~Ahhhhh, nothin' like finishing up a story at midnight in a burst of inspiration. I'm a sucker for Spirk, and I love a good romance, so this kind of just fell together. If you like music with your fics, I reccomend Sunrise by Norah Jones here. Oh, and I have no idea what city the boys are in, pick your fav. ;) ~

It's morning.

After months on end of the endless black vacuum of space, where the hours blend into one another as easily as their two bodies, though not quite as enjoyably, it is a small pleasure to see and feel the heat of the sun. It's not as warm as Spock is used to, especially since it is the start of November, but he doesn't really mind. It's hard to find anything at all wrong in the universe when Jim is looking at him like that, blue eyes all at once warm, hazy, and still sparkling in that particular way that suggests he wouldn't mind repeating the activities of last night (okay, and most of yesterday afternoon, and a few hours ago).

Spock doesn't always share Jim's high appetite for sex (if he did and were he not half-Vulcan, he doubts the ship would ever leave port). But it's been so long since they were able to spend any real time together, he finds himself easily submitting each time Jim rolls back on top of him and bucks their hips together, usually sliding his wet tongue across a pointed ear.

He doesn't now though. Now all is still and quiet and comfortable, the down comforter and blankets wrapped carelessly around them. Jim is careful, as always, to give Spock more of the covers, concerned as he is about keeping his desert-dwelling mate warm after dragging him back to the chillier temperatures of Earth. Spock is touched by the gesture and feels the need –no, the want- to reciprocate in some small way.

He searches under the sheets for a moment for Jim's hand, an intimate act in itself coming from him, and locating it, freely allows a wave of emotion to pass through to his human lover –contentment, joy, passion. Love. Jim briefly glances down at their connection, then resumes his gaze, smiling openly now, reflecting back a stream of similar thoughts.

Spock muses on the memory of the first time they made love, when he, caught up in the heat of the moment and acting on instinct as Jim thrust blissfully above him, reached for the mind-meld points without warning or even asking in advance. The world had exploded in a fantastic outburst of desire, satisfaction, and fullness as they merged for the very first time and it had been probably the most wonderful experience of Spock's life, but as Jim lay panting heavily atop him, his blood had burned cold with sudden shame. He could not speak, could not meet Jim's eyes, could not expect to ask forgiveness after such a personal violation. But he could not move either and so he had cringed into the mattress, mind racing, as Jim attempted to gain control for several long minutes. When the captain finally opened his mouth to speak, Spock had nearly panicked, and blurted out a string of disjointed, half-formed apologies. Jim had watched him patiently, breathing evenly now, and responded by covering Spock's mouth with his in a very loving, very amused, very un-angry kiss and Spock's fears over his new partner's feelings about telepathy during sex vanished.

Jim laughs suddenly and Spock quirks an eyebrow lightly.

"You find something comical?"

"Just you. Why are you thinking about that? You were so funny though, all worried you'd offended me big time after you'd given me the hottest damn sex of my life."

"It seemed a…logical assumption, given the circumstances," Spock answered primly, moving his fingers slyly against Jim's.

"Oh, logic," Jim sighs with exasperation and, hooking his other arm around Spock's waist, pulls him closer so their chests touch. "It's not everything, you know. It's hardly logical to spend your shore leave lying in bed when you have the entirety of the city to explore."

Jim smiles again and strokes Spock's palm affectionately.

"You and your logic."

Spock has no reply to this and he knows Jim doesn't expect one, so he is content to lie in his embrace, the sun a bit warmer now, as Jim's absent-minded plans for the day float lazily across the bond –walking around downtown, browsing an ancient shop in search of antique paper books (a favorite pastime of both), calling Scotty to see how the ship's repairs go, hoping it snows and Spock nearly freezes to provide an excuse for more cuddling (Spock doubts this is a joke on Jim's part).

All this can wait though, Spock decides as he wraps his own arm around Jim and closes his eyes. Jim shifts slightly so his lips align with the curve of the Vulcan's neck, where he presses a kiss and another smile. It's quiet again. Outside the full-wall window, the city hums and whirls, but here there is no rush, no worries on this brisk fall morning, as both men drift slowly back to sleep.