Just something I found on my external hard drive that I never finished for some reason, until now. Enjoy~
-o-o-o-o-o-
His body feels so light.
Spock slowly seats himself on the edge of his bed, burying his face into his hands and tentatively inhaling the still air of the room around him. He expects pain, but there's nothing. No needles and pins on his skin, no burning in his veins.
It's so quiet.
He reaches down to open his boots, expecting the zipper against his fingertips to send a jolt of agony through his body, but much to his relief only feels blissfully cool metal against his own warmth. Releasing his feet from the confines of the black leather elicits a quiet sigh from him, and as that small breath of air leaves his lips an overwhelming exhaustion settles into his limbs. His mind is hazy but oddly content with the absence of complicated thoughts. Spock lets himself fall on the bed, and his eyes close without his consent. He knows the chemistry of what he's experiencing, but even science can't explain why this simple feeling of thorough satisfaction carries so much guilt.
This is not the afterglow he wants.
As he digs into the pocket of his trousers, he finds a handful of red sand that slowly trickles on the bed cover through his limp fingers. The very same red sand he feels everywhere under his clothing, chafing his skin as he sluggishly rolls onto his side. The logical thing to do would be to take a shower and throw his uniform in the laundry basket, but he doubts his exhausted body will allow him to go anywhere for a few hours. As a plan B he strips himself to his underwear and crawls under the duvet, letting out a soft noise of contentment as his head sinks into the pillow.
He has never been less homesick in his life.
No peace for the wicked, it seems, for Spock's sleep isn't dreamless. Throughout the night he is plagued by visions of himself dragging around as a trophy the lifeless body of the man who was foolish enough to take on the challenge. He sees in vivid detail a nightmarish version of himself riding the ecstasy of victory, basking in the glory of a conquest; his dark, piercing eyes blazing with rage and lust, and the crimson splatters of human blood on the side of his face as his head tilts back in exhaustion. His furious gaze shifts up towards the darkening skies, and an animalistic growl is torn from his throat as he once and for all declares his superiority over the man now laying bloodied and broken at his feet.
This is definitely not the afterglow he wants.
He is awoken by a hand firmly slapping him on the side of his face, not quite hurting him but forcefully bringing him out of his unconscious state. Through his eyelashes Spock sees a man clad in command gold sitting on the edge of his bed, talking to him in a low, worried voice and gripping him by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to get a response out of him. A soft groan is all the Vulcan can manage, but once his gaze finally focuses on the Captain's face the hands on his shoulders loosen their grip and a brief silence falls between the men. Spock wishes he could avoid the hazel stare of Kirk's eyes, but as if by force of habit he stares back.
It's so quiet.
"You're going to miss lunch", Kirk says and gives him a slightly crooked smile. Spock initially fails to comprehend why missing lunch would be any reason to wake him up, but the realization strikes just as he is about to ask. He has overslept. Badly. A familiar warmth creeps on his face and settles onto his cheekbones, and the sudden appearance of dark green on his skin doesn't go unnoticed. The Captain's smile widens as he explains that there's nothing to worry about, and that it was Doctor McCoy's recommendation that the Science Officer is left to sleep undisturbed until lunchtime.
"Was it absolutely necessary to use quite so much force?" Spock finally asks, his voice still slightly drowsy and rough. He then proceeds to bite the side of his tongue and clench his jaw to stop more stupidity from coming out of his mouth. Surely, he has no right to make demands after mercilessly attacking his friend with the intention to kill him. In fact, it's only fair that Kirk slaps him around after what happened. Spock is content with this thought; it may not be particularly logical, but it is right. He deserves the worst his Captain can give him.
"I tried talking to you, poking at you and even shaking you a little but I couldn't wake you up. Got a little desperate."
Fair enough. Spock slowly peels himself off the mattress and sits himself up, slightly slumped over and listless. He feels dizzy and there is a low ringing in his ears. The duvet is pulled tight against his hip by the human's weight.
"Would it be all right if I showered first? I haven't had the time -"
"Yes, of course. We're not in a hurry, Scotty's got the bridge."
We?
Kirk gets up. Spock can see the Captain's motions are weighed down by aches and pains, but he says nothing. His own muscles silently scream at him in protest as he stands up and slowly saunters to the bathroom, locking the door and purposefully keeping his eyes off the mirror.
It's so quiet, and that's okay.