A Very Productive Shore Leave
Jim sighed longingly, looking out of the window in his ready room. It had been too long, far too long since the Enterprise's last shore leave. It was even more a pity that the leave itself was actually a maintenance stop, would only last seventy-two hours, and was on a space station and not a gorgeous, legitimate beach. Turquoise waves and golden sands—what he wouldn't give for something like that again, something like the photos of San Francisco in the twenty-first century.
Someone to share it with legitimately wouldn't be bad either. True, he and Spock had technically been together, but they'd never really been together. The sex was mind-blowing, no doubt about it, and the fact that they were getting it on fairly regularly at least twice a month was even better. But ever since their shower scene four months ago, Jim hadn't been able to shake that golden feeling in his chest that kept telling him there was something, should be something more between them.
Not that he'd ever bring it up to Spock. That was even more impossible than physically moving at light speed. Primal emotions were one thing to get him to release; those were easily explained away as biological urges to mate. More subtle emotions and desires, like a long-term relationship? That golden feeling had only been reciprocated the one time. No logical need for it whatsoever. Jim was more afraid of getting his heart broken by unerring logic than losing a fuck buddy.
With a sigh, Jim ran a hand down his shirt front. It was his regular casual wear, worn in anticipation of getting off the ship after the regular set of reports. The hem was fraying slightly at the edges.
A sudden flash of brilliance struck him. He turned away from the window and headed straight for his computer, booting it up and tapping furiously at the keyboard as soon as he got the chance. Time to see if there were any vestiges of capitalism scattered around Starbase 001.
oOoOo
Jim managed to catch Spock when he was running through the finalized reports from the sciences division. He was stacking them up neatly on his desk when Jim burst through the door wearing the goofiest smile in his arsenal. "Oh, Spock…"
The aforementioned Vulcan didn't look up or even seem to notice him, save for his response. "If you have come to assist me with these reports, I would be much obliged," he said.
"We're not even bothering with those today, thank you," Jim chirped. He moved forward, skipping slightly in his excitement, and plucked the stack of paper from Spock's hands.
Spock looked up at him. His eyebrows seemed more to angle inwards more than usual. "Captain, this is not the time to stave off work. These reports are due at the end of our shore leave."
"You know I never listen at meetings, Spock," Jim said. He leaned in closer, propping his elbows on the table as he smirked. "The only difference is that this time I was too busy thinking naughty thoughts about you to pay attention."
Their gazes met evenly. Spock raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to doing what?"
"Thinking very naughty thoughts about you?" Jim started to grin.
Spock rolled his eyes somewhat, one of the few blatant gestures he allowed himself in Jim's presence. "What is it you require?" he asked, his voice ever cool if not somewhat tired.
"Not sex just yet, before you start on that."
The eyebrow went up a little more. "What other needs could I possibly fulfill, Jim?"
Jim's heartstrings pulled tightly inside his chest, coming dangerously close to snapping in anguish. "Come shopping with me," he blurted.
Spock sighed. "Shopping? For what?"
"I just want to," Jim answered. "And I want you to come with me."
"Jim, these reports will not—"
"Please, Spock." For a second Jim couldn't believe how lost and hurt he sounded. He'd only sounded like this when he was a child, when his mother left for the first time on assignment from Starfleet and left him on his own with Frank and Sam. He'd gone in his room and cried on that first day.
Spock seemed very taken aback by the sudden, blatant exposure of emotion. At least, that's what Jim thought, since both of his eyebrows shot up rather than just the one. After a second Spock collected himself and sighed. Putting his hand on the stack of reports, he guided them from midair to the top of his desk. "Very well, Jim," Spock murmured. "I shall accompany you."
The tension on Jim's chest loosened completely. He broke into a grin and, for a second, had to forcibly restrain the urge to run to Spock and hug him. "I'll come get you in an hour?" he asked giddily.
"I shall be right here, Jim," Spock replied. Jim's grin widened and he rushed from the room, eager to get into some more Earth-appropriate civvies. Where they were going, he would need them.
oOoOo
The fact that Starbase 001 even had a Hollister was surprising enough. It was probably more surprising for the Hollister in question when Jim waltzed in with Spock in tow behind him. The blond's eyes were wide open in excitement, and he was grinning broadly. It had been literally been years since he'd been out, in a mall, to shop. He couldn't help taking a great whiff of the store around him; it smelled like musk and salty sea air, among other things he couldn't name.
"Oh, Spock," he sighed. "Isn't it fantastic?"
He turned to his companion. Spock's face seemed more wan than usual, and more yellow than green in tone. Jim was pretty sure that Vulcans never got physically ill the way humans did, but if they could, he was equally sure that this is what they looked like before they fled to the bathroom.
But, of course, Spock's voice betrayed nothing. "If by 'fantastic' you mean 'overpowering,' then I am apt to agree with you," he quipped. He surveyed the dimly illuminated linoleum at his feet, which was patterned to look like wood. "Must I accompany you?"
"Yes," Jim answered swiftly. He gave a gentle tug and pulled Spock forward towards a rack of comfortable-looking tee shirts. Their fingers entwined briefly, sending a great thrill of giddiness up Jim's spine, before they released. "I promise not to keep you here too long," he breathed by Spock's ear.
"I shall hold you that promise," Spock whispered back. He was slowly starting to play along, swiftly passing a thumb over the hangers. To anyone else, it would look like he was genuinely looking at the merchandise.
Jim smiled a little. His eye suddenly caught on an emerald green shirt, which he promptly held up for Spock to inspect. "Whatcha think?"
Spock wrinkled his nose slightly. "You would get cold too easily."
Jim flashed his best grin. "Couldn't you warm me up?"
"I assume you mean engaging in amorous activities," Spock returned. His tone was as cool as ever, and he hadn't even looked away from the rack of shirts. "That would require taking the shirt off, thereby counteracting my intentions entirely."
Jim sighed, put the shirt back on the hanger, and moved on to the next rack. Should've figured, he mused.
After twenty minutes that felt like forty, Jim finally managed to make out with six things that met Spock's and his combined approval. Spock actually had a good sense of what Jim liked to wear, and had picked out two long-sleeved pieces that looked good on the hanger at least. Granted, they were both blue, but that was Spock's favorite color. Probably.
Of course, as soon as they picked up the last thing, Spock started making a beeline for the register. Jim had to actually grab his arm and hold him back, while hanging on to the pile of clothes draped over his other arm. His heart was suddenly pounding, like it did sometimes right before a mission went wrong. "Slow down, will you? I have to try these on."
Spock looked in his direction. "Is that necessary?"
"Sizes are just numbers. They don't mean jack until you know how broad your shoulders are compared to the manufacturing mannequin." Jim's eyes swept up from the clothes in his hands to Spock, watching him carefully. His heart felt suddenly tight.
Spock ignored Jim's gaze and instead looked at the pile of clothes. His eyes widened slightly, and Jim would swear this was the first and only time a Vulcan had ever looked remotely pained from something non-physical. He shook his head and exhaled audibly through his nose. His voice was tight as he spoke. "I believe you owe me very much, Jim."
Jim hardly heard; he was already halfway to the dressing rooms. Things were going right back on track; he felt absolutely giddy. He picked one of the rooms at random, checked to make sure it was empty, and started to hang up the possible purchases on the chrome-plated hooks. There was a soft click from behind him, hardly heard over the music, and Jim turned just in time to see Spock push the lock on the door.
He shook his head slightly and smiled. "How in the hell do you do that?" he asked, setting his arms akimbo.
"Practice," Spock replied. His eyes darted around the tiny booth as he stood there, looking remarkably awkward against the tattered wooden door spattered with pencil graffiti. Had he been human, Jim was pretty sure he'd be scuffing his feet against the floor. "What am I supposed to do?"
Jim shrugged. He felt pretty awkward too, partially for different reasons, but unlike Spock he was more apt to show it. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight several times as he spoke. "I guess…um…let me know if it looks really bad on me?"
Spock's brow furrowed by an infinitesimal margin. "And how am I supposed to know what qualifies as 'really bad'?" he asked as he sat on the small stool in the right corner.
"Judge how attractive it makes me look, I suppose." Jim gave another shrug and peeled his shirt off. Tossing it to the floor without another though, he pulled one of the blue things off its hanger and slipped it on. He stepped up to the mirror and looked for a while at himself. The shirt had long sleeves, and a few small buttons near a V-neck collar. It wasn't Jim's usual style by a long shot, but at least it wasn't itchy.
He turned to Spock, arms raised slightly and ready for an opinion. The Vulcan wasn't even looking at him, though, but apparently the floor was fascinating. "Whatcha think?" Jim asked loudly.
Spock seemed to snap to his senses. His head jerked upward, eyes focusing onto Jim's torso. It moved very slowly, like a prowling jungle cat, from his shoulders to his arms to his pectorals and abdomen, and equally as slowly back up. Jim felt something in the pit of his stomach flare wildly at the intensity of Spock's gaze, and it took all his willpower not to get an erection in the middle of a very enclosed space with a very sexy, telepathic-slash-slightly-empathic humanoid sitting literally a yard away from him.
"You gonna say anything," Jim asked nervously, "or leave me hanging?"
Spock's nose wrinkled slightly. Then, quite suddenly, he spoke up. "I don't like it."
Jim groaned in exasperation. "What? Why the hell not?" Because yes, as soon as Spock didn't like something, it automatically became ten times more interesting.
"It does not seem to suit you."
"Suit…" Jim huffed once, then tugged the shirt off with a new-found passion. He shoved it at Spock, almost directly under his arrow-straight nose. "You try it on, then," he demanded.
With only a second of consideration, Spock nodded. He stood, forcing Jim to step backward slightly and bump into the mirror. Using all the efficiency and speed of a machine, Spock disrobed from the waist up, replacing his uniform shirt with the blue long-sleeve. He spread his arms in a mirror image of Jim's earlier gesture, but otherwise said nothing.
Jim sucked his bottom lip underneath his teeth. He wasn't sure how or why, but the shirt fit Spock much better than it had fit him. Much, much better, in fact. The blue just seemed to suit him, and the little buttons next to the collar were…oh, god, he didn't want to go there. He was just gorgeous. Plain and simple.
And he was smart. Beyond smart. Ungodly amounts of smart. And he was strong, and funny in his own logical way, and honest, and thoughtful, and remarkably gentle, and his smile, whenever it came, was like the first blast of a supernova. And the way his eyes sparkled whenever he was deep in thought or a logical tirade or sheer excitement was indescribably breathtaking. And as much as it drove him crazy, Jim loved having his plans be turned upside down by a smooth stroke of logic. It kept him in check, made him step back and think about things instead of jumping head-first.
On most things, anyway. Jim suddenly realized that he had to say something, because he was standing there with his jaw halfway open, gaping at Spock for what was probably the better part of two minutes. He shook himself from his thoughts, dislodging all but one: Well, that plan's already shot to hell; why not?
"Are you going to speak, Captain?" Spock asked. His voice was tinged with annoyance.
"Be my boyfriend," blurted Jim.
The loud, pounding music around them seemed to muffle a little in the wake of those words. Spock stared at him, the annoyance in his demeanor fading away at warp five. "You…what?"
"I want you to be my boyfriend." Jim suddenly reached out and took Spock's wrists, careful not to touch his hands, or press said hands to his chest. Their eyes locked, and Jim's heart leapt at the almost wary glimmer of thought behind them.
So Jim kept talking, faster and more excitedly. "I want to be able to hold your hand on the bridge in front of everyone else. I want to be able to reach around and hug you if I come up behind you in the line at the mess. I want to do more than just fuck you, Spock; I want to make love to you and cuddle with you afterwards and kiss you without tongue all the time. And I want it to be just us, exclusive. Monogamous. You'll be mine and I'll be yours." He shook his head, mouth still open slightly and curled in a smile. "I don't know how else to say it."
Spock blinked twice. His eyes moved slowly downwards toward their hands and seemed to stick there. Jim waited with almost literally bated breath.
And finally, Spock spoke, so quietly Jim almost missed it. "Would I be required to hold your hand at all reasonable opportunities?"
Jim felt his heart leap up a few more centimeters. "I would think so, if we're not busy with something else."
"And would I be required to kiss you in some fashion at least once per day?"
"Only if you want to," Jim answered swiftly. "We can burn that bridge when we get there."
"Our…amorous activities?"
"Can continue right on the schedule they're on, if you want."
"And would I be required to—"
"Spock." Jim's eyes were wide, and his breathing was very irregular. "Will you?"
Spock's fingertips brushed against Jim's. Near the edges of his heart Jim could feel that warm, glowing feeling from the shower four months ago. "Yes, Jim. I will."
In a fit of indescribable delight and giddiness, Jim pulled Spock to him and kissed him. His mouth was still as perfectly smooth and soft as ever, and gave in the right places to accommodate Jim's wildly excited kissing. This time was different, though; it was gentler, more tender and, dare he say it, more gleefully innocent than normal. When they finally pulled apart, Jim's head was spinning and he was almost seeing stars.
To his satisfaction, Spock seemed to be undergoing the same effects, except that he could speak. "Are we really going to buy any of these?" he murmured, motioning to the clothes on the racks. His hands had managed, somehow, to land on Jim's still-bare chest.
Jim smiled. "Do you want to watch me take my shirt off a bunch of times in a row?"
"Perhaps." Spock's lips curled upward. "You do owe me, after all."
"As you wish, Commander," Jim quipped. On a whim, he added, "I'll try not to moon you in the middle of the starbase, either."
Spock shook his head and peeled off the blue shirt. "This is turning out to be a rather productive shore leave after all," he noted, "despite the reports still on our desks."
Jim only grinned and rolled his eyes minutely in reply. For all Spock's logic, he obviously had no idea.
Author's Notes: I managed to churn it out! I'm actually really proud of myself for it, considering this week has been ridiculously busy for me. My beta, xladyjagsvolleyball16x, helped me with the idea in the first place on this one, and damn if I'm not glad she did. She also suggested that I set the shopping scene in Hollister, a wish I tried my best to fulfill. Describing the ambience of a store is really hard to do when you have no time to go shopping.
And speaking of time, it's time for me to lay out some very likely disheartening news. I'm in my senior year of high school, and the next month or so is going to be so chock full of things for me to do. Prepping for college, taking my final tests, having to deal with mandatory graduation practice, etcetera. That said, I'm not going to have time to keep churning out stories at the rate I am now; I can only write so well so fast. So I'm putting myself on a posting hiatus where my stories are concerned. This will not, I repeat, not affect my drabbles. Those will continue to be posted on Mondays. My more "legitimate" stories, on the other hand, will not appear on Fridays until about a month or so from now, or at the very least until school lets out. That doesn't mean that I won't be writing, of course! I have lots of ideas for stories, long and short, and I plan to work on them during my break. When I come back, I plan to have a full arsenal equipped and ready to post at my regular schedule.
That being said, I'm going to end with my usual thank you's. To my beta xladyjagsvolleyball16x, who will hopefully get a shorter name soon; to the lovely Tech Duinn and Cheryl Dyson, who are both amazing writers and have genuinely influenced my own writing style, after a fashion; and, of course, to all of my readers, old and new, for continuing to simply enjoy what I write. To all, live long and prosper, and keep reading!