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I was never aware of this 'lovers' rumor, although I have been told that Spock encountered it several times. Apparently, he had always dismissed it with his characteristic lifting of his right eyebrow, which usually connoted some combination of surprise, disbelief, and/or annoyance. As for myself... I have always found my best gratification in that creature called woman. Also, I would not like to be thought of as being so foolish that I would select a love partner who came into sexual heat only once every seven years.
- Admiral Kirk, The Motion Picture (Novelization)
*
"Sorry I'm late," said Jim, sliding into the booth opposite Spock, "but I have fantastic news."
Spock inclined his head, waiting for Jim to continue, but he paused, drawing out the anticipation. Around them, conversations that had ceased at the entrance of the renowned Admiral Kirk began to resume and the clatter of cutlery filled the air. Jim’s attention remained focused on Spock, waiting for him to show some small sign of curiosity. Spock was not to be baited, though, so Jim ploughed on: "The Enterprise has been scheduled for another five-year mission!" He emphasized the news by slamming his hands onto the table, causing diners nearby to turn their heads.
Spock's eyes darted around the restaurant, noticeably uncomfortable with the attention they were drawing. Turning his attention back to Jim, a raised eyebrow was his only acknowledgement of the news.
"Under my command," Jim added, in case that wasn't clear. A pause, and still no reaction. "And, obviously, you as the first officer." He paused, suddenly uncertain. "Assuming that's what you want?"
Spock took a long sip of water. His gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere over Jim's left shoulder, his expression distant and contemplative. Jim ran over what he'd said in his mind, wondering if he'd misspoken somewhere. Interminable seconds passed in silence.
"Spock?" Jim prompted at last. "You haven't said a word since I walked in here."
A slow intake of breath, then, "What is the scheduled departure date?"
Jim frowned. "A month today." He leaned across the table, searching Spock's face carefully for clues. "I don't understand; I thought this would be good news. You will come, won't you?"
"I resigned my Starfleet commission," Spock reminded him.
"Well, sure," Jim shrugged, "but they already told you it's a simple matter to reinstate it. I thought that was what you wanted?"
It had certainly seemed that way before, when Spock had clutched his hand in Sickbay and spoken, more earnestly than Jim had ever heard him, about this simple feeling. It still made a shiver run down Jim's spine to recall it. More than regaining a lost friend, it was seeing Spock finally achieve the peace of mind that had eluded him so long, to hear him speak of feelings, to have him seek out Jim's touch rather than endure it; he could almost believe their long separation was worth it to achieve such an end. Almost.
Yet here they were, with the icing on the cake, about to set off out into the black once more, to return home to the Enterprise where they belonged, and Jim felt as though he had just broken some tragic news.
"Spock? Did I misunderstand...? I thought you would want us to stay together. Though of course, you deserve your own command, and I would understand if -"
"No," Spock interrupted him, his eyes meeting Jim's for the first time. "I do not desire my own command. It is my wish, as always, to remain by your side."
Jim's skin tingled with pleasure at the statement, at Spock's willingness to make it. "Good. I can't imagine going without you."
"It is simply..." Spock's gaze dropped to the table. "My task on Vulcan was left...incomplete."
Jim frowned, confused. He was sure Spock had said that the Kolinahr held no answers for him, so perhaps he was referring to something else. "Well, if you need some more time, I'm sure we can accommodate that somehow."
Visibly uncomfortable, Spock just nodded and gestured towards the menu. "Shall we place our orders?"
Jim opened his mouth to press the matter further, but then he noticed the stiffness with which Spock held himself and the tightness around his eyes, and he decided to let it go. For now. He exhaled, and attempted a weak smile. "Sure."
*
The appointments of Kirk and Spock to the refit Enterprise made news throughout the Federation, but not quite to the universal approval that Starfleet may have expected. The conspiracy theorists were convinced they were somehow complicit in Decker's death, arranged so that they could retake command of their ship. It didn't help that Jim could not explain where Decker had gone; officially, he was merely listed as 'missing.'
The odd protestor notwithstanding, their last few weeks on Earth were a whirlwind of press conferences, talk shows and publicity events. The longest Jim had to talk to Spock was in green rooms as they prepared for their next appearance, and if Spock ever seemed uncomfortable Jim was sure it was due to his distaste for publicity – at least for the most part.
At any rate, Spock’s commission had been enthusiastically reinstated, and he had firmly declined any offers of his own command, downright insisting on being assigned to the Enterprise. Jim was satisfied that any misgivings Spock might have had when the matter was first raised were now laid to rest and he was impatient to get back out there.
The weeks flew by so swiftly that it seemed no time at all before Jim was woken by the computer in his Starfleet-assigned quarters on Earth for the final time. He lay in bed a moment longer, trying to savor the unrecycled air, the natural light filtering through the curtains and the cawing of seagulls outside. In truth, though, he knew that he would miss none of these things. He belonged out there, where the air, like the food and the light might be artificial, but they would be surrounded by infinite unknown worlds on all sides.
Impatience drove him through his morning routine faster than ever before. He packed the last of his belongings and looked around the sparse quarters with excitement clawing at his insides. He checked the chronometer for the fifteenth time that morning; he was still at least a half hour too early.
He wandered around the quarters for a while, idly checking for anything he’d forgotten to pack, but managed to pass only another couple more minutes. Perhaps, he thought, he should pay Spock a visit; they could go to the transporter together, or even take a shuttle…
Jim was so excited that he was almost bouncing by the time he reached Spock’s door. He raised a hand to buzz for entry, but paused when he heard voices from inside. Spock was talking too softly for Jim to make out the words, but he could hear the urgency in the tone. Jim lowered his hand and turned to leave, but at that moment the door slid open.
Spock was sitting at a terminal on the other side of the room, where Amanda’s face beamed from the screen. Spock turned around to face Jim, glancing pointedly up at the chronometer.
“I know I’m early,” said Jim. “Impatient, I guess. Good morning,” he added to Amanda.
“Good evening,” Amanda replied.
“Sorry to barge in,” said Jim. Then, turning his attention to Spock, “I’ll see you in the transporter room?”
“No need,” said Spock, turning back to the terminal. “Our business is concluded.”
“It’s good to see you, Jim,” Amanda called. Jim waved over Spock’s shoulder, and hung back while they said their goodbyes.
“Sorry,” said Jim as Spock switched off the screen. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You did not. She has an illogical habit of unnecessarily prolonging conversations.”
Spock’s tone was unusually curt, and his gaze remained fixed on the screen for a long while after he switched it off. Jim hesitated, waiting to see whether Spock would volunteer whatever was troubling him, but when the silence stretched out and Spock still did not turn to face him, he finally prompted, “Spock? Is everything all right?”
There was a long pause. Jim saw Spock’s shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, and the faint reflection in the monitor screen revealed that his brow was deeply furrowed.
“Is there a problem back home?” Jim ventured.
“Negative.” Spock’s hand fell from the off-switch of the screen, but still he did not turn around. “The problem is here.”
Jim moved over to the other side of the room so that he could see Spock’s face. Rarely had he seen him look so troubled; his mouth was a thin line, the severe slants of his eyebrows drawn together, and his eyes were dark. Jim perched on the windowsill and waited silently; Spock often needed a little space to gather his thoughts into words, and Jim had long since learned not to press him.
Just as the silence was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Spock raised his head to meet Jim’s gaze. "Jim..." he began, but trailed off, visibly steeled himself, and continued, "Do you know why I sought to pursue the Kolinahr?"
So they were having that conversation. Jim supposed it was long overdue; he had prepared myriad iterations of it in his head since Spock's return from Gol, and even before that. Yet now it came down to it, he found himself unprepared. He realized that Spock was watching him intently, waiting for a response. Numerous flippant replies were at the tip of his tongue, but he forced himself to take this seriously.
"Okay." Jim took a deep breath. "I suppose I have some idea. The goal was to purge emotion, correct?" He glanced up for unneeded confirmation, and Spock nodded. "So yes, I can imagine why, after five years with Humans, you felt that was necessary." He sighed and added ruefully, "I guess I pushed you too hard."
"No, Jim," Spock assured him, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "You challenged me, yes, but never too much." He fixed his gaze on the opposite wall. "The masters of Gol do purge all emotion, and in doing so they are able to prevent the onset of pon farr. That was the goal I sought."
"Oh." Jim leaned back against the wall and swallowed hard. "I'm an idiot, I didn't even think..." Of course, Spock's pon farr was almost seven years ago now; no wonder he was wary of another five-year mission. "So what happens this time?"
Spock's voice took on the same stiff, awkward quality it had the first time they had discussed this subject. "I remain unbonded. And I am sure I need not remind you of the outcome...last time."
Jim leaned forward, trying to catch Spock's attention, but he did not glance in his direction. "I understand why that would be...unnerving," Jim allowed, "but that can't happen again. You wouldn't be returning to Vulcan to marry her."
"And what would I do?"
"I don't know," Jim admitted. "What usually happens in these situations?"
"Another suitable partner must be found."
"Okay, so we'll do that."
Spock shot him a look that was close to a glare. "And how do you propose to proceed?"
Jim had no answer to that. If it were him, any bar on any Starbase would yield any number of candidates, but this was Spock.
"I don't know," Jim was forced to concede. "As long as I've known you, sex isn't something we've ever talked about..." except for that one time, he left unsaid, because that conversation was of no little help to him now. "Dammit, I don't think I've ever even known you to be attracted to anyone, when you haven't been infected with spores or under some sort of mind control or whatever..."
Spock suddenly became fascinated by something in the distance, out of the window, and said nothing. Jim felt a surge of frustration, bordering on irritation. How was it that they could be as close as they were, yet this one subject - a subject Jim discussed liberally with far more distant acquaintances - was so off-limits? This coyness had enticed him once, back in the early days of the first five-year mission before he had learned of pon farr, but now it was downright annoying.
He watched Spock closely as the silence stretched between them. Anyone else might have described his expression as utterly neutral, but to Jim he looked miserable. A pang of sympathy overrode his irritation.
"Look, Spock, I know you don't like to discuss this, but it doesn't have to be a massive deal. There are...establishments all over the galaxy. We divert the ship to one of those - I'll come up with a cover story about needing repairs or supplies, don't you worry about that - and all you have to do is pay a small number of credits and you can have complete professionalism and guaranteed discretion. And no one else ever needs to know. I won't even tell Bones that's what we're doing, if that's what you want."
Spock turned back to look at him, agony writ plain on his face. "I am not like you, Jim," he said quietly. "I have witnessed, on many occasions, that you share yourself freely when you believe that doing so may aid our mission. On occasion, even when it does not. I do not share your attitude. I find the prospect of physical intimacy with one with whom I share no mental affinity...abhorrent."
"I know." It was difficult for Jim to understand, in truth, but he could accept that it was true for Spock.
"Furthermore," Spock continued, "to be seen at such a time, subjected to madness, with all controls stripped..." He looked away, his hands clenched tightly into fists.
That part Jim could definitely understand. Spock valued his control above all else; having someone witness the madness of the blood fever, let alone so intimately, was probably one of the worst things he could imagine.
“What did your mother have to say? I assume that’s what you were discussing?”
“She and Sarek are making enquiries about a new…bondmate.” He spat the word with such distaste that Jim was taken aback. It was understandable, though; he could not imagine being forced into a mental link with someone he didn’t know.
Devoid of suggestions and with no idea what might comfort Spock, Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I understand why there are so few Vulcans in Starfleet, even now. People like us don’t have the luxury of long-term relationships.”
Spock exhaled sharply. “As you say.”
“How much time do you have?”
“Unknown. If I follow the usual cycle, the interval is an average of seven Terran years. However, there is no means of determining whether it will be different for me. I started later than is the norm.”
Spock’s hands twitched as he spoke, and his eyes were downcast. Jim felt a pang of sympathy. The uncertainty must be the hardest thing of all, and worse still there was nothing Jim could suggest.
There was a long, drawn-out silence. Spock seemed to be absorbed in studying the patterns on the utilitarian floor-covering, and Jim watched him, wishing he had some suggestion to make. At length, Spock lifted his head, though his gaze remained unfocused and distant. “Perhaps,” he said, “it would be prudent for you to select another as your first officer. One who is not so…encumbered.”
A smile tugged at Jim’s lips. “I’m not losing the best officer in the ‘fleet to a silly little quirk of biology.” At Spock’s reproachful glance, he winced. “I don’t mean to trivialize it. It’s just…Put it this way: are you any better placed to solve this problem here than you would be out there?”
Spock’s eyes narrowed. “My mother made the same argument.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
“She is accustomed to having all of the resources of the Vulcan Embassy at her disposal. You are aware that a five-year mission will take us beyond the reach of Vulcan for much of its duration.”
Jim sighed and leaned back against the wall. This was a conversation they should have had weeks ago, not as they were about to launch. It was so very like Spock to do this, though, to be so intent on solving a problem by himself that he made it worse. Still, Jim forced himself to swallow his irritation and approach the problem logically. “You’re correct,” he said. “So if it hits when we’re within reach of Vulcan, you have my word that I’ll get you there, and that no one will know why. If that’s not possible then, well, I’ll get you someplace else, and you’ll just have to….” He made a vague gesture with his hand, inwardly rolling his eyes at his own ability to voice what he was talking about.
Spock stared into the blank screen, his mouth set in a firm line, his shoulders tense, and said nothing.
"No one would judge you," Jim assured him. "It's not as though it's a choice. They'd be saving your life. It's no different than if you were drowning; I'd dive in after you without a thought."
Spock froze suddenly. "You would, yes," he murmured. His voice was barely audible, yet Jim heard the words as though they had been shouted in his ear, and a tingle ran down his spine.
It was so obvious that Jim could have berated himself for not thinking of it immediately; yet at the same time, the prospect terrified him. Dare he give voice to what he was thinking? Had the same thought already occurred to Spock, or would he be horrified?
Before he could talk himself out of it, Jim said, "You can trust me, can't you? Let me help you."
Spock's eyes went wide, and a tinge of green crept up his neck and stained his cheeks. "You do not know what you are suggesting. It is out of the question."
"Is it?" Jim wasn't entirely sure, when it came down to it. Did the other party have to be Vulcan? Female? He knew so little of the condition, and Spock had revealed nothing beyond their initial conversation so many years ago.
"It would be an invasion..." the green tinge deepened.
"It would be fine," Jim assured him. "You already pointed out I've done this before, when duty called. And you're...you're more than duty."
Some of the tension in Spock's shoulders released, but he still shook his head. "I cannot ask this of you."
"Consider it logically," Jim tried. "You trust me, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "You wouldn't have to explain anything to me. We wouldn't need to tell anyone."
"And afterwards?"
Jim shrugged. "It won't be the worst we've been through, by any stretch. We've seen each other in compromised situations before, under any number of alien influences. This would just be another of those situations. We'd deal with it, and move on. We never have to speak of it again."
Spock's expression closed off once more, and Jim could tell that he had won; Spock had no logical rebuttal.
"I will request that my parents continue to seek a new bondmate," Spock insisted, albeit weakly.
"Of course," Jim agreed. "But if it comes down to it, you don't suffer in silence, you come to me. Are we agreed?"
Jim waited patiently while Spock visibly warred with himself, clearly desperate to find some other solution, but finally, with obvious reluctance, he nodded.
The heaviness of that nod, the way his eyes closed and he let out a heavy sigh, brought to mind one accepting a death penalty rather than a proposition. To Jim, it was heartbreaking to see. He had no desire to be party to what Spock would consider humiliation; yet he could stand the thought of anyone else's involvement even less, and losing Spock altogether was simply out of the question.
"It will be fine," he insisted, whether to himself or to Spock he was uncertain.
*
The launch turned out to be something of an ordeal. The revelations about V’Ger and the consequences of some of mankind’s early exploratory missions had planted a seed of doubt in many minds. Many felt that the Federation was already large enough, that missions aimed at further exploration were a waste of time and resources or even downright dangerous. To counteract the growing dissent, Starfleet was determined to recapture the glamour of the early missions. The combination of the refit Enterprise with a star-studded crew that included the first – though no longer only – Vulcan in Starfleet should have been perfect.
As it turned out, there seemed to be more cameras than crowds. Those who did turn out had, for the most part, family members among the crew. With a crew of more than four hundred that made for a decent-sized crowd, but it was by no means the jubilant send-off Starfleet had planned.
“If I have to smile any more my face will freeze like this,” Bones grouched under his breath as they gave one last wave to the cameras. “Remind me why I agreed to this again?”
“Because you’d miss us too much if we went without you,” Jim replied breezily.
“You are quite welcome to remain behind if that is your preference,” Spock added, though his remark lacked any genuine venom.
They took the shuttle to the Enterprise; ostensibly for the photo opportunities and as a concession to McCoy’s wariness of transporters, but Jim also couldn’t resist the rare view of the ship’s exterior. As the ground fell away, he felt his stomach churn. He remembered what it had felt like when he left for his very first deep space assignment. He’d been full of grand ideas about discovering new civilizations, though in reality the only time he’d set foot on land that entire mission had been on shore leave. At that launch, his father and Sam had been there to wave him off; this time, there was no one in the crowd for him, but that was because everyone important in his life was leaving with him. That thought made him smile, until he recalled the start of the last five-year mission, his first as captain. Then he had been excited about having his old Academy friend Gary as his first officer. By the time the mission ended, Gary was long dead and the Vulcan science officer of whom he’d been so wary at first had become his closest friend. So much could change over the course of a five-year mission; who was to say what changes would be wrought by this one?
“Something eating you, Jim?” Bones interrupted his thoughts.
“Just thinking she looks bigger,” Jim sighed, staring out of the window up at the looming form of the Enterprise.
“The refit was extensive,” Spock chimed in.
Jim hummed noncommittally. Now, more even than when he had wrested command from Decker, the ship did not feel like his own Enterprise.
*
Jim settled into the command chair and stretched. It was more comfortable than the old one, he had to give the designers that much. The higher-resolution viewscreen was an improvement, too. Jim instinctively glanced to the right, and was momentarily taken aback when Spock was not there; of course, the Science station had been relocated behind him. Jim spun the chair around until he was facing Spock, and frowned.
“Can we get your station moved?”
Spock turned to face him, his eyebrow raised. “It is a little late to request a redesign of the bridge, Admiral.”
“Right.” Jim swung back to face forward. He’d get used to it, he told himself. He just needed some time.
*
The dream occasionally fractured; every so often he would be reminded with a jolt that things had changed when he found himself looking for a particular lab on the wrong deck, or when he woke up and took a few moments to adjust to the new color scheme in his cabin. And all too often, he found his gaze straying instinctively to Spock’s old station on the bridge.
“The coffee tastes different,” he grumbled to Bones over breakfast one morning.
Bones sniffed his cup and shrugged. “Tastes like coffee, Jim.”
“Precisely.” Jim threw up his hands in exasperation and pushed the offending cup away.
Bones gave him a significant look, but kept his thoughts to himself. “When are we due to arrive at the Starbase?”
“Three hours.”
Bones leaned back in his chair and cast a wistful smile at the ceiling. “I heard they have a new bar that promises to be the best night out this side of Argelius.”
“Is that so?” Jim murmured noncommittally, though he had seen the same commercial on a recent holovid.
“We need it,” Bones added. “We’ve had a busy few months. Stress and exhaustion are taking their toll on the crew.”
“Then I’m sure they’ll all take the opportunity for a quiet, relaxing shore leave.”
“I doubt that,” responded a dark voice from behind Jim. He gestured for Spock to join them and moved over to make room. Spock took a seat and turned his most long-suffering expression upon Doctor McCoy. “Humans have a most illogical habit of using so-called ‘rest’ time to expend even more energy than usual.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “So you’ve pointed out, many times.”
Jim noticed that Spock’s hands were clenched into fists. When he briefly relaxed them, there was a distinct tremble. He smiled. “Irritated, Mr. Spock?”
Spock blinked. “I am sure I do not know what you mean, Admiral.”
“My ass,” Bones muttered.
Jim leaned back in his chair and smiled up at the ceiling. This, at least, had not changed.
*
While the ship was docked, the entire crew poured out into the Starbase. All, that is, with the exception of Scotty, who looked so excited about the prospect of spare time to tinker with his engines that Jim hadn’t the heart to order him to leave.
Spock, too, took a little persuading, but Jim casually mentioned some of the scientific research taking place on the Starbase relating to a nearby nebula, and he could have sworn he saw those pointed ears twitch.
Jim and Spock were the last to leave the ship, by which time it was well into the afternoon.
“Who even comes here?” Jim wondered out loud as they strolled down a corridor lined with tacky souvenir shops. “We’re weeks from anywhere! Why would anyone make a special trip to a Starbase to buy –” he squinted at something in a shop window – “what appear to be poorly-made miniature statues of the Federation President?”
“Logic dictates that many visitors find themselves here for the same reason we are; it is on a well-used trade route between two quadrants in an area of space with no known habitable planets.”
“And sometimes when you’re in the middle of nowhere you just have to buy a snow globe of the Subterranean Gardens of Risa. It doesn’t even snow there; the gardens are subterranean.”
Spock raised his eyebrow. “No doubt –” but whatever he was about to say was cut off as his attention was caught by something over Jim’s shoulder.
Jim followed his gaze to a dark-haired woman, presumably a store assistant, who was leaning out of the doorway. Catching Jim’s eye, she smiled and made her way over to them. “May I help you, gentlemen?”
Jim smiled at her. “Just browsing, thank -”
He was cut off as Spock roughly pushed past him, insinuating himself in between Jim and the woman. “We require no assistance,” he said coldly.
Jim shot him a glare and rubbed at his shoulder. She looked taken aback, but persisted, “If you would like to come inside, we have –”
“I believe you were dismissed,” Spock snapped.
“Right. Sorry.” She backed away, casting curious glances between them.
“Hey,” Jim took a step forwards, stilling Spock with a hand upon his arm. He turned on his most charming smile as he approached the woman. “I’m sorry about my friend. He can be a little protective. Thank you for your assistance; we’ll just be on our way.”
“Sure.” She gave a nervous, hesitant smile, but her eyes never left Spock as she retreated into the store.
When she was out of sight, Jim grabbed Spock’s shirt sleeve and pulled him into an alcove. He cast a quick glance up and down the corridor to ensure they were alone before saying, “Was that necessary?”
Spock stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back. “It was rude of her to interrupt.”
“She was doing her job. Anyway, interrupt what? We were just looking at tacky souvenirs.”
“As you say, Admiral.”
Jim took a step back and frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jim looked Spock up and down, but finding him perfectly composed, gave a mental shrug. He sighed and backed away, raking a hand through his hair. “I need a drink,” he declared. “Are you going to see the science labs?”
Spock looked for a moment as though he might be about to say something, but then he nodded, stiffly turned away and departed in the direction of the labs. Jim watched him go, utterly confused. All of a sudden, the best night out this side of Argelius seemed worth investigating after all. A few drinks, perhaps some non-Starfleet company to take his mind off things; yes, that would be just the ticket.
The bar was already heaving when he arrived. He recognized a number of Enterprise crew in various states of inebriation among the many patrons. Some looked unnerved at the sight of their commanding officer overseeing their off-duty time, but those who had been on the first five-year mission greeted him warmly before turning back to whatever they had been doing before.
Jim made his way straight to the bar. There was a group of Andorians, including a female who twitched her antennae at him in an inviting manner. Jim gave her his warmest smile as he passed her. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink and counted in his head. As he reached five, the Andorian slid into the seat beside him.
“All alone, Starfleet?”
Jim turned to the side and slowly, deliberately looked her up and down. Her skin was a rich sky blue, accentuated by the deep copper color of her dress, cut tastefully at mid-thigh. Her smile was seductive, and her antennae were pointed directly at him. Normally, Jim would find such a blatant come-on arousing; tonight, for some reason, he mentally catalogued the signs almost with indifference. Nonetheless, he knew the routine, so he gave a sly smile and said, “Not any more, it seems. I’m Admiral James T. Kirk.”
Her face visibly lit up at the title. “Taran. I am pleased to meet you... Admiral,” she all but purred. “What brings you out to Starbase 11?”
Jim took a sip of his drink, smiling at her over the rim. “Shore leave. Just for one night.”
Her eyes met his from under heavy lashes, a knowing smile teasing at her lips. The message was clear: one night was absolutely fine with her.
“And yourself?” Jim prompted, casually touching her wrist. He darted a glance over her shoulder at the other Andorians. “Here with…friends?”
“Colleagues.” Her hand traced up his arm. “I’m a scientist stationed here.”
“You live on the Starbase?”
She leaned in towards him, her fingers playing over his shoulder. “Always have. I tried moving to a planet once, but natural gravity’s unnerving.” She looked around at their surroundings. “This place can feel a little constricted, though. It must be so liberating to fly to a different world every night.”
Jim chuckled. “Even a starship’s not that fast; I spend most of my time in a space much smaller than this Starbase.” He caught her eye and added, “Perhaps you would care to show me around?”
Her antennae straightened and she took his hand. “Of course, Admiral. Come with me.”
As they left the bar, he didn’t miss the grin she shot to her colleagues. That was fine with him; better to be a notch on a willing woman’s bedpost than to have to have the awkward conversation about why he couldn’t keep up a long-distance relationship.
It seemed that Taran walked him the entire circumference of the Starbase. She showed him the many bars, the theaters, the casinos. When they came to one bland, grey corridor, she waved her hand and said, “Down there’s where I work,” and went to carry on in the opposite direction, but Jim stopped her.
“Would you like to show me your lab?”
Her antenna twitched. “It’s just scanners and computers. Nothing exciting.”
“I think my friend went to see the labs,” Jim explained.
“You want to catch up with your friend?”
The wariness in her tone gave Jim pause. Did he? He wasn’t sure why, but some nagging feeling in the back of his head wanted to see where Spock was. He nodded, and she relented and led him down the long corridor.
The labs were every bit as disinteresting as she had claimed. They were similar to the labs aboard the Enterprise, but obviously lacking in military discipline: there were padds stacked high on every available surface, discarded coffee mugs scattered between them, and the boards upon the walls were covered in a combination of equations and what appeared to be takeaway orders.
The labs were on the interior of the Starbase and so had no windows, but there was not even a viewscreen giving a false view of the sky outside. When Jim queried this, Taran laughed at him and said, “You don’t need to be able to see space to study it. That’s what the scanners are for. We just analyze the data.”
Spock was nowhere to be found. Perhaps, Jim thought, he had found nothing of interest either, or more likely was put off by the disorder of civilian academics. With a peculiar sense of disappointment, he let Taran lead him away.
“If you want a good view of the stars,” she suggested as she led him back towards the touristy areas, “there’s a restaurant down here with a window stretching almost the entire length of the –“
She broke off mid-sentence at the sound of raised voices from across the way. She turned towards the source of the disturbance, but then looked hurriedly away, her cheeks flushing a deep blue.
“What is it?” Jim could hear a woman shouting, and angry tones from a man, and then to his astonishment, Spock came staggering backwards out of a door as though physically thrown. Jim instinctively rushed to catch him, but Spock wrenched away from him. There was a momentary struggle, then Jim backed off and edged away. Taran moved to his side and tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from the scene.
“What is it?” Jim demanded. “What’s going on?”
Her skin flushed even darker, and her antennae drooped. “This establishment is a pleasure house, Admiral.”
“A what?” Jim stared at the door from which Spock had been thrown, then down to where Spock still lay in a crumpled heap upon the ground. “You mean a brothel? But that’s not possible.”
Taran’s antennae twitched impatiently. “Do you want to see this restaurant?”
“Uh-“
“Or if you like,” she slipped her arm through his and physically pulled him away, “we could stop by my quarters.”
Jim turned his head to look at her. The invitation was blatant, yet he felt nothing. “I’m really sorry,” he disentangled his arm. “I think my friend’s sick; I need to get him back to the ship.”
“Sick?” she laughed. “Just too much to drink, no doubt.”
Jim shook his head. “He doesn’t drink, and even if he did, alcohol doesn’t affect Vulcans.”
“He’s Vulcan?” Her antennae stood straight up as she glanced back and forth between Spock’s crumpled figure on the ground and the brothel from which he’d apparently been ejected.
Jim moved to Spock’s side and dropped to his knees, placing a hand upon Spock’s shoulder. He was trembling, and even through his shirt Jim could feel heat pouring from his normally-cool skin. “Dammit, Spock,” he muttered. “Why did you let it get this bad?”
Spock gave no sign that he was even aware of Jim’s presence. Desperately, Jim looked up for assistance, but Taran was already gone, and there was no one else in sight but a few drunken revelers back in the direction of the bar. Idly stroking Spock’s back, Jim reached for his communicator and flipped it open.
“Kirk to Mr. Scott.”
“Scotty here, Admiral.”
“Scotty – are you able to beam myself and Mr. Spock to the Enterprise from this position?”
“Aye, I’ll see what I can do…” Scotty sounded hesitant, but did not openly question the request. While he waited, he laid a hand over Spock’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Spock made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Jim wondered how he was going to explain this. It was so tempting to tell the truth – he could see no shame in it, after all – but it was not his secret to tell.
Long minutes later, his communicator crackled to life again. “Ready to beam up, Admiral?”
Jim hoisted Spock over his shoulder and said, “Energize.”
The Starbase gradually disappeared from view, and the familiar colors of the transporter room filtered into its place. As they fully materialized, Jim collapsed under his load, and Scotty looked up in alarm.
“What the hell happened?”
“Nothing to worry about.” Jim forced a smile. “Just a…bad reaction to something he ate. Help me put him to bed?”
Scotty hung back, uncertain. “Should I run the scanners to locate Doctor McCoy?”
“No need; he’s already seen him,” Jim lied, hoping Scotty wouldn’t feel the need to check. “He just needs some rest.”
“Aye, sir, if you say so.” Scotty warily approached them and hooked one of Spock’s arms over his shoulders and together they slowly maneuvered him out of the transporter room. Thankfully there was not far to go, but Jim was enormously relieved that the ship was almost empty, as they didn’t pass anyone on the way. Spock would hate to be seen like this, and Jim felt fiercely protective of him.
They reached Spock’s quarters, and Jim used his override to let them in. The air hit him like a wall; Spock’s quarters always felt stifling to him, but even more so when he had staggered down a long corridor supporting a heavy, fevered Vulcan. He resisted the temptation to lower the temperature, and with Scotty’s help hoisted Spock onto the bunk.
Scotty hovered, visibly nervous, while Jim busied himself removing Spock’s shoes. With a sudden, nerve-wracking jolt he realized he was going to have to remove a lot more than that before this was over. He felt light-headed.
Realizing that Scotty was still lingering, Jim forced a smile. “Thanks for your help, Scotty. I’ll just stay and keep an eye on him.”
“Aye, sir. Ye’ll call if ye need anything?”
“Of course.”
A tiny, rebellious part of Jim hoped that Scotty would find some reason to refuse to leave, but leave he did. The door seemed inordinately loud as it slid into place behind him, leaving Jim alone with Spock.
It was too hot in here. Jim could barely breathe, and his shirt was too tight. He crossed the room to the replicator and requested two glasses of water, all too aware that he was merely delaying the inevitable. He downed his in one gulp, then perched on the edge of the bunk to help Spock up to a seated position. Spock drank the water down greedily and gasped, “Jim –“
Jim grasped his hand. “I’m here.”
Spock made a small choked sound and a shudder wracked his entire body. He opened his eyes, but his gaze was distant and unfocused. “You must leave,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
“No chance.”
“Please – Jim –“
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to help you. Like we agreed.”
Spock looked confused, and Jim was suddenly seized by doubt. What if he was wrong, and this wasn’t pon farr? But Spock had been in a brothel; there was no other explanation for that. Still, Jim needed to be sure. He squeezed Spock’s hand, his seemed unable to catch his attention; Spock’s eyes were rolling back in his head and he was murmuring something unintelligible under his breath.
“Spock?” Jim reached around to grasp both of his shoulders and shook him. “Spock, can you hear me?”
Spock took a sharp breath and with great visible effort, blinking hard, looked at Jim. Jim swallowed nervously. “Spock – I found you outside a brothel on the Starbase. Can you tell me what happened?”
Spock took a deep, shaky breath. “It came on quickly,” he rasped. “Too fast. I tried…as you suggested. Seemed…logical. But…” He shuddered. “I couldn’t…couldn’t do it…” His entire body suddenly became tense, as though seized by some sort of spasm, and when it released him he was breathing heavily.
Jim stroked his arms and mumbled soothing platitudes, but his mind was racing. When he had agreed to this it had seemed the simplest thing in the world. He readily risked life, limb and career for Spock on a regular basis, and this was only sex. It was sex with Spock, though, and a Spock not in control of his faculties. He knew firsthand how violent a Vulcan could become during pon farr. This was different, of course; as a biological urge aimed at reproduction, it would make no sense for it to be harmful to a willing mate. And in truth, that wasn’t at all what he feared. He wasn’t even sure what it was he feared. On the contrary, he’d even desired this, once; how many times on the first five-year mission had he cast lustful eyes over his first officer? He was mysterious, unattainable, undeniably attractive…he’d have given anything for this opportunity once.
Disgusted with himself, Jim pulled away and rose to stand beside the bed. Such thoughts were unworthy of Spock. This wasn’t about getting the chance to bed the Vulcan, it was about saving his life. He could be clinical about it, and then, perhaps, nothing would need to change between them.
“Spock?” There was no response; Spock’s eyes were closed and he was writhing – actually writhing – on the bunk. Jim swallowed and looked away, but he could feel himself harden at the sight. “I’m just going to go…prepare,” he choked out. Spock was too far gone to hear him, though, so without another word Jim turned away.
Did the replicators have lubricant programmed into them, he wondered? He’d never asked, though it occurred to him now that he should have checked much, much sooner. Still, he hesitated. Would the request show up in the logs? What would that do to the rumors Jim knew already existed about himself and Spock?
What the hell did it matter, Jim mentally chastised himself. He punched in the request, and sure enough it opened to reveal an innocent-looking tube. Only as he picked it up did it occur to him that those rumors he and Spock had spent years dismissing were about to become true, and for some reason he found the idea hilarious. Apparently the crew had seen this coming even before he had, though no doubt they were wrong about the circumstances.
Turning around to face Spock was enough to quash the hysteria in his head. There was a deep green tinge creeping up his neck and staining his face, and his hands were white where they clenched at the sheets.
Jim took a deep, steadying breath and tugged his shirt over his head. He felt more comfortable with the air on his skin; already, the room felt less stifling. Before he could talk himself out of it, he removed his boots, socks and pants. Standing there in his briefs, he shivered, though it was not cold. What now? It would make sense for him to prepare himself, since he doubted Spock was in any position to be careful. He toyed with the tube of lubricant, hesitant. Perhaps he should go somewhere more private to do this; but he dismissed the thought as ridiculous almost as soon as it occurred. This was no time for modesty, and it wasn’t as though Spock was paying attention anyway.
With grim determination, Jim tugged down his briefs. In his nervousness, his penis had gone limp; he was grateful for that much, at least, not wanting to admit there was a traitorous part of him looking forward to this.
Ridiculous or not, Jim could not bring himself to look at Spock while he did this, so he moved over to the work area, hoisted one leg up onto the chair, and squeezed some lubricant onto his fingers. He reached behind himself, dabbed the lube into place, and winced. It was cold.
He tried very hard not to think about what he was doing and why as he hesitantly pressed a finger inside himself. He’d done this much before, at least, so the feeling wasn’t entirely alien. He’d never taken a cock, though, and that was a little alarming; there was barely even room for another finger. He continued working himself open until he could comfortably slide three fingers in and out. It actually didn’t feel too bad. Maybe he would be fine.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud groan from the direction of the bunk. He peered around the divider, and his breath caught at the sight; Spock was thrashing from side to side, teeth digging into his lower lip, his eyes glazed and his cheeks flushed. But the sight that made Jim’s mouth go dry was lower down, where his pants were noticeably tented.
Jim withdrew his fingers and idly wiped them on his discarded shirt, unable to tear his eyes away. He hesitantly approached the bunk, unsure of his next move. He should probably remove Spock’s clothing, but how? He knelt on the edge of the bunk and caught the edge of Spock’s shirt, meaning to tug it up.
It was as though some primal force had been unleashed; Spock suddenly leapt up, lifted Jim and flung him onto the bunk. Before he knew what was happening, Jim was pressed face down onto the mattress, and a heavy, lean body was undulating against him. There was movement and the rustle of clothing, and then Spock leaned down again and Jim could feel feverishly hot but dry skin against his back, and the tickle of wiry hair, and the warmth of Spock’s breath against the back of his neck. He heard Spock take a deep breath, then the heat and the weight vanished as Spock knelt behind him.
Spock's hands were a fiery brand where they gripped his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His hands slid from Jim’s hips, down to his thighs, the very slight scrape of nails causing Jim to shudder. Then his legs were pushed apart, exposing him to Spock's scrutiny. Blood pounded in Jim’s ears and beads of sweat trickled into his eyes. Spock’s thumbs traced over his scrotum and up his perineum. It took all of Jim’s concentration not to clench as he fought the urge to hide, but he bit down hard on his lip when Spock’s thumbs pulled his ass cheeks apart and a hot, rough tongue followed the same path over his balls, the sensitive skin behind. When it teased at the rim of his hole, he had to bite down on the pillow to keep from screaming.
The tongue withdrew, and Jim pressed his forehead into the crook of his elbow, panting, squeezing his eyes shut and trying hard not to think about the fact that Spock's face - Spock's - was inches from his ass. That Spock had tasted his ass.
Fuck he hoped Spock had no memory of this in the morning.
Unsure what was going on, Jim craned over his shoulder to see. Spock was kicking off his pants, still at eye level with Jim’s ass, apparently scrutinizing him. Then he straightened up, and Jim caught a glimpse of his erection, dark green and hard and surely far too large to fit in that tiny –
“Ah!” Jim gasped and clutched at the sheets, his toes curling as the heavy, smooth head pressed against the sensitive nerves of his anus. He willed himself to relax, but he couldn’t help but tense as the pressure increased. Spock was pressing so hard that it hurt. Jim screwed his eyes shut, twisting in the sheets. Just as he began to think he wouldn’t be able to take this any more, something gave and the head slipped past the tight ring of muscle and entered him. Jim collapsed against the bed, panting hard, and Spock fell atop him, covering his body completely.
They lay still for a moment, catching their breath. Pressed against the sheets like this, Jim’s senses were flooded with the scent of Spock; not his usual scent, but something darker. It evoked a vivid memory of them rolling in the sands of Vulcan. He gave a choked laugh as he recalled it; Spock had been hard then too, the only other time Jim had seen his friend in a state of arousal. He’d been too concerned about fighting for his life at the time, but it had fuelled his fantasies for weeks, months afterwards.
Now, seven years later, he was face down on the Vulcan’s bed, his ass spread open by that very same cock. It no longer hurt, but he felt uncomfortably stretched. He gave an experimental squeeze, and Spock made a sound that was almost a growl. He rose to kneel behind Jim, tugging him up by the hips so that he was on his knees, ass in the air while his face was still pressed against the pillow.
Spock began to move slowly, maddeningly. Only short, sharp thrusts at first, but each one planted him further, deeper inside. Jim twisted his head to the side, gasping for air. He felt he was being split in two, and Spock was so long, far longer than Jim’s fingers, and still he kept easing in, deeper and deeper, until at last Jim felt coarse hair against his ass. There was a momentary pause as they adjusted, Jim breathing heavily as he became accustomed to the strange sensation of Spock buried to the hilt in his body. He raised himself onto his hands in readiness and pushed back against Spock.
And then it began. Spock pulled back until he was almost entirely unsheathed, and then slammed in with such force that Jim had to brace himself against the wall. Spock repeated the action again and again, relentlessly pounding him. Jim held on, his heart racing and his breathing coming harsh and ragged. It felt uncomfortably tight every time the head reentered him, but it did not really hurt, and at any rate it was worth the discomfort for the deep, uncontrolled grunts Spock made every time their hips slammed together, for the feeling of a hot hand trembling on his sweat-slicked back, the other clutching in spasms at his hip. So this was what Spock called madness; to Jim, it was intensely erotic, though he was ashamed to admit that even to himself.
All too soon, he felt Spock go still, and then there was a deep, rumbling groan, and Spock's grip tightened on Jim's hip. Jim held his breath and caught himself with a fleeting sense of disappointment that it was over. He held still, waiting for Spock to withdraw. He did so slowly, and Jim focused on the sensation of the head drawing across his sensitive inner walls.
Then, just as the head slipped out, Spock slammed back inside. Jim was so taken by surprise that he was shoved roughly against the wall. He clawed at it, moaning aloud as Spock pressed close behind him and resumed his thrusts, more vigorous than ever.
The way was slickened now by Spock’s seed, and he glided so smoothly in and out that all of the discomfort faded, and Jim forgot everything but the firm, regular thrusting inside him. He began to rock to Spock’s rhythm, pushing back as he was fully entered, then pulling away until the head slipped past his sphincter, over and over again. On each thrust, Spock pressed against something inside him that made him burn, a heat that coiled in the pit of his stomach and begged for release. He felt jolts of pleasure shoot out along his nerves, to the tips of his fingers, causing his legs to spasm. Able to stand it no longer, Jim reached down and took his own cock in hand. A few short strokes and he was shuddering as he came so hard that his semen splattered high up on his chest and even hit his chin.
Jim collapsed on the bunk, head buried in his arms but ass still raised in the air while Spock rode him out. For a while, he felt as though he was in a daze, perhaps even dozed off for a moment. All he was aware of was the long, hard cock relentlessly grinding him into the mattress.
He realized Spock had climaxed again when he felt a heavy weight collapse atop him. Spock buried his face in Jim’s hair, breathing heavily, his cock still wedged inside. Jim gently clenched around him and Spock tensed, fingers digging into Jim’s hips. He began to move again, still stretched out full length across Jim’s back. The penetration was shallow from this angle, but they rocked lazily back and forth, barely moving. Jim smiled over his shoulder and sleepily mumbled, “Feels good.”
Spock pressed closer and murmured something Vulcan. Jim did not understand the word, but he shivered at the sensation of Spock’s breath ghosting over his ear. He pushed back more firmly, demanding, and Spock moaned as he pressed in harder. An arm slipped around Jim’s chest, and he was turned onto his side, Spock still pressed against his back and lodged inside him.
Jim stretched out languorously, unbending his protesting knees, delighting in the burn inside him. Spock began to rock back and forth, and Jim spread his legs wide in invitation, hooking one leg back over Spock’s. “Harder,” he urged. Spock complied, thrusting into him with as much force as he could muster at this angle. “Harder,” Jim demanded again.
This time, Spock pulled out entirely. Jim cried out in protest, but then Spock was looming over him, pushing him onto his back, hoisting his legs up and positioning himself, and he slipped in so easily that Jim gave a contented sigh. He lay there looking up at Spock for a moment; he looked thoroughly debauched, his hair in disarray, his skin an enticing shade of green.
And then he moved, and Jim could see his eyes become heavy-lidded, and the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth, could hear the grunts and moans that escaped him. Jim unconsciously reached down to touch himself. He was already semi-erect, and a few strokes were all it took to bring him to full, aching hardness.
He heard a hitch in Spock’s breath and realized he was being watched; Spock’s eyes were fully open now, and seemed more focused than they had before. Suddenly self-conscious, Jim’s hand stilled. Spock’s lips twitched, almost a smile, and he reached down, batted Jim’s hand out of the way and wrapped long fingers around him. He squeezed gently, and Jim almost bolted upright, but then Spock relaxed his hold and began to tug in a fair imitation of the grip Jim used on himself.
Jim lay back, clutching the sheets at his sides, as he watched Spock turn that famed single-minded concentration upon him. His cock was buried deeper in Jim’s ass than ever, settling into a steady, unforgiving rhythm, matched by his hand working deftly up and down the entire length of Jim’s cock.
It felt as though a fire had been lit under Jim’s skin; the pleasure was soaring from both points of contact, right through his body, burning him up from the inside out. He was writhing and moaning and it was too much, too soon, and his brain shut off as wracking convulsions absorbed him.
His heart hammered in his chest as he lay back, riding out the continuing thrusts until at last Spock went still, shuddered, and emptied himself with a deep, heartfelt groan.
This time, he withdrew and rolled to the side. They lay in a tangle of limbs, breathing heavily. Spock seemed to be asleep instantly, but Jim lay awake watching him as his brain gradually pieced itself back together.
Now that the frantic drive toward completion had subsided, Jim was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of where he was, and with whom. Drenched in sweat and semen, he was too uncomfortable to rest, so he rose from the bed and made his way over to the bathroom. In the doorway, he stopped and glanced back at the bed. Spock lay sprawled out, legs parted and arms flung over the pillow. His cock lay quiescent against his thigh now, and even in the dim light Jim could see that it was a dark, angry green. He could still feel it inside him, splitting him open, filling him.
Suddenly, the air felt stuffy, the heat and the heavy scent of sex oppressive. Jim turned away and shut himself in the bathroom, where he turned the shower on cold. He stepped in and stood under the water a while, images flashing randomly through his head. He could still feel Spock's fingers digging into his hips, tracing down his spine, felt hot breath on the back of his neck, could hear unintelligible Vulcan hissed into his ear. He reached down between his legs and the stickiness was still there, still oozing from his body and dripping down his legs. He cleaned himself as mechanically as he could, forcing down the rising sense of panic.
Somehow, the night’s events had gotten way out of hand. He may have started out dutifully saving Spock’s life, but he had wound up obviously, vocally enjoying it. That was unexpected, and not a little embarrassing. How was he supposed to look Spock in the eye on the bridge, knowing that he’d seen his commanding officer wantonly begging for a cock in his ass?
Jim leaned his forehead against the cool tiles and stood there under the cold spray a while until the alarm subsided. When he climbed out of the shower, he was shivering and the skin all over his body was raised in gooseflesh. He toweled himself dry and then wrapped the towel tightly around himself, still shivering.
When he emerged from the bathroom, the bed was empty. He collapsed atop the rumpled sheets, intending to sleep, but the scent of Spock and sex made his head swim. Giving it up as a lost cause, he rose, dressed and left the room, allowing only a cursory glance back at the ruins of the bed.
*
He was still staring at the menu when a grumbling Bones slid into the booth opposite him.
"What's the point of shore leave where we're nowhere near any sort of shore and still have to drink replicated coffee?"
It took Jim a moment to recall where he was, and a moment longer to look up from the table and focus his bleary eyes on the doctor.
"Jim? You all right?"
Bones narrowed his eyes, and Jim realized belatedly that he hadn't responded.
"Of course," he said hurriedly with a weak smile. "Just...long night."
"Oh?" McCoy's concern melted into a leery grin. "You looked like you were getting well acquainted with that Andorian in the bar last night."
Jim had to wrack his brain to recall to whom Bones was referring. Was it really only last night he'd sat in the bar trying to chat up a woman, before dragging Spock back to the ship? Spock. Merely thinking of him caused something to clench in Jim's stomach. He wondered where Spock was. Was he still on the ship? Could he be calmly preparing reports, as though nothing had happened?
"Then again," Bones interrupted Jim's train of thought. "Breakfast by yourself... Can't have been so successful after all..."
"You know," Jim sighed, "I'm really not hungry." He punched in an order for coffee.
Bones leaned over to make it two. “What the hell happened? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”
Jim gave an involuntary, choked laugh. “Not exactly.” He wracked his brain for a cover story, but came up empty. He yawned. “Any idea what time it is?”
“Ship’s time? About oh-six hundred.”
Jim blinked. “That’s early, for you.”
Bones grinned. “Actually, it’s late.”
“A good night, I take it?”
Jim made a valiant effort to feign interest in McCoy’s tales of bars, Orion dancers and mockups of the Hoobishan Baths, but his mind was back on the ship. If that was even where Spock was. He should have run a scan before leaving, at least check that he was all right –
“And then Spock walked in and danced the tango with a Gorn.”
“What?” Jim’s attention snapped suddenly back to the present.
Bones rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
Trying hard to sound nonchalant, Jim asked, “Did you see Spock last night? Or this morning?”
Bones shrugged. “Nope. I gather he was off looking at science labs. You know, just to make shore leave different to every other damn day.”
“I think I’m going to go track him down. Catch you later, Bones.”
Bones glared at him, looked as though he were about to say something, and then shook his head. “Yeah, sure.”
Jim’s head was swimming as he made his way back to the ship. The emptiness of it was a relief; away from the constant background noise of the Starbase the sense of panic in the back of his head subsided and he could hear himself think.
He went straight to the nearest briefing room and queried the computer for Spock’s location, but nothing came up. He must not be on board. Jim sat on the edge of the briefing room table, staring at the offending terminal, and repeated the question, but got the same answer.
What now? He could go to the bridge and scan the entire Starbase, but what could he say to Spock in public? Lacking any other options, he decided to return to his quarters.
The door slid closed behind him, and Jim just stood there, in the middle of his quarters, staring blankly at the floor. It seemed odd somehow that everything here was as he'd left it, while in the meantime everything had changed. His head was swimming; images of Spock, shaking with need, the sound of his ragged breathing, the way he’d been looking at Jim so intently at the end; the mere memory of it sent a shiver down Jim’s spine.
How was he supposed to go on as though nothing had happened?
*
That was fine, Jim reasoned. They just needed a little time to regain their footing around each other, and it would be fine.
Jim crossed to the command chair, hoping his own awkwardness wasn’t as obvious as it felt. He winced as he sat down, his ass still tender, and ended up perched on one side. He was sure it had to be obvious to everyone, and was surprised that no one was even looking at him.
The atmosphere on the bridge felt strained throughout their departure and on into the day’s shift. Or perhaps Jim was projecting his own discomfort onto everyone else; he couldn’t tell. He spent all day fidgeting in his chair, unable to find a position that didn’t serve him with an aching reminder of what had transpired the previous night. Though he forced himself to remain facing forwards, he kept catching his eyes darting to the right, to where Spock would have been on the old Enterprise. For the first time, he was thankful for the refit.
Yet as the hours crept by, he began to wish that he could see Spock. Just to glean a hint of what he was thinking. Was he angry with Jim for finding him? Disgusted with his eagerness? How much of it did he even remember? Realizing that he was gripping the armrest of his chair so hard his knuckles were white, he released his hold. In front of him, he saw Chekov and Sulu exchange a wordless glance.
No shift had ever felt so long, but like all things it did eventually come to an end. Spock darted straight for the turbolift and Jim followed as quickly as he could, but they were joined by Uhura and Sulu so he had no chance to say anything. He was sure he saw them exchange a wary glance, but perhaps it was his own paranoia. Spock didn’t even look at him. Jim considered extending an invitation to dinner or chess in the hope that Spock would agree for their audience’s sake, but he wasn’t quite sure enough to risk being shot down, so he kept his gaze fixed silently on the wall until they reached Deck Five.
It was remarkable how Spock could even bolt from an uncomfortable turbolift in a calm and composed manner. Jim hung back, and perhaps he sighed a little too loudly, because Uhura turned around, looking concerned. “Admiral, is everything –“
“Everything’s fine,” Jim cut her off with a forced smile. She looked unconvinced, but accepted the dismissal and left him alone.
Jim lingered in the corridor a while, looking in the direction of Spock’s quarters. He ought to go after him, but to say what?
A yeoman rounding the corner ahead of him reminded Jim where he was, and he hurriedly made his way to his own quarters. He would get something to eat, and work out what he was going to say, and then he would confront Spock and get this straightened out.
How was he supposed to know what to say to Spock, though, when he couldn’t even decide what he thought about the whole thing? Most of all, he was embarrassed at his own eagerness. He’d never been exactly averse to the idea of receiving for another man, but nor had he expected to crave it the way he had last night. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell Spock’s arousal, could feel the sheets against his knees and arms as he squirmed and begged. He blinked and shook his head, as though that could dispel the memories.
Okay, he thought, so he’d enjoyed it. So what? Wasn’t that preferable to its being a painful, traumatic experience for which Spock would blame himself forever more?
No, because Spock couldn’t even look at him. He’d spent his whole life being taught that his Time was to be feared, that he should be ashamed of the urges that overtook him. And there was Jim, with no biological imperative driving him, actually reveling in it. Perhaps he even thought this had been the plan all along, the reason Jim had agreed to this. Of course he would be disgusted.
It seemed so naïve now that Jim had agreed to this without a thought as to the consequences. Perhaps if it had just happened, they could have written it off as just another bizarre incident like all the other times one or both of them had been compromised in some way. Like Spock’s first Time, even. And how weird was that, that they’d got over Spock thinking he’d killed him, and yet enjoyable, consensual sex drove a wedge between them?
Jim’s thoughts meandered in circles for hours, until it was too late to go calling on Spock anyway. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, that had been the subconscious intention. No matter, though; he would get some sleep and talk to Spock in the morning.
Only, Spock wasn’t there in the morning. He had evidently woken early, and the computer told Jim he was already on the bridge. Perhaps avoiding the very conversation Jim wanted to have.
So it was that he had to suffer through a second shift of awkward silences and a crew who seemed to think he couldn’t see their wordless conversations. There was a brief moment of excitement as they passed through a nebula and Jim automatically called out, “Sensor readings?”
“Ten thousand atoms per cubic centimeter and no particles sufficiently large to compromise hull integrity,” Spock replied.
That was it: a standard phrase in a calm, professional voice – no danger, no action required – yet just hearing Spock’s voice was enough to cause Jim’s skin to tingle. He couldn’t resist the urge to turn around, but when he did Spock was absorbed in his readings and didn’t even look up.
Jim swung back to face the viewscreen, feeling deflated and pathetic. The nebula was only just dense enough to cause a fog-like appearance on the screen, like San Francisco on a summer’s morning.
He recalled his last morning in San Francisco, the conversation he’d had with Spock, the deal that had seemed such a tiny, insignificant price to pay to have Spock with him on this mission. He tried to imagine what it would be like if Spock hadn’t come at all, and couldn’t. To be out here without him was unthinkable. Ergo, what they had done was necessary and, dammit, logical. Surely Spock had to see that?
With steely resolve, Jim marched to Spock’s quarters that evening, determined to set things straight. Spock, though, had other plans; he was not in his quarters and the computer revealed he was down in one of the labs, surrounded by scientists. Jim returned to his own quarters, dejected, and flopped down onto his bunk. All evening he listened for signs of Spock’s return, until at last he fell asleep.
And so it went on, day after day, until the About last night… conversation became About the other day… and the awkwardness and days-long silence had become an entity in itself that outgrew its original cause. The aches and bruises faded from Jim’s body, replaced by a stronger ache caused by Spock’s absence. The memories of that night gradually became less visceral, and when Jim closed his eyes he saw only random flashes: Spock’s eyes rolling back in his head, his face flushed with arousal, or the piercing look in his eyes that final time.
The situation had long since crossed the threshold to ridiculous when Jim finally decided he had had enough and requested that the computer alert him when Spock was in the officers’ mess. He chose a public place deliberately, reasoning that if Spock didn’t want to have the big awkward conversation they could do it this way, slowly retreading the steps back to a professional working relationship.
However rational the idea seemed in his head, his heart was still hammering when he followed the computer’s summons to the mess one evening. A lot of the bridge crew were there, as was to be expected seeing as their shift had not long ended. Jim acknowledged them with a nod, fetched his meal and crossed to the other side of the room, where Spock sat alone. He hovered beside Spock’s table a moment before clearing his throat and asking, “May I?”
Spock nodded without looking up. Only when Jim was seated across from him did he raise his head. His expression seemed distant, his eyes unfocused. Jim’s insides clenched. He hated to think he had caused Spock any pain, and he was at a loss to know how to fix it. Suddenly, this public place idea seemed stupid.
Unable to think of anything to say, Jim began to eat in silence. Spock watched him for a moment before following his lead. They didn’t exchange a word, and all too easily the silence stretched to the point that breaking it felt more awkward than allowing it to persist. At least they were sitting together; that was progress, and perhaps the others would stop giving him sympathetic looks if they could at least give the appearance of returning to normality.
When they were done, Spock rose from the table and left, without so much as a glance at Jim. When he was gone, Jim sighed and pushed the remainder of his food away.
That night, Jim lay awake for hours, staring into the darkness as though it could give him some answer. The longer this went on, the more he felt he ought to have his own thoughts in order before he confronted Spock with them. Yet no amount of thinking could straighten out his head.
What did he even want from Spock? He ought to know that, at least, but he kept going in circles. When he recalled the easy way he had dismissed the mere concept of them as a couple before, it made him cringe. He had already been closer to Spock than to anyone else in the galaxy, in every way except one. Now that it turned out he could respond to Spock physically, what did that mean? All his adult life, he had dismissed the possibility of ever having a real relationship, and he was fine with that. He’d always been fine, so long as he had Spock beside him as a friend. There was no need for that to change now, and it was impossible anyway; even in the unlikely event that Spock agreed, there was the small matter of his painfully infrequent mating cycle. It didn’t matter how good the sex was, how tantalizing the mental images that wouldn’t leave him, if he had to wait another seven years. They simply weren’t compatible in that sense.
Unable to sleep, Jim hauled himself up, pulled on his uniform and wandered the ship. Given how arbitrary ship’s time was it often struck him as strange that Gamma shift felt so quiet. The corridors were deserted and even the rec rooms he passed were empty. He kept going until he reached the Observation Deck, and there something made him pause. There was no sound, but he somehow knew that Spock was inside.
He hesitated. Part of him knew that Spock would have come here seeking solitude and wanted to leave him alone, but he couldn’t just carry on walking. Gingerly, he tested the door. It wasn’t locked; perhaps that was invitation enough.
It was dark inside, but Spock was visible as a silhouette against the stars. He stood straight and rigid and made no movement at the sound of the door. Jim stepped into the room enough for the door to slide closed behind him and waited.
It struck him then that he had never really considered Spock beautiful before. Intriguing, sexy, yes; but beautiful? Yet as his eyes adjusted to the light and he could make out the tall, graceful frame and the delicate curve of his ear, that was the word that came to mind. He swallowed hard and, heart pounding, cautiously approached Spock. Spock made no movement to betray his awareness of Jim’s presence. Jim stood beside him, looking out to the stars. He could hear Spock’s slow, steady breathing beside him, and it calmed him.
Unsure how to start, Jim wondered out loud, “Do you ever think about how much of that is still unexplored?”
Still there was no movement. Jim was just beginning to think that he meant not to respond when at last he said, “Ninety-nine-point-nine-eight percent.”
Jim blinked. “That much?”
“By area,” Spock clarified.
“So we’ve really barely begun, haven’t we?”
Spock said nothing, but then it was a rhetorical question. They stood in silence a while longer, side by side. Jim kept his gaze on the stars, but he was painfully aware of Spock’s presence beside him, of every breath, every slight movement. More than anything, he wanted to be able to casually take Spock’s arm and sit him down over a chess set while they talked about nothing. His chest felt tight.
“I’ve missed you,” Jim said in a choked whisper.
He heard Spock take a deep breath and then exhale slowly. “I have not gone anywhere.”
Jim sighed and smiled sadly at the stars. “I mean…you know what I mean. I miss…how it was. I want that back. Whatever it takes, I want us to be comfortable around each other again.”
“I wish that also, Jim.”
The way Spock said it sounded almost wistful, and for the first time Jim felt a sense of panic that perhaps this wasn’t temporary. He whirled around to stand in front of Spock, facing him. “I won’t give up. I need you.”
Spock met his eyes for the first time, and even in the dim light Jim could see them widen. More than anything, he looked afraid. Confused, Jim took a step back. “I don’t want to push you,” he sighed. “I just…” He reached out to lay a hand on Spock’s arm. “Tell me what you need.”
Spock lowered his head. With his face in shadow, Jim could not make out his expression, but he could feel the tension in Spock’s body. “Spock?” he prompted when there was no response. He squeezed Spock’s arm, and Spock finally looked him in the eye. Jim was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, and was overcome by the urge to move just a little closer to kiss him.
Jim’s breath caught in his throat. His hands felt clammy and he could feel blood pounding in his ears. He leaned in, close enough to feel Spock’s breath on his face. He closed his eyes and brought his free hand up to Spock’s other arm. Spock held still. Jim heard him swallow, then take a deep breath.
“Jim,” Spock murmured, so softly that his voice seemed to wash over Jim’s ears. “Jim, I need to request leave to return to Vulcan.”
Jim felt a physical jolt, as though he’d been kicked. He let go of Spock’s arms and took a step back. “Vulcan? But we’re headed in the opposite direction.”
“The Starbase is still within reach of a shuttlecraft. I can procure long-range transport from there.”
“Why?”
Spock looked away. “I have accumulated sufficient leave.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question. Is it still…was it not enough?”
Spock turned away from him. “I am no longer in pon farr.”
“Then what? Is there something else?”
“Will you grant my request?”
Jim slumped against the viewscreen, staring blankly at Spock’s back. “Of course,” he sighed.
“Thank you.”
Spock began to move towards the door. Feeling panicked, Jim started after him. “Wait.” Spock hesitated but did not turn around. “Will you come back?”
Spock looked back over his shoulder, then turned to face him fully. “Yes, I shall return.”
Jim forced a smile. “Then, anything you need.”
Spock nodded, and then was gone. Jim stared at the closed door for a long while afterwards. His head felt heavy, at odds with the residual arousal still burning in his groin. He turned around and leaned his forehead against the viewscreen. His throat was so tight it was almost as though the air were seeping out into the vacuum out there. The stars blurred in his vision and for a moment he felt disoriented, as though he were falling through the screen into the infinite expanse of space.
Taking a deep breath, Jim stepped back and straightened his uniform. He took one last look at the stars streaking by, and then turned away.
*
It was short-lived, however; the door slid open to reveal Bones, who made a beeline for Jim’s table. Jim opened his mouth to mumble a good morning, but then caught sight of the severe expression on his face.
Bones sat down without invitation. “So. I had an interesting conversation with Scotty last night. Wanted to know if Spock had recovered from the food poisoning at Starbase 11.”
“He’s fine,” Jim replied around a yawn. “Didn’t seem worth bothering you about.”
“Really? Because it seems you told our chief engineer that I’d already checked him out.”
Jim sighed and leaned back in his chair. “All right, I’m sorry. Scotty was fretting and it seemed the easiest way to reassure him.”
“Maybe.” McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose that little white lie is completely unrelated to the fact that Spock’s been taken off the duty roster and has booked out a shuttle for an undetermined period of time?”
The air seemed to vanish from Jim’s lungs. Any number of lies were at the tip of his tongue, but he could not give voice to them. The dark, significant look McCoy was giving him now told him that it would be fruitless anyway.
“Now,” McCoy continued, taking a deep breath. “I’m sure Mr. Scott was just expressing honest concern as even the rats in the hold know our command team has been working at less than optimal efficiency ever since that night. But it got me to thinking all the same, and I might be a simple country doctor but you can’t imagine I wouldn’t notice that the last time our Vulcan got all secretive over an illness and suddenly requested leave was, oh, about seven years ago?”
“Bones.” Jim’s voice was tight, strained. “Please drop it.”
“I’m not just your friend, Jim, I’m your CMO, and I have legitimate concerns about the wellbeing of the command team of this vessel. So you can tell me what happened or I can relieve you of duty.”
“He’s fine,” Jim insisted.
“He’s not. And neither are you.”
Jim suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, offering no denial.
“Look Jim,” McCoy added, more gently. “I know he values his privacy, but you have to see the logic of the situation.”
Jim snorted. “You should go try that line on him.”
“Perhaps I should. You want him to have to talk to me directly?”
“Fine,” Jim sighed. He had no wish to betray Spock’s confidence, but if McCoy had worked it out for himself… “First off, yes, it’s what you think.”
“Okay. So he went to a brothel, which is…logical. Shouldn’t that have cured him?”
“No. Or, well, it might have, but it turned out he…couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?” McCoy frowned at him, then his eyes widened. “Oh, you mean he couldn’t get it up?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Jim conceded. “That’s all he told me. I found him outside, brought him back to the ship, and Scotty helped me get him to his quarters.”
“So he’s still a ticking time bomb?”
“No. Or at least, not for another seven years.”
“So the fever burned off? Or…” McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “Or some dumb Captain decided to play sacrificial lamb.”
“That’s dumb Admiral, thank you,” Jim retorted. “And I didn’t play the sacrificial lamb, I just….” He made a vague gesture. “I just slept with him. And now things are, for obvious reasons, a bit awkward. But we’ll get over it.”
“You think so?”
“Sure,” Jim shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” He elected not to mention the fact that he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Spock’s face in the heat of passion, or that he ached to feel Spock inside him, or, hell, just near him. He’d get over all of that too, in time; he had before.
McCoy looked incredulous. “How can it be no big deal? You had sex with Spock – that sounds like a very big deal.”
To his horror, Jim felt color flood his cheeks. He glanced over at the door, checking they were still alone. “Jeez, Bones, keep your voice down?”
McCoy gave him a dark, significant look. “And even if it isn’t to you, why’s he hightailing it out of here if it’s no big deal?”
“I don’t know,” Jim admitted. “He didn’t want to tell me, and I didn’t push it. He promises he’ll be back, though. It’s not like last time. Anyway,” he added. “This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. We agreed to it, months ago. It was the condition of Spock signing up for the mission.”
McCoy just glared at him. “You’re even dumber than I thought. Admiral.”
Jim glared back. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I suppose you thought you were just doing him a favor? Taking chicken soup to the invalid?”
“I get that it’s unorthodox,” Jim allowed, “but otherwise, yeah. It might sound strange to us, but it’s just a fact of life for him. I’ve done much worse to keep him alive; there’s no need to make it more complicated than that.”
“Yeah,” McCoy snorted. “Because things with you two are usually so uncomplicated.”
Jim didn’t know what that meant, but refused to rise to the bait. McCoy frowned and took another gulp of coffee. “So what now? You carry on like nothing happened? What about next time?”
“We didn’t talk about next time.”
McCoy heaved an exasperated sigh. “Did you talk about this at all?”
“We were rushed,” Jim snapped. “Anyway, the problem was getting through this mission. So problem solved.”
McCoy just looked unimpressed. “Jim, do you know anything about Vulcans?”
“Do you?” Jim shot back.
“After our first impromptu trip to that oven of a planet, I did some quizzing of our resident expert M’Benga. D’you realize Spock’s basically been brought up to believe that sex equals marriage? And hell, given all the mystical mumbo jumbo that goes on with their heads, probably with good reason.”
“It’s not like that,” Jim insisted. “There’s nothing between us. We’re just friends.”
McCoy looked at him as though he’d just said something profoundly dumb. “I hate to break it to you, Jim, but just friends don’t go round clutching each other’s hands in my Sickbay and declaring their simple feelings.”
It actually hurt Jim to hear McCoy refer to that in what was almost a mocking tone. Angrily, he shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. McCoy just leaned back in his chair, looking up at him and meeting his challenging stare. “This is none of your business,” Jim snapped.
“All right,” McCoy held open his palms in a placating gesture. “Maybe I’m wrong. But answer me this: what’s so wrong with the idea anyway? Are you not attracted to him?”
There was no point lying; Bones had known him too long for that. Jim heaved a sigh. “Sure I am. But it doesn’t matter; he’s only interested once every seven years anyway.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow and said incredulously, “And that’s where you draw the line?”
Jim scowled at him and left the room.
*
The door buzzer snapped him back to attention. He knew without asking that Spock would be on the other side, and the thought made his mouth go dry. Was it time already? He let Spock in and rose to greet him without a word.
"Admiral." Spock stood rigidly in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the opposite bulkhead, his hands clasped behind his back. Something clenched in Jim's chest. He gestured towards the chair, but Spock moved forward only enough to allow the door to close behind him and remained standing. "I am ready to depart."
Jim nodded and swallowed hard. “Sure. I’ll come and see you off.”
"Unnecessary. I only came because I feel you should know the reason I must return to Vulcan.”
Jim took a step towards him. “You don’t have to. Do whatever you need to do. If you say you’re coming back, I trust you.”
Spock glanced sharply at him. “You should not.”
“I shouldn’t what? Trust you?” Jim’s brow furrowed. “Spock, that’s ridiculous.”
“I violated your trust,” Spock said, so softly that Jim barely heard him. Jim went to protest, but Spock forestalled him with a glance. “I do not speak of the…physical act,” he stumbled over the words. “Far worse than that, I violated your mind.” He took a deep breath. “I neglected to inform you that we share a link.”
Jim watched Spock carefully while he processed that. He felt around in his head for anything that felt like the melds he had shared with Spock before, but found nothing. “I don’t understand. You mean to say we’re bonded?”
“Not precisely. It is more akin to the betrothal link. If formalized, it would become a bond.”
“I see.” Jim perched on the edge of his desk and rubbed at his temples, almost as though he expected to feel something there. “Does this usually happen during pon farr?”
Spock looked away. “It was already in place before that, though I do not know for how long. I believe that is why I was unable to…to seek assistance elsewhere.”
“Oh. How long have you known?”
“Only since…that night.” Spock’s gaze dropped to the floor.
Jim sighed. “And while it exists you can’t go to anyone else in your Time, so you’re going to Vulcan to have it dissolved.”
“That is correct.”
Jim looked at the ceiling as a tightness gripped his chest. “Okay,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Thank you for telling me.”
Spock nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave. Seized by sudden panic, Jim blurted out, “What will you do in seven years’ time?”
Spock froze, hand on the doorframe while Jim’s words hung in the air. After an interminable silence, Spock’s shoulders slumped and he took a step backwards. He did not turn around, and his voice was pitched so low that Jim would not have heard it had he not been able to guess the words.
“That is not your concern.”
“As your commanding officer, it is my concern.”
“You are only my commanding officer for the next four-point-seven years.” Spock turned around. His features were schooled into neutrality, but Jim could see the desperation, the defeat, pouring from him.
Jim rose and took a step forward, holding out his hands, palm up. “As your friend, then.”
Something flickered in Spock’s eyes but was quickly quenched. “You have far exceeded the duties of any friend already.”
“Perhaps,” Jim agreed, “in Human terms. But you can’t tell me that this sort of thing doesn’t happen all the time on Vulcan.” He held up a hand to forestall Spock’s protest. “Oh, sure, it’s not spoken of, but you cannot tell me that on a planet of however-many billions, every single Vulcan has a bond that goes exactly according to plan. Or even if it does, that no one finds themselves in a situation where they’re unexpectedly separated at the – at the critical time. You only feel alone because they’re so damn secretive about it.”
Spock’s hand clenched so hard his knuckles went white, and for a terrifying moment Jim thought he meant to take a swing. He restrained himself, but barely; his voice shook as he snapped, “You should not presume to judge that which you cannot understand.”
Jim’s aggression evaporated, and he slumped against his desk, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. “I’m not judging,” he sighed. “It’s just…I do get it. I know you think I can sleep with anything that walks without a second thought…” He trailed off, and to his horror he felt color seeping into his face as he was assaulted with the memory of himself on his hands and knees, begging. He shook his head, as though that could dispel the image, and continued, “I know it’s not that straightforward for you, that you don’t like to be seen like that. But tell me honestly, would it have been better with a stranger?”
The tension visibly drained from Spock’s body and he closed his eyes, his voice barely more than a whisper as he said, “No.”
“So why are you so keen to go running to someone else next time?”
Spock’s eyes opened with a start and roamed over Jim as though searching for some clue. He cocked his head, looking wary. “What are you saying?”
What was he saying? Jim really wasn’t sure; his heart was pounding and the rush of blood in his head was keeping him from thinking straight, and all he knew was that he couldn’t stand the idea of Spock going to someone else in his next pon farr. He paced back and forth, aware of Spock’s eyes following his every movement, before finally coming rest in front of him, meeting Spock’s gaze squarely.
“Have you ever considered it, Spock? You and me? Not as an arrangement out of necessity, but together. Properly.”
Spock blanched and took a step away. Jim could see that he wanted to deny it, but in the end his Vulcan resistance to lying won out. “I have,” he admitted. “You never gave any indication of being amenable to the suggestion.”
“That’s true,” Jim agreed. “I’ve always dismissed the idea, because it never occurred to me that I could have a relationship with someone who only wanted sex every seven years. At least, that’s what I’ve always told anyone who asked; I can’t say I actually gave it any thought, because if I had…if I’d honestly thought about the idea of us, together, I’d have realized we already were. Together.” Jim took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. “You’re closer to me than anyone. You’re the one person I want to spend time with after a difficult day, the one I think of when things look desperate. You’re the one I trust to see me at my worst…” He trailed off and gave a choked laugh. “I should have known…”
“Known what?”
Jim was startled by Spock’s voice, so lost in his own thoughts he’d almost forgotten whom he was speaking to. Spock’s eyes were fixed on him, searching yet restrained, wary. Jim took a deep breath and moved towards him, a hesitant smile flickering across his lips. He reached out and took Spock’s hand, squeezed it tight, and quoted Spock’s own words back at him: “This simple feeling.” He smiled. “Remember?”
Spock looked away, abashed, and Jim squeezed his hand again to recapture his attention. “Sex might be the most obvious thing that distinguishes lovers from friends,” he continued, “but it’s not the only thing. We’ve already have everything else. And if the price of that is not getting laid as much as I’d like, then, well,” Jim shrugged with a smile. “I can live with that.” He took a deep breath. “So? Is it such a crazy idea?”
“Jim,” Spock looked him in the eye, a twitch at the corner of his mouth threatening a smile. “I do not consider the idea ‘crazy,’ as you say, at all. However, I fear you have been laboring under a misapprehension. Vulcans must mate every seven years; however, to only be capable of doing so with such infrequency would be illogical.”
It took Jim a moment to understand what Spock was trying to say. As realization dawned, it seemed as though all of the air had been sucked from the room. Jim was suddenly very aware that he was clutching at Spock’s hand and standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “So you’re…capable, as you say, any time… But in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never… Not of your own volition, anyway.”
“Ah.” Spock’s gaze flickered to the floor. “Vulcans…do not feel such…urges.”
Jim swallowed his nerves, but his heart was hammering so loudly that he could barely hear. He took a deep, shaky breath, and ventured, “And what about Spocks?”
Spock disentangled their hands, and for a moment Jim felt fear clench at his gut, but then Spock positioned their hands so that just their first two fingers were touching. There was a hitch in his breath, and he began to run his fingers gently, reverently over Jim’s. A shiver ran down Jim’s spine; he instinctively understood the gesture. He remained still for a while, mesmerized by the sight of Spock’s eyes fluttering closed, his lips slightly parted on heavy, ragged breaths, and the green tinge seeping across his cheeks.
With his free hand, Jim traced a path up Spock’s arm, over his collarbone, and then up his neck to the roughened jaw. He was so different here to the women Jim had known, but he found the unfamiliar texture tantalizing. He ran his fingers back and forth a few times before moving on to the earlobe, then tracing the rim and caressing the delicately pointed tip. Spock gave a sudden jerk; he gasped, his free hand clenched in Jim’s shirt and his ears flushed a deep green. Jim gave a delighted chuckle and breathed, “Fascinating.”
Spock turned a stern expression on him, lips pursed and one eyebrow pointedly raised, but visibly aroused as he was, the effect was somewhat sultry. Jim smiled, and by way of response leaned in to kiss him the Human way; first, just a faint brush of lips, and then with gentle, teasing pressure. It was different than he’d expected; Spock’s lips were surprisingly pliant and the coolness was enticing. A thrill coursed through him when he realized that Spock was responding. He clenched his fist in Spock’s shirt and pulled him closer as he ran his tongue along Spock’s lower lip.
With a sharp intake of breath, Spock pulled away. Jim instinctively tried to pull him back in, but then let go and took a step back, still breathing heavily. “Sorry,” he gasped. “I guess I got carried away.”
“I as well,” Spock admitted, and Jim grinned. “I trust you have sufficient evidence that my desire is not in question?”
“Oh I don’t know,” Jim’s smile turned predatory. “I could use some more evidence.” He reached up to lay his hands upon Spock’s shoulders, and then let them slide down his upper arms.
Spock slid a hand around Jim’s waist to the small of his back and pulled him closer, and Jim groaned at the unfamiliar but intoxicating sensation of another hard cock scraping against his through the layers of fabric.
“Okay,” Jim grinned, gently pressing their groins together. “That’s some pretty compelling evidence.” He kissed Spock hard and a keening sound was torn from his throat as Spock’s lips parted beneath his. Desperate for skin contact, he tugged Spock’s undershirt out of his waistband and slipped his hands inside, palming Spock’s waist, his back. At the feeling of cool, dry skin, sense memory kicked in and he could almost feel the burn in his ass. He wanted that again, wanted to feel Spock open him and fill him. He slipped his tongue between Spock’s lips and began to maneuver them backwards towards the bunk. Spock followed, maintaining the maddening pressure against Jim’s groin, breaking off the kiss only to pour a litany of murmured, unintelligible Vulcan into Jim’s ear. Jim reached for the hem of Spock’s shirt and began to tug it upwards, but Spock stilled his hands.
“Jim –” Spock pulled away enough that Jim could see his face. Between his flushed skin, his bruised lips and his disheveled hair, he looked downright wanton. Jim unconsciously licked his lips. Spock took a shuddery breath. “As much as I would like to continue our current activity, I was expected nine-point-six minutes ago.”
Jim reached up to tangle his fingers in Spock’s hair. “I’m sure you won’t be missed for a few minutes longer.” Really, he mused wryly, in the state he was in right at that moment, it wouldn’t take long at all.
Spock raised an eyebrow at him, and Jim sighed and reluctantly let go of Spock’s hair. “Right. So, do you still want to break the bond?”
Spock traced two fingers over the rounded edge of Jim’s ear, causing a shiver to course through his body. “It would be advisable, yes.” At the look of horror on Jim’s face, he added, “The process is not irreversible. If in the future we choose to deliberately instigate –“
“Okay,” Jim interrupted. “So we could do that, hit the reset button and start over. But if we leave it, we’re just, for all intent and purposes, betrothed, right?”
“That is correct.”
“And we have another seven years before we have to decide whether to formalize it?”
“Yes.”
“So can’t we just keep it and see how it goes?”
Spock’s lips twitched. “Is that your wish, or are you merely seeking to prevent my departure?”
“Both,” Jim smiled. “I mean, I signed off your leave and of course you can go to Vulcan if that’s what you want. But if you don’t have any other reason to go there…” he shrugged and darted a meaningful glance towards the bunk.
Spock followed his gaze and lifted an eyebrow. He moved closer and slid an arm around Jim’s waist. “I believe I would prefer to save my leave for such time as I am able to share it.”
Jim could not hold back the grin that spread across his face. He caught Spock’s lips in a bruising kiss and was delighted when it was returned. All too soon, Spock pulled away, though with obvious reluctance. “I am, however, still expected in the shuttlebay. I should cancel my arrangements so that we are not interrupted.”
“Right,” Jim sighed and let him go.
Spock straightened his uniform and smoothed his hair, and in mere moments looked almost as pristine as ever – almost, because the signs were still there to Jim’s knowing eyes. “I shall return swiftly, if you wish to…”
Jim smiled at Spock’s hesitance, and sat down on the edge of the bunk. “I’ll wait.”
Spock’s curt nod almost bore the hint of a smile. He held Jim’s gaze a long while, almost as though committing him to memory, then turned and left with the deliberate swiftness of one fighting his reluctance to leave.
As the door closed behind Spock’s retreating form, Jim fell back onto the bunk and stared up at the ceiling, grinning stupidly. All of a sudden, he knew that the second five-year mission was going to be so, so much better than the first.