For jouissant. Happy birthday!
ooo ooo ooo
Unsuitable.
That was the word T'Vei had used to describe Jim, when Spock indicated that he was meeting him for lunch. He was unsuitable. Spock was an ambassador's son, she said, so it was expected that the person he marry command a certain level of society.
Jim was enrolled in Starfleet Academy. He was a student, though he taught classes two nights a week and was studying for the Captain's exam, which made them contemporaries. Spock saw Jim weekly, had seen him ever since the first night at the coffee shop two blocks from the academy's campus. They had been the only two attendants at a poetry reading. Jim had asked if it would be alright for him to sit with Spock. He wore a leather jacket and a smile, and cocked his head to the side when he spoke. Spock had decided there was no logic in sitting alone, and allowed it, though he doubted from Jim's appearance that he had an actual interest in poetry. Spock suspected he might have a romantic interest in the poet, a young Orion woman with large eyes and red hair who stood nervously at the microphone.
"I don't usually hang out in places like this, but Gaila's a friend of mine," Jim whispered and winked. "I promised her I'd come."
Spock expected him to leer at her. He had witnessed a young man behave that way the week before, only to be thrown out by the proprietor. Jim surprised him by paying attention as Gaila read her poems. They were melancholy, a celebration of her freedom, yet a reminder of her people's continuing struggle. After each one, Jim nodded his head approvingly and looked to Spock for his reaction. Twice, he wiped his eyes. Spock was also moved by her words, though not to tears. He handed Jim a napkin, which Jim used to blow his nose. Spock grimaced when he thought Jim might deposit it on the table, but he stood and dropped it in a trash bin by the door, then sat back down.
"She's good, right?" Jim whispered when Gaila took a drink of water. "What did you think of the phoenix metaphor?"
"It is perhaps cliche," Spock said thoughtfully, "yet appropriate."
"She's pretty awesome," Jim agreed. "Do you write any of this stuff?"
"I find poetry translation a satisfying diversion," Spock confessed, "but I do not compose my own."
Jim appeared genuinely proud as he watched Gaila resume the microphone. Spock regretted the initial impression he had made of Jim based upon his appearance.
When the reading was over, Jim presented Spock with his ID.
"Message me? Maybe we can hang out again sometime." He got up from the table to embrace Gaila. Spock finished his tea while the two of them spoke and scanned through his messages. He answered six before observing them leave together. Gaila's hand was in Jim's back pocket.
Spock had been content to message Jim, to meet with him in that same shop, to listen to poetry and fiction and to mull over Jim's opinions. To take pleasure in such things was perhaps illogical, but Spock derived satisfaction from their regular meetings regardless. He found himself looking forward to them. He had never considered Jim as a possible life partner, not until T'Vei looked him square in the eye at the completion of their office hours and declared Jim to be unsuitable.
Which led to Spock's current predicament, attempting to maintain a neutral expression, though he could feel the tips of his ears growing hot.
"He is promiscuous," she continued, straightening her desk.
"That is his business," Spock defended and focused on his stylus.
"He is a poor choice for a partner," she declared, "despite your heritage."
Spock frowned. He was certain that Jim did not view him in a romantic light. He considered the facts. They had spent a total of forty-seven point two five hours in each other's presence and exchanged one hundred sixty-one messages, the average word count of Jim's being nine point one words. From what Spock understood of human romantic relationships, they consisted of a series of contrived activities designed to force a sense of intimacy between individuals. He failed to understand how consuming a meal in someone's exclusive presence or viewing a vid in a dark theater (during which one did not discuss the presentation, merely observed it) served as an efficient way to determine whether two individuals were suited for long-term partnership. The idea was exhausting, and it did not describe his association with Jim.
Jim had never invited Spock to spend time alone (they always met publicly), and he never suggested they dine in private but in the academy's cafeteria or in the company of friends. Spock had witnessed him kiss Gaila on the mouth eleven times and exchange IDs with eight individuals in order to, Spock presumed, arrange sexual activity. Jim had never propositioned him. He desired Spock's friendship, Spock decided, and nothing more.
That was best. Spock's own bonding with T'Pring had been decided by his parents based on mental compatibility. They would be drawn together by the primary urges of their species. It was logical. Desiring to be with Jim was not.
Spock should not be thinking about this.
He wished T'Vei a pleasant afternoon and began the walk to the cafeteria.
ooo ooo ooo
"So my Tuesday lecture next semester is overenrolled," Jim was saying as he perused the offerings set up on the front counter as they waited to pay. It was their twenty-third lunch together. "They're making me accept another eight students."
"Ah," Spock said.
"And the evil trolls in HR are refusing to assign me a grading assistant, if you can believe it. It's not like I have studying of my own to do or anything. Oh, Snickers," he said with a degree of melancholy. Spock glanced to the chocolate bar, advertised by large white letters on a dark wrapper. He skimmed the ingredients and frowned at the mention of peanuts.
"You will go into shock," Spock pointed out.
"I wish I could taste it," Jim said wistfully. "My mom's always had a thing for retro candy, and they look so good."
"If you like," Spock said, "I will purchase one and describe the texture and flavor to you."
"You know they contain chocolate, right?"
"A small amount will have little effect," Spock said.
"It would just make me jealous, but thanks," Jim said and elbowed him in a manner Spock supposed was affectionate. Jim produced a credit chip and paid for Spock's lunch before Spock could protest. He pointed to a table with his tray, and they sat across from each other.
"So, how're your classes going?" Jim asked through a French fry (which Spock had learned did not actually originate in France but possibly Belgium). Spock took a moment to reply, considering the imprecision of Federation Standard. Spock knew that Jim was not inquiring how the classes progressed but rather of Spock's personal experience with those classes thus far.
"Satisfactorily," he replied.
"Yeah, mine aren't great either," Jim confessed, smearing a fry in a puddle of an acidic tomato-based condiment. He placed it in his open mouth with a grin and chewed. "Glad the semester's almost over, though I did sign up for the xeno club. Thought it might be a way to get a leg up on my language classes."
"Undoubtedly," Spock agreed. "If you require assistance with Vulcan, I hope you will tell me."
"Yeah?" Jim said, straightening in his chair. He wiped greasy fingers on his cadet uniform. Spock frowned minutely and reached for his napkin, but he nodded in response to Jim's inquiry.
"That'd be awesome, man. Thanks. I'm actually struggling a little with the syntax."
"Would you care to discuss it now?"
"Actually...you want to get together later?" Jim suggested. "I'll buy you dinner."
Spock paused. Jim had paid for his lunch, and now he was offering to provide Spock with his evening meal as well. Perhaps he had been mistaken regarding Jim's intentions. He sat straighter at the thought.
"To say thanks," Jim clarified.
"Ah," Spock said and took a long sip of water. He drank until he had stopped any coloring in his cheeks. "Yes. That would be acceptable."
"Cool," Jim said. "Want to come by my place, or should we go to yours?"
"I will not be leaving campus until 1900 hours. Your apartment is close to campus and is on my way home. Therefore, it is the logical choice."
Jim smiled but seemed to hide it behind his hand.
"Have I said something humorous?" Spock asked with a frown.
"No, no," Jim said, waving a hand in the air as if to dismiss Spock's question. "I just like the way your mind works."
Spock dipped his chin at the compliment. Jim was not logical like a Vulcan, but he was intelligent. That he had earned Jim's admiration made Spock feel proud, but he suppressed the emotion.
"What should I order?" Jim asked.
Spock raised an eyebrow.
"For dinner?"
Of course. "It is your choice," Spock said. "I consume a variety of Terran dishes."
"What about Italian? There's a place a couple blocks from me that makes eggplant lasagna. It's pretty good."
"I am open to your suggestion," Spock replied.
"It's a date," Jim said cheerfully and resumed eating his fries. He had not yet begun to consume his hamburger (made of beef, not pork, though Spock suspected that unlike the French fry, the food was indeed named for its place of origin). Spock found himself strangely content to observe Jim eat it. He lifted a slice of cucumber to his mouth and chewed as he did so, appreciating the light flavor.
He mulled over Jim's words. A date. A date implied romantic intent, though Spock watched Jim's head turn as a blonde cadet passed their table. He did not name the feeling which passed through him as he observed Jim's action: a sinking in his midsection, a drop in the corners of his mouth. He had not been aware that they had curved upwards.
ooo ooo ooo
"Professor?"
Spock blinked from his reverie and regarded the young woman who had addressed him. She stood before him with her arms at her sides and a serious expression. She was aesthetically pleasing, with dark eyes and skin, and a slender build. When he did not immediately respond, she lifted an eyebrow slightly.
"Cadet," he said, clearing his throat.
"Uhura," she replied. "I have a question about the assignment."
"You will find the parameters have already synced with your PADD."
"They did," she agreed, "but I need clarification about the format."
He dropped his eyes to his own PADD and scanned the lesson. She was correct. Spock had not been clear as to how he wished the information submitted.
"I will update the instructions immediately," he said. "Thank you for bringing the omission to my attention."
"Sir," she said. She paused, opened her mouth as though she might speak, then exited the classroom without another word.
As soon as he could no longer hear her footsteps, Spock updated the assignment and sat back in his chair. He pressed his fingertips together and considered that he was preoccupied with his impending evening with Jim. He was certain that Jim had used the word "date" in jest. A search had revealed that the expression was colloquial, and that indicating something to be a date could mean nothing more than a confirmation of plans. Its use was not exclusive to individuals seeking a pairbond.
For the fourth time, he found himself experiencing a negative physical reaction to the notion that Jim had meant "date" in a casual sense. It was not logical that Spock should wish to go on a date with Jim, primarily because he was going to forge a permanent bond with T'Pring. That would occur within the next decade, if his father's biology could be used to predict his own. It would be unfair of him to lead Jim or any other to believe a future might exist between them.
No. He would go to the computer bank and work on changes to the Kobayashi Maru simulation, taking into account a recent attempt to divert power to forward shields by shutting down life-support systems on lower decks. This evening, he would go to Jim's apartment. He would explain syntax, and they would consume eggplant. Jim's roommate, a medical doctor, would likely be present. Jim would thank Spock for his assistance, and they would make plans to meet for coffee or lunch later in the week. They would not engage in amorous behavior, despite Spock's unnecessary physical reaction to the image of Jim unclothed.
ooo ooo ooo
The evening did not progress as Spock expected.
Jim met him at the door in civilian clothes, a deep blue shirt which complemented his eye color. Spock's mouth felt unexpectedly dry as he removed his outer coat and handed it to Jim, who hung it crookedly in the closet. His eyes were an extraordinary color. They were not, as he had first thought, the pale blue typical of many Terrans. They were a rich shade, jewel toned, like Earth's tropical oceans. He swallowed and accessed his central controls to prevent a flush in his cheeks. They felt overly warm. Spock was grateful for the low lighting in Jim's apartment.
"It's just us," Jim said, waving Spock further into the apartment. "Bones has clinic duty. Food's already here. Do you want to eat first, while it's still hot?"
"Yes," Spock said. He watched Jim take down two plates and set them on the kitchen table. At its center was a single green candle in a glass jar. Jim lit the wick, and a woodsy scent began to drift throughout the room. He had witnessed his mother create a tableau with candles in order to create what she called "an atmosphere" (illogical). However, Jim employed the use of a single candle, which Spock determined was intended only to improve air quality.
"What do you want to drink?" Jim asked, opening the refrigerator. "I've got beer, orange juice...and it looks like Bones has a pitcher of tea in here."
"I will have tea," Spock said.
"Oh," Jim said, turning around with one hand touching the pitcher. "It's Southern style, so it's full of sugar. Is that a problem?"
"In that case, I will not select tea."
"Sorry," Jim told him. "Our replicator makes shit coffee, but the tea might be passable. Want to try it?"
"Negative," Spock said. "I will drink water."
"I'll pick up some plain tea bags next time I'm at the store."
Did that mean Jim anticipated that Spock would visit often? He was irritated by the involuntary pull of muscles at the corner of his mouth. Jim was merely being polite.
"That is unnecessary," he said, but Jim just smiled at him.
"Black or green?" he asked.
"Green," Spock answered, unable to control the increase in his heart rate.
"Green it is," Jim said sunnily and poured them both a glass of water. He opened the container which held their meal, and Spock inhaled the aroma of oregano and garlic.
"I found this place when I first moved here," Jim said and deposited a portion on either plate. "I finally had enough of replicated burgers. They can really back you up."
"Please clarify."
"Uh," Jim said, carrying both plates to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Spock followed suit and took a napkin from a stack against the wall, smoothing it over his lap. "I mean my stomach doesn't feel great after a few days of eating them."
"Ah," Spock said. "You mean that such a diet may result in constipation."
Jim laughed and shook his head, but he smiled broadly.
"If all Vulcans talk like you do, I've got to visit your planet sometime."
"Our accents vary based on one's region. My speech patterns are representative of Vulcan's Forge, specifically the city of ShiKahr."
"Then I'll start there. Maybe you'll show me around."
Jim continued to smile, and while Spock discerned that Jim's amusement stemmed from him, Jim's expression was not mocking. Spock looked down at his plate, to the right and left of it for skewers, but Jim had not provided him with any. He prepared to explain, for the one hundred twenty-seventh time since arriving on Earth, that Vulcans do not eat with their hands, when Jim pointed at his own plate.
"We need forks," he muttered and stood up. He rummaged through a drawer beside the sink. The utensils clattered against one another unpleasantly. Jim pulled out two mismatched forks and set them onto the table with a clink. Spock took one and began to separate his food into a grid pattern.
"So when's the last time you were home?" Jim asked, using the side of his fork to separate a generous bite of lasagna. Spock calculated it was too large for his mouth. Jim's cheeks puffed out and he chewed, somehow managing to keep his mouth closed.
"I have not returned to Vulcan since I enlisted in Starfleet," Spock answered, eyes trailing Jim's lips.
"Don't you get homesick?" Jim asked once he swallowed and licked them.
"I have memories of my planet," Spock replied and finally looked away. "And I speak with my mother weekly."
"Yeah, I haven't seen my mom in over a year," Jim replied, "but she was gone a lot when we were growing up."
"Who raised you?"
"My stepdad," Jim said. "I thought when my mom remarried it meant she'd be around more, but she got assigned a couple months later to a science vessel and was gone. Sam and I stayed with Frank until...well, until I went to live with my uncle. When I got back, it wasn't long before Sam left, so it was just me and Frank for a few years."
"It is fortunate that you had a constant guardian."
"I guess? I owe him a call. Mom divorced him when I was early 20s. He moved out East. We kept in touch for a while, but it was...it's easy to forget to call somebody back. After a while, the messages just tapered off."
Jim's mouth was tight, and there was a crease between his eyebrows which had not been present a minute earlier. Jim was upset. Spock tried to recall how his father had handled similar dilemmas with Spock's mother. It would be prudent to change the subject.
"Are you attending the poetry reading tomorrow evening?" he asked.
"Nah," Jim said. "I've got too much to do, and I'll never graduate early if I keep staying out until 0200 every night."
"I see," Spock said.
"Besides," Jim said with a shy grin. "I kind of like it, just the two of us."
Spock could not stop the warmth that spread through him at Jim's words. He stared at Jim dumbly, aware that his own lips were parted and that his breathing had increased by forty-one point six percent.
"Assuming you're okay with that?" Jim added.
Spock's thoughts shifted to T'Pring, to the point in his mind where he could just discern her presence. It was weaker than it should have been after twenty years. Occasionally, T'Pring let herself be known, but her connection to Spock was largely silent. He allowed himself an indulgent thought: Jim's presence in his mind, of laughter and a bright smile. It was not an impossibility. Spock's father had married a human, after all. What would it be like, he wondered, to touch minds with someone who desired him?
When Spock found his voice, he murmured "yes" and held his breath when Jim nudged his foot beneath the table.
"Good," Jim said, shoving another forkful of lasagna in his mouth and leaning back in his chair.
Spock spent the remainder of the meal contemplating the exact shade of Jim's eyes.
ooo ooo ooo
"I won't bite," Jim said, blinking innocently as he reclined on the sofa. Spock frowned.
"Is that a common concern among humans?" he inquired. His mother had attempted to instruct him about several human idiosyncrasies, but he was unaware that some humans harbored such a fear.
"It's just an expression," Jim offered. "It means you can sit closer to me, if you want."
"Oh," Spock said and adjusted his position on Jim's couch. Their thighs were exactly one centimeter apart at their greatest distance. Spock's myocardiocytes increased their rate of contraction due to Jim's proximity. He knew that humans were tactile, that they used touch to communicate, but he did not understand the exact delineation between platonic and romantic actions. He scowled.
"You look kinda confused," Jim said kindly. He moved his hand to Spock's thigh. With his thumb, he massaged the edge of Spock's patella. Spock swallowed and trained his eyes on Jim's hand. "I like you. So, if you want to do this..."
Spock was uncertain as to Jim's meaning, but he could detect a desire for sexual contact, even through fabric. Spock had not engaged in such behavior since leaving Vulcan and found his body responding to the idea.
"I thought you required assistance with syntax?" he asked, embarrassed by the rise in his voice.
"I also require assistance with syntax," Jim murmured. He had shifted closer. There was no space between their legs now, and his hand was positioned halfway between Spock's knee and groin.
"Are you proposing that we engage in sexual intercourse?" Spock said thickly, aware of Jim's warm breath against his neck.
"Yes."
Spock's heart thudded in his side. "Then my answer is affirmative."
"Good," Jim said, and it was the last thing he said before he cupped a hand over Spock's cheek and touched their mouths together.
It was altogether different from kissing as Spock knew it. Jim's mouth was warm, wet where he parted it. With his lips, he caressed Spock's. He partly closed them around Spock's lower lip, repeated this on his upper lip and at the corner of his mouth. Jim teased Spock's mouth open with his tongue. It was simultaneously disgusting and thrilling. Spock tasted garlic and oregano and tomato. With his right hand, he blindly sought out one of Jim's and squeezed. He thrilled when Jim squeezed back.
Despite his effort to shield himself from Jim's thoughts, Spock was distracted by the patterns Jim was creating on his skin, and they bled through:
so hot, wanted him since I first
wonder if he'll fuck me
thank god he looks nothing like—
Jealousy was illogical. Jim was not his, but Spock suddenly understood why a person might bite another. He mouthed along Jim's jaw line to his neck, to the skin over his jugular, and applied pressure with his teeth.
ooo ooo ooo
Jim owned a bed larger than any Spock had seen. He required little preparation prior to intercourse and arched up into Spock's hand. Spock had never slept with a human and gasped at the hot pull.
"Oh, fuck, you feel good," Jim said through clenched teeth.
It was a sign of pain; Spock was aware of Jim's discomfort. It seeped through every point where their skin touched. But Jim did not ask him to stop. He dug his fingernails into Spock's thighs and adjusted the leg he had thrown over Spock's shoulder. Spock marveled at the sight of their connected bodies, and watched himself disappear into Jim.
Unsuitable.
He forced the word aside, thrust his hips once, twice, and saw blue behind his eyes as his body achieved climax.
Jim smiled at him lazily across the pillow afterwards and kissed him before he fell asleep. It occurred to Spock, when he left Jim's apartment at 0545 hours the following morning, that they had never spoken about syntax.
ooo ooo ooo
Beneath the sonic shower in his apartment, Spock replayed the events of the night before: Jim's fingers in his hair, the sharp points of his teeth, the warmth of the skin on his inner thigh. Spock was alone, so he allowed himself to smile at the memory of Jim surrounding him.
He had never been held following intimacy. For most Vulcans, sexual activity was perfunctory. Once both partners were satisfied, they either slept or parted ways. Further physical contact was unnecessary. Jim had stroked his hand, entwined it in his when he closed his eyes. Spock had remained awake an additional thirty-nine minutes, wondering if he should leave, if Jim would expect him to. He sat up and pushed the covers aside, intent on going quietly, when Jim's arms came around his waist. They tugged him backward, so that Jim was pressed up against him from behind. Spock settled into him and memorized the feel of Jim's arms.
He thought about them as he dressed for the day. He arrived on campus early. He did not expect to see Jim until they broke for lunch, and was surprised to find him seated in the first row when he entered the lecture hall at 0800 hours.
"Couldn't wait until noon," Jim said and bit his lip, but he rose and walked to Spock's side with his hands in his pockets. "You get home okay?"
"I did."
Jim quickly glanced to the door, then back to Spock. "I had fun last night."
For the first time, Spock understood what his mother had meant when she described the sensation of butterflies in her stomach. "I did as well." He dipped his chin and asked, "Would you meet me later?"
"Actually, if you don't mind, I was gonna sit in on your lecture, see if I could tempt you out for breakfast once it's over."
"I hold office hours after this lecture," Spock said apologetically.
"Lunch, then?"
"Yes."
"Dinner again?"
"Yes."
"I've got leftovers, or we could go out."
"I have no preference," Spock said.
"Well, you think about it," Jim said. He inhaled sharply, rose up on his toes and kissed Spock briefly, then took his seat as students entered.
The kiss was all Spock thought about during lecture, which explained why he lost his place no fewer than eleven times. Cadet Uhura watched him curiously from the second row, even raised an eyebrow at him when he inadvertently switched off the board display. Jim grinned into his hand from his position in the first row of seats, slumped low in his chair, a disposable coffee cup (which Spock did not even permit in his classroom) sitting next to him. The room smelled of coffee, and Spock suppressed the urge to smile when it was Jim who correctly answered his question about Argelian intonation.
They hardly made it to Spock's office before Jim's hands were on him and Spock was pulling at the fastenings which secured Jim's shirt. Jim smiled against Spock's lips; the kiss was a clash of teeth as Spock fumbled to lock the door.
"This is not appropriate," he said into Jim's mouth.
"No shit," Jim said before he muttered "but aitlu nash-veh du" into Spock's ear in a surprisingly good Vulcan accent.
Later, as they ensured their uniforms didn't bely what had just happened, and Jim reached up to smooth the front of Spock's hair, Spock wondered if Jim's story about requiring assistance with Vulcan had been fabricated.
ooo ooo ooo
They spent Friday and Saturday nights at Jim's apartment, in the dark of his room, safe from the narrowed gaze of Jim's human and (Spock suspected) xenophobic roommate. His name was Leonard McCoy, though Jim referred to him as "Bones." Spock did not bother to ask why and spoke to McCoy as little as possible. In the privacy of the bedroom, he allowed Jim to undress him. He mapped Jim's body with his fingertips. It was only logical to appreciate such an excellent form. A work of art is intended to be celebrated, even on Vulcan.
Jim lay curled against Spock's side, a leg thrown over Spock's legs, and traced a finger over his chest. Spock closed his eyes, and he attempted to form a constellation from the pattern Jim created. It took form in his mind: solid and strong, a formidable shape. Spock conjured a flash of green fur and sharp teeth in the form of a le-matya. He shivered.
"You okay?" Jim asked. Spock sought out his hand and held it.
"Yes," he said, and he felt Jim burrow closer. Jim's body was so much warmer than Spock's; his half of the bed radiated heat. Spock soaked in it, warmed through for the first time since arriving on Earth. Jim's movements slowed, until the broad, sweeping patterns became a gentle caress along Spock's sternum. Jim kissed his shoulder.
"Oh, hey," he asked, lifting his head. "Are you going to the leadership consortium we're doing with the VSA on Friday? I asked Bones about it this morning, but he doesn't have to go. Pike told me it's mandatory for command track."
"I will be in attendance," Spock confirmed.
"Good," Jim said and yawned against Spock's pectoral muscle. "At least I'll know someone there."
"Surely you will know many of the attendants."
"Well, there's knowing and there's knowing," Jim said.
Spock was surprised that it was possible to discern a smile in Jim's voice, but there it was, beaming at him in the dark. Jim's words were imprecise, but Spock thought he understood the distinction Jim was making. He placed his own hand on top of Jim's and stroked the back of it. Anatomically, they were no different from Spock's hands, but Jim's were rougher. He had a torn cuticle on all four fingers, a cut on the inside of his thumb. He chewed his fingernails: the edges felt uneven as Spock rubbed them with the pad of his index finger.
The motion stirred something in him; he felt his arousal surge. He felt primal: a desert creature, a Vulcan. How ironic that a human would be the one to inspire such a feeling in him. Spock's penis filled with blood, pushing against the covers Jim had thrown haphazardly over them. Spock shifted, and the movement cause the sheet to tug over the head, causing enough friction that he hissed. He pressed down hard on Jim's fingernail, reveled in the half-moon-shaped ache. Vulcan had no moon, but Jim was bright, and he could be Spock's.
The thought was sentimental and ridiculous. Illogical. Spock threw his head back when Jim rolled on top of him, moaning as their erections connected, and he told himself he did not care.
ooo ooo ooo
"I do not understand the purpose of this action," Spock declared. They sat on the couch in Jim's apartment. It was morning. Jim wore thin, cotton pants and no shirt. His hair was bed tousled. He yawned into a mug of coffee held in his left hand and blinked at Spock, bleary eyed.
Between them, their hands touched. Jim had instructed Spock to hold his hand flat, perpendicular to his chest, palm parallel with the wall to Spock's left. He was then to curl his hand into a "c" so it could be linked to Jim's. Jim sat opposite and hooked their fingertips together. Their thumbs rested alongside one another, and Spock admired the difference in skin tone. Jim's skin was pale with pink undertones. In Earth's yellow sunlight, Spock's skin appeared like olivine. He wondered what Jim would look like on Vulcan, likely similar to Spock's mother, who always appeared flushed and rosy. He wondered how the light would affect Jim's eyes, if they would appear lavender or a deeper blue. Perhaps indigo.
"It's a thumb war," Jim said. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "The purpose is to win. On three, you try to pin my thumb under yours."
"I see," Spock said.
"Ready?" Jim asked and raised his thumb so that it pointed to the ceiling. Spock followed suit. "One, two, three!"
Despite Spock possessing more strength in his hands, Jim promptly pinned his thumb. "I win," he said. "Rematch?"
Spock considered this "game" to be without a point, until Jim had pinned his thumb a second time and stroked the side of it. He continued until Spock's breath caught.
"One more?" he asked innocently. Spock nodded and did not even attempt to push Jim's finger down. He relished the pressure of Jim's fingers surrounding his, of the way Jim was leaning toward him on the couch, on the heat of his hand. "You'll have to practice," Jim said. Spock could feel the warmth of Jim's breath on his lips and closed his eyes.
The front door opened; Spock flinched and removed his hand, schooling his features into neutrality and sitting forward on the couch.
"It's just Bones," Jim murmured and kissed him anyway, missing Spock's mouth. Jim's lips pressed to his cheek.
"You'd better not be in flagrante on my couch," McCoy said gruffly. Spock heard a series of clinks as McCoy ostensibly emptied his pockets into the green glass bowl kept within the entryway.
"What about the floor?" Jim called back. He laughed and set his coffee on the aptly named table. He reclined against the armrest, propping his feet up on the couch so they touched Spock's thigh. It was an intimate gesture, something Spock had occasionally witnessed his mother do when the three of them retired to the common room in the evenings. As hers had often been, Jim's feet were bare, and his pants rode up so that his ankles were exposed. They were covered in light, sparse hair. Spock found them strangely pleasing, with their almost delicate bone structure.
"What if you get your own apartment?" McCoy said and came into view.
"You know, I think Gary's still got a spare bedroom," Jim said.
"I hope you're joking," McCoy said flatly. Spock met his eyes and nodded politely.
"Doctor," he said.
"Spock. Nice to see Jim dating a grownup for a change," McCoy said, swatting Jim lightly on the head and walking toward his own room. McCoy's statement confused Spock; he decided McCoy must be referring to the maturity of Jim's past partners, not their age. The idea of Jim with other partners caused him to frown. Spock waited until McCoy's door closed before turning his attention back to Jim, whose mouth was twisted in a smirk.
"He likes you," Jim said and nudged him with a foot. Spock's face went slack. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes," Spock admitted.
"Bones makes amazing pancakes," Jim said, "but I think he's going to pull one of those mornings where he goes right to bed. Want to go out?"
"Replicated food is fine," Spock said.
"You know," Jim said, "that word's got variable meanings. Let's get dressed, and I'll buy you breakfast."
"That is unnecessary," Spock said, but he stopped talking when Jim crawled over him and put his tongue in Spock's mouth, previous partners forgotten.
ooo ooo ooo
They ate in a small diner a few blocks from Jim's apartment, which (upon first glance at its torn seats and ragged menus) made Spock uneasy regarding their sanitation practices. He said as much and offered to take Jim to a vegetarian restaurant two blocks east which made excellent crepes. But Jim assured him the food here was good (and more to the point, safe) as they slid into a booth. Jim removed his jacket and gave the server a thumb's up when he asked if they wanted coffee. They ordered breakfast, and Jim ate enthusiastically, as if he hadn't done so in days.
"Would it honestly kill you to eat this?" Jim asked, wiping his mouth between bites. He crunched the piece of bacon in question and looked perfectly satisfied.
"I prefer to observe you eating it," Spock told him. Jim's lower lip shone from the grease, and Spock found he desired to lick it away, despite it originating from an animal. He didn't bother to calculate the increase in his heart rate at the thought. Jim rewarded him by running a foot up his leg under the table. Spock paid for breakfast while Jim was in the bathroom (yet another odd word choice, as the facility here did not offer baths). Jim appeared disappointed when he saw their tab had been settled, but he hooked his arm through Spock's as they went outside.
Jim invited Spock to accompany him on what he insisted was the ideal way to spend a Sunday afternoon. With the end of the semester nearing, it was imperative that Spock return home to grade assignments, but Jim slipped a hand inside his jacket and whispered, "C'mon." Spock decided that grading could wait. They walked to Captain Pike's residence. He met them with a raised eyebrow.
"Cadet Kirk," he said. "Commander. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Can we borrow your aircar?" Jim asked without bothering to say hello. He smiled broadly. Captain Pike glanced to Spock, then back to Jim and pursed his mouth.
"Spock's going with you?"
"Yup," Jim said. Spock straightened, concentrating on the alignment of his vertebrae.
"Hm," Pike said, motioning them inside the apartment. "Let me find my keys. Exactly where are you planning on taking it?"
"It's a surprise," Jim said, flinging himself on the couch and patting the spot beside him. Spock sat in the armchair and did not meet Jim's eyes, though he could see the grin in his peripheral vision.
Pike cast a look to Jim, who rolled his eyes. "Are you trying to spoil the romance?" he asked.
"The ro—" Pike's face opened in surprise. He gave Spock a scrutinizing look, but then he began to chuckle. "Only you, Kirk."
"Captain," Spock began, clearing his throat. "While Mr. Kirk is a cadet, he is also a fellow professor. Therefore, I concluded that—"
"Relax, Spock," Pike said, turning his attention to a chest of drawers which stood near the front door. He rummaged through the top one. "I don't feel like writing anybody up today. Just keep it to a minimum on campus."
"Yes, sir," Spock said. Pike pulled a rectangular chip from the drawer and tossed it to Jim, who caught it in his right hand.
"Thanks," he said.
"You get one scratch on her, and I'll make sure you put in another two years," Pike said with a pointed finger.
"When have I ever messed up your car?"
"I've seen your record," Pike continued and went into the kitchen. Jim threw back his head and laughed, tucking the chip into his jeans pocket.
"I thought that was sealed," Jim called after him.
"You're not the only one who can use a computer, kiddo. Classes going alright?"
"No complaints," Jim said, "though it'd be nice if I didn't have to be on campus at 0730."
"That's why they invented coffee," Pike said.
Jim laughed again, and Spock considered how close the two of them seemed, as if they were father and son rather than a student and mentor. Spock had worked closely with Captain Pike since he first enlisted in Starfleet, but they had never exhibited this dynamic. He briefly entertained the notion of having a person in his life to confide in, as Jim had. He thought of his mother, who had always tried to eke information and emotion from him.
"Where's your better half?" Jim asked. Pike came back into the room with two glasses of water; he handed one to each of them and sat down next to the fireplace. It was not lit.
"Training mission," Pike said. "She'll be sorry she missed you."
"We'll get pizza when she's back in town," Jim said and took a sip of water.
"She'll be back for the consortium," Pike said. "I expect to see you there."
"Pass up a chance to schmooze the admiralty?" Jim said. "No way."
"Spock," Pike said, "I presume you'll be there too."
"Yes," Spock said. He drank quietly and wondered how long they needed to sit here before it was permissible to leave. Had this been Vulcan, they would not have had to sit and converse at all. But Spock understood that Pike was doing them a favor, and according to human cultural norms, they owed him the courtesy. He swallowed and said, "My parents will be in attendance."
"You didn't tell me that!" Jim exclaimed.
"I did not deem it relevant to our conversations."
"Well...at least I've got a few days before I meet your folks," Jim said and winked at him. "I can practice the greeting. In case you're wondering, my mom won't be there."
"How's she doing?" Pike asked.
"You talk to her more than I do," Jim said. They continued chatting, but Spock mulled over what Jim had just said.
Did Jim desire to meet Spock's parents? Further, did he expect that the meeting was definite? Spock had never considered making the introduction. Jim had not mentioned the consortium until that morning, and Sarek would only be on Earth for a standard week. If Spock did not introduce them, Sarek could not object. He and Jim could continue their relationship, perhaps even be assigned to the same ship. They would have years, perhaps, before the kal-if-fee, if it happened at all.
Spock had received word from his father that morning. He was traveling with representatives from the Department of Interstellar Propulsive Research and Development, which included T'Pring's father Soren. His daughter traveled with them.
He wondered if T'Pring knew what had transpired between Spock and Jim, if she could feel it. He had always shielded from her, but there were times, especially when his emotions were heightened, when she sensed impressions. Their association was civil. Unless she challenged, their future together was inevitable.
He swallowed, his throat tight, and set down his glass. Jim looked at him, tilted his head to the side and asked, "You okay?"
"I am fine," Spock said, aware of the twitch in Jim's mouth.
"I think we'd better get going," Jim said to Pike, hastily rearranging the throw pillows as he got up from the couch. "We've got about an hour's drive."
"Dress uniform for Friday," Pike reminded him as they headed out the door.
"I even promise to shine my boots," Jim said, guiding Spock into the hallway with a hand pressed warmly to the small of his back.
Pike stored his aircar in a covered space behind the apartment building. Jim eased it up and out of the lot, onto the street, and gave their destination. The computer spoke a confirmation, but Jim's hands returned to the controls.
"I don't trust auto pilot in the city," he said, and occasionally took over steering until they were outside the city limits.
Traffic thinned, and they glided above the road's surface. How odd that Earth had paved roads, when their vehicles travelled above them. Spock supposed it was to indicate the airspace where the aircars were to operate. And, he had found, there were Terrans with a fondness for antique vehicles which relied on wheels for forward movement. Jim ordered the sound system on, and the hum of stringed instruments filled the car. He reached for Spock's hand and held it as they listened.
"What is our destination?" Spock asked.
"Trust me," Jim said, "it's cool."
Spock did not see the logic in surprises, but the idea clearly pleased Jim, so he sat back and concentrated on their hands. Spock supposed he should feel ashamed by the way he was acting. It violated everything he had been taught. When he had defended his mother as a child, his father had cautioned him against allowing emotions to control him. But he did not feel out of control. Rather, the situation felt...simple.
