Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at works/3274946.
Waking
I wake up slowly, the dimness of the room disconcerting until I remember that I'd pulled the shades the night before. A premium hotel room with a perfect view of a glorious sunrise, but I'd closed the curtains as soon as I remembered the regular, quiet darkness of your quarters.
Even now I can feel the warmth of your body next to me, I can hear the soft susurration of your breathing. I hold myself still, not wanting as yet to disturb your sleep, and I reach for that gentle echo of your mind that lingers on from our meld. I can barely feel it, but I know it's there: deep and true and representing all that I had ever wanted.
I had desperately yearned to ask you for that; I had ached to feel your mind, and if anyone had questioned me about it I wouldn't have been able to answer beyond aching, beyond wanting. I had a thousand reasons why I shouldn't have asked you, why I couldn't have asked you, and then, out of nowhere, I simply did just that. My lips curve in a smile as I remember your eyes: dark and intense and surprised. I remember your words: your rather formal query as to whether I was fully aware of the implications of my request.
And I had lied. I had nodded as earnestly as possible and lied to you. Implications. I roll my eyes even now as I think of all the times mystic Vulcan rites had risen, implications fully unknown, undisclosed or unacknowledged. All I had known was that I wanted it as much as anything: a meld un-dictated by circumstance, unrestricted by mission or crisis, unrestrained. I had wanted to feel your thoughts, to sense them with the veil of our physical selves lifted. And I had wanted you to know me.
My neck is stiff and I shift on the bed, hearing the rhythm of your breathing change as I do so. I decide there isn't much to lose and turn my head, smiling again as I see you sprawled on your stomach in the low light, head turned away from me, your simple black tunic barely visible under the blanket. I'd only ever seen you sleep on your back before, and stiffly, as if aware you were under scrutiny, subject to judgment. There will be none of that between us, my friend.
Boldly, perhaps selfishly, I reach out, brushing my fingertips through your hair. I expect you to wake immediately, but the only change I feel is growing warmth somewhere in my mind. You had hesitated last night: your eyes searching mine in the human way before your fingers touched my skin. A last chance for me to protest perhaps, or simply recognition that this would be the last time we saw each other through partially blinded eyes. And then…connection.
I feel myself blush as I think about it, of the colors of your mind, the brilliance. Of the depth of it, the intensity of it, of the passion. I had cried out, my mental voice flashing quicksilver and light, my own raw joy meeting yours. Even there, on the knife-edge of emotion, we had fit, we had complemented each other perfectly: your heat and my light. All we are, all we knew, everything rushing together before your ingrained control had exerted itself, pulling back at the very precipice to allow us to join more deliberately. I had never known such unrestrained intimacy, such awakening.
The meld had gently ended and I had been exhausted, listening to your murmured words about a bond, about t'hy'la. I had barely the strength to respond, replying in human terms about love, asking you to stay, unable to bear being parted mentally and physically. And you had fallen asleep next to me.
Despite my tiredness I had fought off sleep for precious minutes, simply watching you, comparing the beauty of your face with the beauty of your mind. And only then had I remembered the shades and the threatened glare of morning. Now, I watch you again: safe in the darkness, secure in my mind. You finally stir, turning your head to meet my eyes, and I feel your smile even if it does not reach your lips, waking to me, to us.
THE END
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and I do not make any money from this.