasn’t that just the craziest, most messed up, most damn adorable thing he’d ever heard?
“And what makes you think I’d want to have sex with you?”
That seemed to actually make an impression, and Spock frowned as if the question did not compute.
“But we are t’hy’la.”
Jim actually knew a fair amount of Vulcan—not the easiest language to pick up, but a lot gentler on the throat than Klingon—but he had never heard that word before. Maybe after Spock got his head back on straight, he would ask, but considering how Spock was starting to move forward with a purpose again, now was not the time for a language lesson.
“Okay, let me be more clear. Spock, we are not going to have sex. End of discussion. Done.”
Spock paused, one foot still in front of the other. The look he gave Jim made a flash of guilt go through him—why the hell was he feeling guilty for acting moral, damn it?—but at least he’d stopped walking, shifting into one of his favored stances, feet spread slightly less than shoulder’s-width apart, arms folded behind his back.
Jim winced, resisted the urge to cover his eyes. He didn’t know that he’d ever be able to see Spock stand like again without remembering how he looked at that particular moment, most of his body in parade rest while one portion was at attention—he wrenched his gaze up above Spock’s neck.
“You do not desire me?”
And there was the guilt again. Spock wilted—in many senses of the word—and looked like Jim had just kicked his puppy, or Sehlat, or whatever.
“It’s not a matter of desire or lack thereof, it’s just—”
“Based on data I have collected from viewing your previous sexual partners, aesthetically, I am within one standard deviation of your typical—”
“Wait, what? You’ve noticed—okay, not the point—”
“I also possess attributes that make me considerably better qualified to be your partner than other contenders.”
Jim’s eyes widened. Just what was Spock implying? Attributes? What kind of attributes? Nothing seemed to be out of place or . . . extra . . . but maybe something . . . popped out or—?
“Physically—” Jim’s eyes widened further, “—I believe I have already proven my combat prowess on several missions—” Ohhhh. Yeah. He totally wasn’t disappointed right now. At all. “—and you may, of course, inspect my level of fitness in closer detail.” Still not looking. “Furthermore, I have successfully demonstrated my intellectual capabilities on a regular basis—”
“Spock.” Jim sighed, rubbed his hand over his mouth. “There’s no question that you are a very attractive being, physically and intellectually and all the other ‘—ally’s’ out there. But—”
“But you do not wish to become romantically involved with me.”
And there was the guilt again. It was worse seeing that lack of expression on Spock’s face now than it had been before. Jim hadn’t ever really thought about what Spock was feeling before ‘cause Spock did such a damn good job of apparently not feeling anything. But Jim knew he could feel. Hell, he’d used that to his advantage in the past, and it didn’t matter that it had been necessary at the time. Not that Spock had ever apologized to him for kicking him off the ship and almost killing him. Not that he was bitter. Annoyed, maybe. A little. Sometimes. The point was that he knew Spock was capable of feeling emotion, but seeing it so blatantly displayed for the past few hours only to have it disappear again in reaction to Jim’s apparent rejection, well . . .
“This isn’t you, Spock.” And that’s what it all came down to. This wasn’t Spock. Not really. He didn’t actually want Jim. He tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment at that thought. It wasn’t like he wanted Spock either.
Okay, maybe . . . it wasn’t like he’d never noticed how appealing Spock was, how intelligent and resourceful . . . how he filled out his regulation pants when he was bent over the Science console . . .
But he’d . . . he’d never allowed himself to think about it before, not for long anyway, and not with anything except the barest minimum of regret. And . . . and sure he was thinking about it now. Which was just stupid. Which was just going to get him into trouble and cause all sorts of weird one-sided tension on the Bridge; but fuck it all, Spock really was very . . .
“Listen to me,” Jim said, and he pushed all the other thoughts to the back, because after all was said and done, he wanted to be able to look Spock in the eye, and sleeping with him or being unintentionally cruel when he was this vulnerable wasn’t going to let him do that. “These feelings you have for me aren’t real. They were artificially engendered by something in the light at the temple you visited on the surface, but they’re going to fade in a matter of hours. I can’t—I can’t, Spock—do anything with you while you’re in this compromised condition.”
“And if I were to assure you that I harbored these feelings for you prior to the events of the previous day?” Spock asked, and it wasn’t that his features changed very much, but some light in his eyes or tightening around his mouth made him appear so defenseless at that moment that Jim had to look down, because it was wrong to see that expression on Spock’s face, wrong and not meant for him.
“I wouldn’t be able to believe you,” he said quietly. “Not when I know you’re still experiencing the effects of the light. Not when—,” he sighed, ran his hand through his hair. “Spock, we aren’t even friends. We’re—we’re a good team, but—you’ve never—there’s no way that you can really—you’ve never so much as hinted that you’d be interested in anything more. There’s just—I can’t—I can’t believe you.”
“I see.”
That hurt. That actually fucking hurt to see Spock try to gather his pride around him like a shield. To see him try and fail.
“But if you—” Jim tensed, knew he shouldn’t say anything, should just leave it like that because it was only going to lead to problems later, and he needed to damn well remember that Spock was going to be grateful nothing had happened between them when he came around. Grateful. After all, Spock had made it pretty damn clear that he didn’t approve of Jim’s methods or decisions most of the time, didn’t approve of Jim most of the time, and that wasn’t going to change just because Spock had experienced a momentary bout of insanity.
But he couldn’t stand to see Spock so exposed—so fucking courageous even though he was fighting for something he wouldn’t even want when he was rational once again—and not offer something up in return, no matter how foolhardy his actions. It was as if every barrier Jim had erected to keep himself safe from this one person who’d affected him so strongly from the very first day they’d met—every barrier that he’d thought was so strong and insurmountable—lay like dust at his feet.
“But if you were to approach me after you’ve recovered . . .” He didn’t say anything more, couldn’t believe he was saying anything at all when he’d convinced himself a long, long time ago that he’d be lucky to earn Spock’s respect, let alone his friendship. But Spock’s expression indicated he’d filled in all the rest of the words without Jim’s help, knew exactly what Jim couldn’t say, and he suddenly looked so fucking hopeful that Jim couldn’t bear to take his words back.
“Jim . . .”
“But until then,” he said, dredging up a smile, wondering what the hell he was doing and how much it was going to hurt when it came back to bite him on the ass later, “why don’t you put your clothes back on so we can sit on the couch?”
Spock took a deep breath and nodded, walked forward until he was in front of Jim, reaching out convulsively and clasping Jim’s hand in his, acting as if it had hurt him to be away from Jim for even that long.
Jim didn’t allow himself to flinch when Spock looked searchingly at him, tried to convey friendliness and support and hell, anything he could that wasn’t the ache and stupid fucking longing he really felt. When had it happened? When had Spock gotten under his skin even though he’d promised himself he’d keep him at arm’s length?
Whatever Spock saw in Jim’s eyes let him relax, let him huddle closer and press his forehead to Jim’s shoulder, making his next words muffled but still clear enough to hear. “Very well. But you will accept the truth when the time comes.”
Jim’s mouth twisted. When the time comes. That was the kicker, wasn’t it?
-----
Jim had thought it couldn’t possibly get worse than the hugely embarrassing emotional outpouring they’d shared—Spock’s quiet words had been the equivalent of being bathed in love by anyone else—but he’d been wrong.
He still wasn’t admitting anything to Bones though.
Jim had been so careful, refusing to move from the couch and making Spock get dressed—and okay, maybe he’d looked like once, but once fell within the locker room code of conduct of “I’m doing this just to compare, and we’re all guys here anyway, so it doesn’t matter” so it was alright—and they’d resumed the hugging, and he’d let Spock go back to kissing him since it really did calm Spock down. It was only because he’d fallen asleep and stopped responding that Spock had clearly felt compelled to up the ante.
“You appeared uninterested in the previous level of intimacy, thus, I attempted to rectify the situation.”
Pfft. Yeah, right.
What he hadn’t counted on was how insistent his body would be after hours and hours of kisses and cuddles that it was now time for a little bit more. After all, man was not meant to have a semi-hard for such a long period of time without it going somewhere—preferably in another person’s orifice, but a hand would do in times of emergency—and Jim had been forced to suffer through emotional realizations and admissions, and now his body wanted its reward. Right. The fuck. Now.
But he couldn’t very well excuse himself for a quick bathroom run. Spock had stood outside the door when he’d just gone in to take a piss. There was no way Jim was going to perform when there was even the remote possibility of Spock hearing and deciding to help out.
And for the most part, he thought he was doing a good job of keeping his erection a secret. He kept his legs crossed and didn’t let Spock swing his leg up on his lap, judiciously relocated wandering hands to new areas when necessary, and unlike Spock, who he’d been trying very, very hard to pretend wasn’t keeping up a slow but continuous rubbing against his thigh for the last minute or so, Jim kept his hips still.
But ohhh, he hoped Spock would snap out of it really, really, really, really, really, really soon.
“Spock . . . you need to,” he swallowed, tried to clear his throat, but his voice was still hoarse, strangled, when he said, “to stop doing that.” His fingers dug into the cushions of the couch until they ached.
“Jim,” Spock panted, his movements getting slightly faster, and who the hell was Jim kidding? He could feel every inch of Spock’s erection sliding against his thigh, and his own cock cried out with jealousy. “I apologize, but I cannot comply with your request.”
“You know I can’t let you do this,” Jim said, jaw tensing as he stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him. “If you don’t stop, I’ll have to get up and won’t be able to let you touch me anymore.”
“Do not,” Spock moaned, his head rubbing side to side against Jim’s neck as his hands wrapped around his shirt as if to prevent his escape. His thrusts increased in urgency, his breath so hot and fast against his chest. “Jim, I cannot—”
“Spock,” he tried to warn again, tried to infuse his voice with determination, even though it came out more breathy than anything. The problem was that he understood—oh, did he—and he could hardly blame Spock, even if he was envying him a whole damn bunch right about now, because at least Spock had an excuse, but all Jim had was a near case of blue balls. “You’ll regret this later—”
“Jim. Please,” Spock gasped, and it was like he was trying to race to the finish, trying to get off before Jim made him get off, and each thrust was doing terrible, terrible things low in his stomach, and his own hard on was just about trying to bore a hole through his pants, and damn it, Spock needed to stop!
“Enough!” Jim shouted, shoved Spock off of him so violently that Spock actually fell back onto the couch, grabbed Spock’s arms as he followed him down and kept him pinned with his weight. “That’s enough, I said!”
And apparently Spock agreed. Because that was when he came, body arching into Jim’s above him, eyes round and surprised and filled with so much damn want that he nearly came right along with him.
“Fuck,” Jim whispered, watching as Spock shivered and cried out underneath him, beautiful and slack-jawed and so fucking desirable that he couldn’t stop himself from grinding down against Spock’s raised hips with a pained whine, although he at least had the self-control to prevent himself from doing anything more. Just barely. “Fuck.”
“Captain! Captain, are you alright?”
Jim let out a surprised yelp, flung himself off Spock, falling off the couch in the process as Security beat a frantic rhythm against the door. Throwing Spock across the room hadn’t raised his heart rate over ninety bpm, but kind of sort of` making out with Spock had? The fuck?
“We’re coming in!”
“Wait!” he called out, scrambling to his feet. How the hell had Security gotten there so fast?
But he was too late. The doors whooshed open just as Spock pushed Jim behind him, putting himself and his—please, please, please, let them not notice—soiled pants in front of the incoming threat. Which, in this case, was Thompson and Reilian, their phasers drawn and set to stun, and who were looking increasingly confused to see just the two of them there, and thank fuck, it didn't like either of them thought anything looked out of place, but who knew how long that would last. Now all Jim had to do was convince them that it'd all been a misunderstanding and get them out of the room before Spock started acting all territorial again. Although, first, he somehow had to make his damn insistent erection—which was currently ignoring the complete embarrassment of the situation and crying, "Me, too! Me, too!—to go away.
Fuck his life.
-----
Jim blinked up at the ceiling of his quarters and wondered if he’d ever fall asleep. It sure as hell didn’t feel like he would. Three hours since Spock had left him, and one would think that after a very stressful and fucking weird day, followed by a night of virtually no sleep, followed by one of the most intense and short-lived masturbation sessions in his whole life—and he’d made fun of Spock’s seven point four minutes—that Jim would have crashed and been dead to the world right about now. And yet he wasn’t.
Of course not.
It would help if he could get the image of Spock orgasming out of his head; he really, really needed to before their next shift together, but no luck so far. But he was optimistic. Give him say, oh, another thirty years, and he might be able to do it. Maybe.
He sighed when the door chimed. Bones had given him a quick once-over when he’d accompanied Spock to Sickbay that morning, had told him to take the day off after a week of following the Slr’dvns’ thirty two hour day and then staying up all night with Spock. He should’ve known Bones wouldn’t leave it at that though. Damn Bones and his insistence that Jim be examined all the time for the sake of his health, when really, Bones just wanted to poke and prod him, call him stupid and get all the best gossip. He was sure Bones was keeping a PADD of all of the most embarrassing moments of his Starship career and planned to publish them and become a gagillionaire when he retired. The bastard. Although Jim was going to demand a share of the profits. It was his humiliation after all. He should recoup something from it.
“Enter,” he called, not even bothering to get up. Bones had seen him in a lot less than his boxers.
“Captain.”
“Mr. Spock!” He started to clamber out of bed, realized his cock had gotten a little too interested in the proceedings, and he hurriedly sat back down, deciding that staying in bed was actually the better decision. Damn the privacy screen for being in the way so he hadn’t seen who the hell it was actually coming into his quarters! “Er . . . how are you feeling? Do you . . . do you need to—?”
“I am fully recovered.” Jim contained a sigh. Oh yeah, Spock was definitely back, all neutral expression and untouchable dignity, and it was like the other Spock had never existed. Which was kind of depressing, since he already missed him a whole bunch.
“Good to hear.” And it was. They needed Spock. Jim would totally throw a celebration or something if he weren’t so busy with his own pity party. “Thanks for stopping by after Bones was done with you. I know it’s never easy when Bones has his dander up, but—”
“Jim.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. Spock never called him by his name.
“Three point one hours have passed since I departed.”
“Um . . . yeah,” he agreed, wondering where Spock was going with this.
“In the course of that time, Dr. McCoy performed a battery of tests and detected not a single anomalous reading. Nor did I feel the overwhelming compulsion to be in your presence that inspired my behavior from before. Would you agree that I am no longer under the influence of any outside factors?”
“Mayyyybe . . .” he hedged, not wanting to hope their conversation was heading to where he thought it was heading, trying to believe there was a perfectly logical reason why Spock was bringing up the topic at all.
“Then perhaps,” and Jim watched, something burning in his throat, as Spock shifted, looked away for a second before looking back at him, and in that instant, Jim could swear he saw signs of the Spock who had wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, “perhaps you will believe me now when I say that my regard for you remains unchanged from that of the past seventeen point six hours.” He swallowed, the muscles in his shoulders standing out as he gripped his arms tighter behind his back. “From what it has been for the past five point three months.”
“What? You—you were serious?”
“I am always serious,” Spock said, as obnoxious and literal as always. And then his eyes widened slightly, and he looked away for just a second, and Jim realized that maybe he wasn’t the only one with a brain to mouth disconnect at times as Spock cleared his throat. “However, in this case, yes, I was truthful in my admission.”
“But you—we never—I mean, I always thought that—why are you telling me this now?” he asked, slightly suspicious that maybe there were residual urges that Spock just wasn’t aware of, that it wasn’t really Spock talking, but whatever it was that light had put into Spock. “If what you say is true, if you’ve been . . . attracted to me for-for five months, why wait until now to—”
“I did not believe you would be receptive to my advances prior to this mission.” And Spock was all stiff lines then, as if to deny any emotional weakness with a show of physical solidity.
He was right, Jim admitted grudgingly. If Spock had approached him out of the blue and said he had feelings for him, Jim would’ve put the ship on red alert since there were obviously in the presence of some kind of mind-altering force and escorted him to Sickbay himself. “So what changed?” he asked, wanting to believe but—
Spock flushed, green to the tips of his ears, and Jim stared and stared and stared. “Although I could not maintain my typical demeanor, my . . . telepathic abilities . . . continued to be . . . operational . . . throughout the day.”
And it was Jim’s turn to widen his eyes and flush a brilliant shade of color as he realized Spock had known every single thought he’d been thinking as Spock rubbed and kissed and went crazy all over his body. His face got even hotter as he realized Spock had probably discovered Jim’s more-than-Captainly feelings for him at the exact same moment Jim had admitted them to himself. Fucking hell. Yeah. He could believe Spock would be confident enough to approach him after hearing all that.
“Well then, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, gathering his composure around him as he slid out of bed and walked to his first officer, “if that is the case, then I find I do believe you after all.” He smiled, all jaunty confidence, as if he wasn’t wearing only his boxers and had just found out his oh so unattainable first officer might be a hell of a lot more attainable than he’d thought, because he was Jim fucking Kirk, and he could do this. But his hand was trembling slightly when he reached out and allowed himself to touch Spock for real. But that was okay, because Spock’s hands were just as unsteady when he pulled him close.