B is for Breathless
Jim couldn't help it. Every time he caught Spock's eye or saw him in his peripheral vision, he couldn't breathe. His heart pounded, his eyes widened, and for one desperate moment his breaths were smothered by thoughts of so beautiful so beautiful and can't but want whywhywhy.
Every time they played chess and their hands brushed and Spock pulled away as if burned. Every time Spock stood in his usual place at the side of his pristine captain's chair and rested his hand lightly at its corner. Every time Spock gave his usual half smirk that Jim could swear was Vulcan for "I'm laughing my ass off right now" that only he could see.
Every single time Jim had a moment of panic and fear and desperation until he shoved those feelings back down where they belonged and he could breathe again.
And every single time he felt a different sort of desperation; addiction. Jim needed these moments like he needed air, which was ironic and even he could admit it. Because even when he felt the panic and the fear, he also felt a need and want and love burst through, and Jim just couldn't give it up.
Because when Jim saw Spock, he was breathless. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
AN: I haven't updated in forever, so sorry to the very few readers who have ever stumbled across this. I have a hard time getting myself to write. But I forced myself to, and while it's ridiculously short I'm kinda proud of it. -Mandy
