Losing Count

Summary: Spock keeps count of all the times Jim says, "I love you."

Jim liked to tell Spock that he loved him. Spock suspected this was due to his initial insecurity at the beginning of their relationship. He had been unwanted his entire childhood, after all, and was unaccustomed to the fierce intimacy that came with human relations. In fact, Jim had said those three words no less than eighty-seven times since their first night together three days ago.

Sometimes it was in passing, Jim murmuring it beneath his breath as he walked past. Other times, in private, it was muttered into the nape of his neck, whispered in his ear, gasped in the throes of passion. On one memorable occasion, the seventy-fourth time, Jim had even traced it into his thigh beneath the conference table during a meeting.

But Spock never asked him to stop, partly because he knew Jim would continue regardless, and partly because he never tired of hearing the words.

He still could not find it in himself to reciprocate quite as vocally, but he attempted to show Jim as often as he could in the only ways he knew how. A brush of the backs of their hands in the corridor, a lingering stare in meetings. And in the privacy of their quarters, hidden from the world, he always kissed Jim in the human way he knew Jim liked until they were both breathless. Then they would move to the bed.

It was much of the same on the fifth day. They stood in Jim's quarters, Jim's arms tight around Spock's waist and his lips forming a confession, a branding mark against Spock's neck.

"Love you," he was mumbling now, his fingers hooking into the fabric of Spock's shirt. "So much, Spock..."

"Eighty-eight," Spock murmured unthinkingly, bending and catching the eighty-ninth whisper with his mouth.

"Eighty-eight what?" Jim panted, when they finally parted.

"Eighty-nine," Spock automatically corrected, then frowned in slight discomfort. "That is the number of times you have professed your affection for me."

Jim's mouth fell open slightly as he stared at Spock. "You counted?"

"I do not do it intentionally," Spock was quick to answer, unsure as to why he was suddenly feeling defensive of his actions. "It is an automatic reflex formed from habit."

"But still. You kept count-"

"Unintentionally-"

"Only eighty-nine?" Jim mused. "Gotta work harder, then."

"Harder?"

"Mr. Spock, I intend to say it so often that you lose count." Jim's hands slipped under Spock's shirt, and he briefly lost focus.

"I assure you," he said, when he found his voice again, "that it will not happen."

Jim's eyes held a wicked glint. "Challenge accepted."

"Why must you see everything as a challenge?" Spock deplored, struggling to control his breathing as Jim raked his nails down his back. The phantom lines he left behind flared with tingling sensation.

"You're right. This wont' be hard at all." Jim hauled Spock's hips forward roughly, his mouth moving simultaneously to meet Spock's.

Spock grunted with displeasure at the way he was being manhandled, hands coming up in the tight space between their chests and shoving Jim back against the wall. He pressed forward, caging Jim within his arms, and rolled his hips with slight clumsiness. He was still somewhat unaccustomed to the movements Jim seemed to pull off with complete ease, but judging by Jim's muffled curse against his shoulder, his skills were improving swiftly.

"Not fair," Jim gasped, clutching at Spock's upper arms for support. "You're cheating."

"I was unaware that there were rules," he responded, half aware that he had abandoned his filter of rationale.

Jim chuckled, a deep rich sound that went straight to Spock's groin. "This is why I love you."

"Ninety," Spock said, and kissed him.

Some time later, Jim rested his head on Spock's stomach and stared up at the ceiling dizzily. "How many times?" he inquired, his voice slightly strained from exertion.

Spock considered carefully, fiddling with Jim's hair, then reluctantly came to his conclusion. "Somewhere in the regions of ninety and one hundred and ten."

Jim rolled over immediately to look at him with delight, chin propped on Spock's chest. "You lost count?"

"I am sixty-four percent certain that the count is at one hundred and two-"

"Admit it." Jim laughed. "You lost count."

"Very well," Spock grumbled. "You proved to be very distracting."

"Don't worry." Jim kissed him lazily, the pressure of his lips and tongue enough to start a slow warmth in his belly that glowed and comforted without bursting into flame. "That just means you can start over."

And so, Spock realized, it did.