It was hopeless, Jim knew, as he flipped over onto his back and shoved the blankets aside. He glanced over at the chronometer: 0245. There would be no sleep for him tonight, again…unless…Jim glanced down at the tent in his pajama bottoms. "Fuuuuuck," he groaned up at the ceiling. His dick couldn't stop thinking about onyx hair, deep brown eyes, soft knuckles as they grazed against the base of his neck and firm hands at the small of his back. He could have sworn his First Officer was trying to kill him the way he'd been so…touchy…lately.
He knew it wasn't Spock's fault—he was just imitating what he thought was casual behavior among the crew and trying to fit in while he waited for his memory to return. Jim had to give it to the Vulcan, he'd relearned his duties and the operation of all his stations in a matter of a few days. Still, he seemed to be having trouble interpreting appropriate social norms, especially where casual contact was concerned. Handshakes and pats on the back were one thing, but…fuck, Jim swore internally as he thought back on Spock's behavior over the past two weeks. It had started benignly enough—a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder after a comm meeting with the brass, a squeeze of the forearm to communicate enthusiasm with the work Spock had been doing in the labs—but the past few days…not quite so innocuous.
On Wednesday, Spock had buzzed Jim's door at 0545, a pre-amnesic habit that Spock had deemed worthy of continuing, so they could get to the mess and have an early breakfast. Nothing strange about that and, in fact, the entire walk there had been in companionable silence, each man taking the time to wake up and organize their mental to-do list. That was, until they'd collected their breakfast and started toward a table. Spock had placed a warm hand at the small of Jim's back, guiding him to a corner seat by the window. The feel of Spock's large, burning palm pressed firmly against his back had been enough to send Jim's pulse into overdrive and set his cock to standby. The Vulcan had said something about observing the planet before they broke orbit that afternoon, but the brain functions required for proper auditory reception, were being focused elsewhere. Rather, Jim was dedicating all bodily non-life support systems to thoughts of Klingon warriors in drag—anything to make Kirk Jr. sit and stay, goddamn you.
Of course, that hadn't been the worst of it and as the day progressed, the touches became more and more intimate. For instance, it had been closing in on lunch hour and Spock, who had been cleared for full time duty, had crossed the bridge to stand behind the command chair, which was normal, even for non-amnesic Spock. What wasn't normal was for Vulcan lips to barely graze across the curved top of a human ear, as Spock leaned over the back of the command chair, body heat pouring over Jim's shoulders and practically breathing an invitation to lunch across his temple.
Jim had been so focused on controlling his body's reaction to Spock—God-fucking-damnit, SPOCK—blowing in his ear, that he almost didn't catch it—the good timing, that is. Everyone had been focusing on their tasks, Jim's Yoemen had already excused herself for her own meal and Sulu was still en route to the bridge to take over the conn. It couldn't have been a better timed interlude than if Spock had intentionally planned it that way. And wasn't that just a tempting morsel for thought? When Jim had swung around, wide-eyed to catch the innocent, inquiring expression of his First Officer, however, that thought had gone flying out the window. No, Jim had told himself, he just doesn't understand.
Of course, that mantra became harder and harder to believe as the week progressed and Spock grew increasingly physical in his expressionism. It had come to a head yesterday, after they had beamed down to take topographic tricorder scans of one of the most fertile deposits of soil the planet had to offer. The rest of the landing party had fanned out, collecting various samples and Jim had come to squat beside Spock in order to get a better look at the family of flora the Vulcan was scanning, or so that was the reason he'd come up with in case anyone decided to ask. He had been lost in thoughts of how beautiful Spock was when the sun was bouncing off his ebony hair, casting a blue crown over the cap of his head. The second Jim realized he was staring, he turned his head to observe the comparatively dull purple flowers in front of him.
When a warm hand landed softly on the back of his neck, thumb stoking a light path from the patch of skin behind his ear to his racing pulse point, Jim had been too stunned for words. "Come," Spock had said softly, removing the hand as if it were some casual touch between friends and not an intimate caress. "There appear to be other species of this family twenty meters North." Wordlessly and once again fighting an erection, Jim had stood and followed, his eyes never once straying from the perfection that was Spock's beautiful ass. Of course, what could he say? This was entirely his fault.
Spock had informed him at the start of the week, after grabbing Jim by the shoulders in a very unVulcan display of enthusiasm, brown eyes bright with excitement and mouth tilted in the barest hint of a smile, "Geosciences has found substantial deposits of dilithium in the Southern hemisphere of the planet, almost equal to that which could be found on Vulcan prior to its destruction."
"I thought the volcanic activity in that area was making it difficult for our scanners to read accurately," Jim had questioned, still somewhat dazed by the beauty of Spock's happiness.
"Yes," the Vulcan had replied, with a human twinkle of pride. "However, I was able to author an algorithm that filters for electricity within the molten rock of the planet's surface in that hemisphere, thereby indicating where ionic bonded minerals could be located. Using a level three scan of the surface beneath the lava pools at the foot of the most active volcano, we were able to uncover massive deposits of dilithium buried within multiple caverns."
"That's remarkable, Spock," Jim had smiled, before realizing he was still being firmly held in place by two strong, warm hands. Nonchalantly, Jim chuckled and nodded his head toward his First Officer's grip, "You can uh…let go now…you know."
Spock had awkwardly released him, and then rather sheepishly shrugged—SHRUGGED! "My apologies, Ji—Captain. I have been conducting primary research of a personal variety."
"Oh?" Jim had questioned, automatically, "What kind of primary research?"
"Proper human to human social interaction," Spock had clarified. "I have been observing various members of the crew as they work and converse with one another, in order to clarify some of the examples of physical emphasis to verbal communication I have read so much about."
"Ah…right," Jim bit his lip, that was not what he'd been expecting to hear. "What about Vulcan social interaction?"
"What interaction?" Spock had deadpanned, leaving Jim somewhat speechless. He was suddenly very glad that they were having this conversation in the Captain's ready room instead of out in the corridor. If any crew overheard Spock criticizing Vulcan culture, he'd have a hard time living it down after waking up from lost-memory-land.
Jim let out a sigh, scratching his head, "What I mean is, you are half Vulcan…have you done any research on proper Vulcan interaction?"
Some of the brightness in Spock's beautiful eyes dimmed, and his tone was hard, "Of course I have, but I do not prefer it."
Jim put his hands up in a show of passivity, "Hey, okay," he soothed. "I wasn't trying to insinuate that you should. I just…I worry about how you'll feel about things when you regain your identity, that's all. I don't want you to see you do anything that normal you might find...for lack of a better word…shameful."
"You believe my emotions are shameful?" Spock looked suddenly downcast and Jim couldn't help his reaction. It was his turn to seize the arms of his downtrodden friend.
"No, no," Jim's voice was a fierce declaration, full of its conviction. "I could never describe anything about you as shameful, Spock, but I know you. You don't identify with Vulcan culture right now, because you don't remember your planet or your upbringing. Instead, here you are surrounded by humans and even though part of your heritage lies with us, that's never been your M.O. and when you do remember, I don't want you to feel ashamed for anything that you've done as you are right now."
"Thank you, Jim."The way Spock had looked at him, with such open adoration and trust had caused Jim's arms to itch with the urge to pull the Vulcan against him and never let go. Instead, he dropped his arms and he was about to turn around and reclaim his seat behind his desk when a hand caught his wrist, belaying his retreat, "Perhaps…I could experiment with human interaction with you before employing what I learn in conversation with others."
Jim hadn't seen the harm in that suggestion at the time and had, quite stupidly, agreed to it. Hence his current predicament: less than four hours away from his wake up call, too aroused to sleep and too noble to jack off to the mental image of his best friend's strong hands pinning his hips to the mattress while his mouth engulfed Jim's throbbing dick and sucked. Agitated beyond sanity, Jim yanked a pillow from the other side of the bed and used it to muffle what would have been a frustrated groan loud enough to cause a red alert. Maybe he should just suffocate himself while he was at it, hell it couldn't be any worse than a week of constant blue balls, could it? At least death would provide some reprieve.
Erection still persistently straining against his clothes, Jim shucked the covers off the bed, got up, adjusted aforementioned hard-on and made his way to the joint bathroom. The door read vacant, thank the stars, and Jim entered with a cold shower in mind. What he got instead, was a full frontal view of deliciously nude Vulcan flesh. "Fuck," Jim threw up a hand over his eyes, "Sorry, Spock. The door said vacant."
He heard the sound of a towel unfolding, "I am decent, Captain, my apologies. I did not think to engage the lock at this hour."
Jim took several calming breaths, before opening his eyes and meeting the inquiring and oh-so endearing tilted head of his First. "It's okay," he reassured, chuckling to mask the shakiness of his voice, and averting his gaze to the shower stall, "I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd take a shower to, uh…relax." He risked another look at Spock, immediately regretting it when he noticed where the Vulcan's eyes were currently staring. He followed the line of sight to where the head of his erection was peeking out from the band of his trousers, as if to say 'hello' to its tormentor.
"Uh…" Jim stuttered, grabbing a towel from the shelf on his side of the fresher and wrapping it around his waist. "
Spock raised an eyebrow; his face the closest to pre-amnesic blankness Jim had seen thus far, "Jim, you need not be ashamed of a natural condition of human male physiology." He could feel all the blood draining from his face as the Vulcan nonchalantly approached him…a little too nonchalantly.
Jim stumbled backward, almost tripping over the backs of his pajama bottoms before two strong arms reached out to catch him. He froze when Spock bent his head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, taking a deep inhalation, "I wonder," Spock's voice breathed heavily into his ear, "if you taste as good as you smell."
"Sp-Spock," Jim stuttered at the press of wall against his back. "Wh…What are you doing?"
Fathomless brown eyes gazed longingly into his, moist tongue darting out to lick over tantalizing Vulcan lips, before inhumanly strong, fire emblazing hands pinned Jim's hips against the wall. Slowly, eyes still locked on his, Spock dropped gracefully to his knees, pulling the towel free with his teeth, once again revealing the now weeping head of Jim's cock. He was boneless, completely lost in the reality surrounding him. The second that tongue licked over the slit in Jim' penis, he was off like a shot, his body arching of the wall, thick ropes of semen painting Spock's face as Jim opened his mouth and moaned, a long, loud, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"
Jim's eyes shot open, "What the—" the bathroom evaporated as Captain of the Enterprise awoke to the blaring of his alarm, wet and sticky with his own ejaculate. "Alarm, OFF!" he shouted, chest still heaving from the first wet dream he'd had in ten years. "Goddamnit!" he cursed loudly at the room, flinging himself off the bed and toward the bathroom. Remembering his dream, Jim knocked despite the displayed 'vacancy' status on the door. When he heard nothing, he cautiously stepped through, then engaged the lock, tossed off his pants and hurled himself under a sonic.
"Fuck," he swore again later, stripping the soiled bedding and tossing it down the chute. Goddamn touchy amnesic Vulcan, he mentally cursed the man that resided in the adjoining quarters. There were only another few minutes before the sound of the buzzer would announce the arrival of his walking wet dream. At least that took care of the blue balls, Jim thought with a sigh, pulling his uniform shirt over his head, just in time for the chime to sound.
McCoy pulled out a bottle of his best Saurian brandy as he observed the mess that was his best friend and Captain, blonde head banging softly against the CMOs desk. It was noon-thirty and technically alcoholic beverages were not to be imbibed during shift, however, the doctor happened to have two anti-intoxicant hypos in his desk for just such an emergency as this.
"Alright, Jim," Bones placed a half-full snifter of brandy just out of striking distance from the Captain's head. "What the hell?" Bones took a long drag on his drink before Jim's head shot up, crazed blue eyes boring into the doctor.
"I haven't slept more than three hours at a time for the last week and a half, I can't focus on away missions, I can't focus on the bridge, I can't even focus on eating in the mess hall! And now…now I'm having WET DREAMS!" Jim nearly shouted the last, and thank heavens for military grade sound proofing and privacy glass, was McCoy's initial thought after promptly spraying his drink through his nose. That had been about the last thing he had expected to hear fly out of Jim's mouth. He'd figured it was the admiralty again or some other such Starfleet mudslinging that usually had Jim in here banging his head against the closest available surface.
When he finally managed to reign in his coughing fit and wipe the brandy from his face, McCoy practically growled his frustration, "The next time you're about to spout to me about your dysfunctional sex life, I'd appreciate a little forewarning."
Jim, properly chastised, muttered a soft, "Sorry."
McCoy shook his head, pushing the brandy aside, "Now, what seems to be the problem, Captain, sir?"
"It's Spock—"
"Oh, here we go," McCoy rolled his eyes at those two starting words. Of course it's Spock.
"Fuck you, Bones, you have NO idea what he's doing to me," Jim was up and pacing now, gesticulating violently with his arms.
"Then by all means, please, elucidate," the doctor intentionally hurled one of Spock's favorite verbs at the frantic Captain with a snigger.
"It's not funny!" Jim glared at the CMO. "Ever since he lost his memory he's been so…so…"
"Emotional?" McCoy supplied with a jaunty smirk.
"No!" Jim declared, then immediately amended, "I mean, yes…but that's not the problem." The Captain then sank into the chair once more, all the agitation and fight leaving him suddenly, causing McCoy to lose his grin, his mood sobering instantly.
"Alright," the doctor soothed. "Tell me what's going on. Last I heard from you about the little crush you had, you said you'd put it behind you. What's changed? What's he done that's got you so revved up, huh?"
Jim dragged a tired hand over his forehead, blue eyes no longer crazed, but tortured, "He's been…touching…" When McCoy's only response was a pair of furrowed brows, Jim plowed onward. He told Bones everything—from the electric feeling he got when their skin touched to Spock's subtle caresses on the bridge, on the planet, in the mess and now in his dreams. "I don't know what to do, Bones. I told him I'd help him with this, but its one inappropriate touch after another and I don't want to be too critical of him, you know? Constantly telling him he's misinterpreting the contacts he's apparently observing."
The doctor's eyes were narrowed into suspicious slits, "You said he's been observing interaction between the crew?"
Jim shrugged, "Yeah." He shook his head, "I can't believe there's that much PDA going on in the corridors."
"Jim," McCoy's chuckle started softly until it grew into peals of laughter, "there ain't."
"What are you talking about?" The Captain's face was the picture of confusion.
His friend was grinning like the Cheshire cat, "You're bein' played." Bones spread his hands, "When I'm not in sickbay, I'm running the halls of this entire ship. There is virtually no PDA, aside from the occasional peck on the cheek outside the turbolift…or holdin' hands in the mess." He paused, watching Jim put the pieces together, "That pointy-eared bastard knows exactly what he's doin', I guarantee it."
Jim sat there, slack jawed as it all came together, "Son of a bitch," he muttered, "un-fucking- believable."
"So," the doctor pulled his friends attention back to the conversation, "looks like that fantasy of yours where you and Spock fly off into the galaxy together to live happily ever after, may have a shot after all."
"No," Jim's immediate, monotone denial sapped the jollies right out from under the doctor.
"Why not? What's the matter?" McCoy asked, incredulous, "He wants you…you want him. Where I come from, that's called consentin' adults."
"I would think it'd be obvious, doctor." Jim pinned him with an admonishing stare, "Spock's not himself right now and what's more—he isn't gay or even bi that I can tell. Whatever he feels for me, it's all brought on by his amnesia."
"Is that what you think?" The doctor had started formulating his argument halfway through Jim's rant, "Spock's amnesia doesn't have a damn thing to do with his sexuality." McCoy vehemently declared, "For people who are truly homosexual—it's not a choice—it's brain chemistry. Whatever he's feeling for you—whatever this attraction is, Jim, its real."
Jim was immediately shaking his head, "It still doesn't matter. Even if Spock is legitimately attracted to me right now—it doesn't change anything. We've been working together—friends for almost two years now. For whatever reason, one he obviously just can't remember right now, he wasn't attracted to me before his accident. I'm not going to take advantage of him like that especially when I know for a fact he'd never go for me if he were fully cognizant—which he isn't right now, in case you've forgotten."
"How do you know that?" Bones asked, "Did you ever let him know how you feel? You didn't, did you? How do you know he wasn't hiding his feelings too?"
"I don't," Jim's head was bowed, "but I love him too much to risk losing him over it."
McCoy exhaled in a huff, "Ah, Hell."
"…Yeah," Jim thought that pretty much summed it up.
He'd never forget her eyes, so full of love…so full of forgiveness. Spock could almost hear her telling him not to despair. Not to blame himself for what was happening as he watched, helpless, while his mother fell from the cliff to her premature death. The tether that had held his mother close to his heart seemed to snap apart, breaking into a million pieces as he stood, hand outstretched, staring into an empty transporter pad.
The woman who had birthed him, encouraged him…loved him. The only person that have ever truly loved him for the sum of all his parts…gone. Flashes of moments spent with Amanda in the garden of their family home, at bedtime while she read—the happiness she radiated and the warmth of her smile flittered across his consciousness before he screamed out in agony.
Sweating, chest heaving with tears pouring down his face, Spock shot up straight in his bed, memories of Amanda Grayson and her death now fully registering within him. A piece of himself had finally returned, and with it, such agonizing despair, guilt and regret. An emptiness he hadn't felt when he'd awakened in sickbay 16.9 days ago settled itself firmly within the beating Vulcan muscle of his all too human heart, "Mother…" he sobbed brokenly. How could he have forgotten her? How could look upon her memorial with such clinical indifference?
His loving mother was gone and the home his childhood along with it. Never again would his feet tread the sands of his ancestors. Never again would he drink from the waters of the Straight of Ha-Zen, gaze upon the peaks of Mt. Seleya or visit the grave of I-Chaya, his long dead companion, but first and only childhood friend. So cold was he now with grief, that before he realized what he was doing, Spock was entering the bathroom and banging on the adjoining door to Jim's quarters.
"Spock?" Jim's tired eyes were immediately alight with concern. Spock had seen very little of him over the past 5.9 days, between meetings with Starfleet headquarters and department inspections, the human had been too tired or too busy to accompany Spock to meals or play chess after shift.
Seeing him now, his heart heavy with a fresh sense of loss, Spock could not refrain from throwing himself into Jim's arms and burying his face in his beloved's neck, "Jim...she is…gone…gone with the mountains and the sands of Vulcan." How did he normally live with this all-consuming pain? Why hadn't he put more effort into studying the Vulcan tenants of control sent to him by Healer S'Jorrin? Was there some technique that he could learn that would allow him to survive this all-consuming pain?
Jim stood in the doorway of their shared bath at 0045, a sobbing Vulcan wrapped around him. For several shocked seconds, he was unsure of what to do until he heard Spock's tortured words whispered against his neck. Oh, Spock. How tragic that his first returned memory should be that of such great loss and sorrow. He'd been actively avoiding the Vulcan for several days, making up one excuse after another for the sake of preserving Spock's virtue. Tossing aside all the reasons that it was a bad idea, Jim slowly backed them into his bedroom and onto his bunk.
He organized their bodies so that they were laying down, Spock's head resting on his chest, as Jim ran soothing strokes up and down the back of his most treasured friend, his nose buried in silky, black hair. "I know," he whispered, his heart clenching painfully at the Vulcan's grief. "It's all gone now…but it'll be okay," Jim promised, his own eyes stinging at the sound of Spock's mournful sobs. He placed a tender kiss to the top of the head buried in his shoulder, "I'm here. It's alright. I'm here."
And that's how Jim woke up, Saturday morning, with a heart full of love that would no longer be leashed and his arms wrapped tenderly around Vulcan shoulders.
