A/N: I honestly don't know what to say here. Umm…oh, how about how I'm really getting the relationship going in this chapter. I'm talking lots of cute, fluffy, goodness, and actually starting to earn the 'M' rating. No, not full blown delicious captain on first officer smut, but I'm working up to it. Whoooo! Yeah. Ok, I'm gonna type the actual chapter now.
Jim suspected foul play on nature's part.
He had specifically made plans to take Spock swimming on Saturday, and when he woke that morning, it was pouring, complete with thunder and lightning.
Mother Nature clearly did not want him to enjoy a day of swimming with his first officer, which would include the novelty of seeing him the just a bathing suit, the least amount of clothing he'd probably ever worn. He was sure it was something to behold, but no, Mother Nature just had to rain on his parade, literally.
So it was that he did the next best thing. This of course was herding Spock into the living room and gathering up all the horror movies from the Kirk family movie collection. It had everything from creature features to B-movies to slasher flicks to psychological thrillers, from the 1980s and onward. They were antiques and treated as such; Jim placed them almost reverently in the player when it came time to switch it up.
Spock divided his attention between the book he was reading, the movie playing, and the kernels of pop corn Jim was tossing up and catching in his mouth from where he lay on the floor. The bowl of pop corn was next to him, and he was leaning his head on Spock's shins, which he had propped a pillow against. Surprisingly, the Vulcan hadn't protested, merely raised his eyebrow and accepted it as another of the captain's quirks.
Jim flicked another kernel into the air, opening his mouth for it. Only it never came. Instead, he heard the faint sound of someone chewing. He tilted back his head just enough to see Spock, still not looking up from his book, but swallowing the pop corn.
"If you wanted some, you could've just asked."
"Yes, I could have. It was simply easier to catch it myself."
Jim shook his head, returning his attention to the movies. They got steadily more unnerving as the evening went on, very suspenseful and at times unnecessarily gory. Jim flinched more than he would care to admit, and had to stifle a few (very manly) squeaks. But for god's sake, there were spiders pouring from the sink, there were monster things in the mist, and that one guy was making himself a suit out of ladies' skin! And there were so many damned zombies and a pissed off, big ass shark. No one, not even James Tiberius Kirk, could sit there indifferently.
Except, of course Spock, who looked about as bored as a Vulcan could look.
"Why are you watching these movies if they frighten you?"
"I'm not frightened!" Jim protested. "They just surprise me, there's a difference."
Lightning cracked above, and the lights went out in the house.
Jim yelped and dumped the pop corn.
"That was the cat," he laughed nervously.
"Jim, Pancake has sat beside me the entire evening, and has not so much as opened her eyes. Are you planning on releasing my legs soon? I am losing circulation in them."
Jim realized with a start that when the room had gone dark, he'd instinctively grabbed onto the nearest thing, which just happened to be Spock's legs. He pulled his arms away, muttering an apology. He got to his feet, and tried to go into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, he banged his legs on the table and almost fell.
"I would advise against attempting to move while you cannot see," Spock commented.
"Really?" Jim growled. "Well for your information, I'm trying to find a flashlight so we can see. And then we can find the old fuse box to make the lights go back on. Which I think is in the basement."
"You have no idea what you are talking about, do you?"
"It may have been a while since I've been home, but I think I know my own house Spock." Jim made it successfully to the kitchen and started rifling through the drawers.
"Are there not knives in some of those drawers?" Spock asked, still sitting on the couch. Jim jerked his hand out, cursing. "Never mind. Do you require a bandage?"
"No…but I found the flashlight finally." A narrow beam abruptly illuminated Jim's face as he held it under his chin. He was sucking on his finger, which he had pricked on a knife. He walked back into the living room, and gestured for Spock to follow. Spock merely sat there, staring at him.
"C'mon, I'm not going into the basement myself!"
"It is curious, how you can space jump onto a disc in the sky, or charge blindly onto an enormous Romulan vessel, and yet an empty, dark basement gives you pause enough that you require my presence to feel safe down there."
Jim glared at Spock, who only responded with an arched eyebrow and a slight upward quirk at the corner of his lips.
"You're lucky I don't wipe that stupid smirk off your face with the flashlight. Now come on, I bet you can fix the fuse better and faster than I ever could."
The aged stairs creaked in complaint as Jim led Spock down into the basement. The darkness seemed even thicker down there, with no light other than the flashlight. Jim swung it in every corner; just to be sure there was nothing and no one down there before padding over to the fuse box. He pried it open and held the light over it while Spock fixed it.
Jim leaned over Spock's shoulder, watching him work. Thunder rattled the house, and rain pounded against the windows. Spock glanced over at Jim, who was looking upward.
"Sounds awful out there, doesn't it," Jim mumbled.
"It does. It is a shame we could not go swimming as you wanted to," Spock answered, closing the box. With a faint buzz, the lights came back on.
"We can always go when the rain stops. It's not a big deal," Jim said, clicking off the flashlight. He followed Spock back upstairs, and threw himself on the couch instead of sitting on the floor again. "Are you gonna actually watch the movies now?" he asked.
"If you wish. Although I do not see the point in watching overly hormonal teenagers being chased by an axe wielding mad man and seeing false blood spraying everywhere." Spock set his book aside and settled in next to Jim. "It is illogical to attempt to procreate when one knows there is a murderer on the loose."
"It's supposed to be illogical and have no point. Although, sometimes they are just plain ridiculous. Like zombies. Seriously, just knock their legs out from under them, and you're set. But people panic."
"I doubt people frequently encounter shambling corpses, and therefore are frightened when they see them. They are rather revolting in appearance. I assume they smell terrible as well having just crawled from the grave."
"Yeah, there's that I guess. And the whole bit about eating brains. Still, not the scariest thing I've ever seen." Jim stretched his arms up until his back cracked, and slid lower on the couch. Spock watched from the corner of his eye as Jim frowned, sat up, shifted and slouched again.
"No," he muttered, and turned so his legs hung over the arm of the couch and he was leaning on Spock. "This doesn't both you does it? You said I could invade your personal bubble only if it was necessary, but," Jim shrugged and turned so he could partially see Spock.
"One could argue that it is necessary for the both of us to sit here in comfort."
"Ok. Just checking," Jim covered a yawn, pushing himself lower into the cushions. Silence reigned for a few minutes, until it was broken by the captain.
"I'm beginning to see why Pancake likes sleeping curled up with you," he chuckled. "You're really, really warm. Cozy almost." He yawned again, a wide, jaw cracking yawn, and started to drift off to sleep.
"Jim? What about your own bed?" Spock queried, noting how Jim's eyes were shutting and his breathing was evening out.
"Don't want to. Happy on the couch. You're staying too," Jim reached over his shoulder and pulled Spock's arm across him. Within moments, he was fast asleep. And were he not Vulcan, Spock may have rolled his eyes, or smiled slightly in fondness at the childish display from Jim. He did, however, allow himself to feel a bit of relief that Dr. McCoy was not there to see them; he would most likely turn an interesting shade of red, curse needlessly and proceed to consume an alarming amount of alcohol, which in turn might be detrimental to his skill as a doctor.
The storm had tapered off come morning, leaving only pale grey skies and a light, steady drizzle.
Spock had customarily awoken after only a few short hours of sleep, and hours before Jim would even think of rising. He attempted to get up from the couch, which had not been as comfortable as Jim would have him believe, only to find himself unable. The captain had effectively trapped him in his grasp, both his arms around his waist. Jim's head was nestled under his arm and the soft smile on his face lead one to think he was utterly at peace and that where he was situated was his place.
The notion caused Spock's stomach to lurch in an unfamiliar but not altogether unpleasant manner, which only made him that much more intent on freeing himself.
Jim protested somewhat to his arms being pried from around Spock, but mercifully did not wake as Spock pressed a nearby pillow into his arms and stepped away. Without a backward glance, he went up the stairs and into the bed room he had been given to meditate. He did not, to use the vernacular, freak out because of the fact the captain seemed to enjoy being wrapped around him or that he himself did not mind entirely; to do so would not only be illogical, but un-Vulcan.
Jim woke slowly, still lulled by the gentle tapping on the roof and the warm couch cushions. He rolled onto his back, lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms above his head. He had woken up on the couch, there was stale pop corn on the floor, and the front of his jeans was tented noticeably; another typical morning on shore leave, or frankly, any other time. He lightly draped his arms around the pillow on his chest, and tilted his head to the side. He seemed to recall there being someone else on the couch with him…
"Spock? Where are you?"
No doubt he was meditating in his room, as he was his habit in the early morning. What Jim couldn't figure out was why he'd get up so damned early just to sit in a sleeplike state for hours. But apparently it was calming or it centered him. As if he needed to be anymore calm; the Vulcan wasn't exactly bouncing off the walls like an overly caffeinated squirrel. That was Chekov's job usually, and they adored him for it.
Even knowing Spock and his schedule as well as he did, Jim still wanted to be sure he hadn't disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night without his knowledge. With this thought in mind, he climbed the stairs to peer around the slightly opened door to Spock's room.
Spock was in there all right. He must've just gotten out of the shower, as his dark hair was still damp, and stray water droplets were sliding down his back…his bare, lean back…to darken the top of his jeans. And where had Jim gotten such very, very tight jeans and when had he given them to Spock? But that wasn't all, of course not. No, Spock was apparently not only fond of meditation, but yoga as well.
Jim swallowed thickly past his hammering heart as Spock flexed his leg up behind him to almost the top of his head. Jesus, when had he become so flexible? Had he always been able to basically bend himself in half like he was doing right now, right in front of him? Jim stumbled backwards as noiselessly as he could, well aware that his morning erection, which had been dwindling, was back in full force. A shower, that was what he needed, as cold as he could take it.
The ice-cold spray needled at him, turning his skin pink and stinging at his face. But he felt more himself, more clear-headed, and not like he'd been hit between the eyes by a blast from a phaser, and that was the important thing. Jim leaned his forehead against the slick tiled wall, and sighed heavily, willing himself to act like a Starfleet captain and not a foolish, lovesick teenager.
He had become aware, at some point in their time together as captain and first officer, that Spock was, well, not unattractive. And he had kept that realization to himself; because Spock was dating Uhura, and she would not hesitate kick his ass should he try anything.
Not that he ever would, no; it was merely an idle observation that Spock was in fact desirable. So he told himself, until Spock had made mention that he and Uhura were no longer a couple and that he was not averse to joining Jim on shore leave. Since then, he just hadn't been able to resist…
"Jim?"
"Spock! Christ, don't do that!" Jim wished his voice didn't sound so strangled and that he hadn't just gotten soap in his eye. "Why are you in here now?"
"Given that you frequently came in here while I was in the shower, I did not believe you would object if I did the same. However, if you would prefer me to leave…"
"No, no, it's alright. I just wasn't expecting you to suddenly be there," Jim answered, knowing he would be the biggest hypocrite if he kicked Spock out. He wiped the soap from his eye, but it still burned. "Could you pass me the little towel by the sink please?" He stuck his hand out the shower curtain.
Jim's reaching fingers slid along the back of Spock's hand as he fumbled blindly for the towel. Spock stiffened, and quickly pulled his hand away. Jim stuck his head out the curtain, curiosity evident on his face despite half of it being hidden by the towel. Slowly comprehension dawned on him as he saw Spock's ears turning green and the hasty way he clasped his hands behind his back.
"Sorry about that, couldn't see," Jim told him, shrugging. He tugged his larger towel from the rack next to the shower and wrapped it around his waist, shaking the water from his hair. "Not to rush you or anything, but I'm not in an exhibitionist sort of mood this morning, so, if you maybe want to go downstairs? Unless you're a secret voyeur?" Jim smirked teasingly at Spock, who gave him a look before turning on his heel and pulling the door shut behind him.
Once in the hall, Spock relaxed his arms, and spared his hand a glance. Surely it had been an accident. Yes, he had told Jim at least that a Vulcan's hands were sensitive, and yes, the captain had been contentedly wrapped around his waist this morning, not as much to his chagrin as one would have thought, but that was no reason to assume that Jim knew what he had done. How could he?
Although…he had been quite friendly towards him thus far on shore leave. But he was a generally friendly person, and simply being a good host. Yes, that was it. The only question that remained was why he yet again had that not unpleasant warm lurch in his stomach.
Jim beamed at his reflection in the mirror, and shook his head. Now that he was back in control of himself, he could admit he'd been stupid. He'd just had a momentary lapse in his cool. But…one would have to be made of stone to not lose their head even a little at the sight Spock made doing his stretching shirtless. He wondered absentmindedly if he could remove shirts from the required uniform. Oh but then he'd have to apply it to everyone, not just himself and Spock. Damn. Oh well.
On the plus side, seeing just how flexible his first officer was had given him an idea of what they could do that evening, given that the less than stellar weather had not yet abated. And no, it did not involve a lack of clothes and a bed, table, or floor. That could come later, hopefully, if he played his cards right.
A/N: phew. Finally. This chapter gave me a spot of trouble. Couple of times I had to step back, do some other stuff, and then come back. Like I went to the beach and almost caught a fish bare handed, and it distracted me enough that I could come back to this and focus better. I'm finally happy with this.
Oh, and a friend of mine asked me to promote a forum they made to discuss fan works, primarily fan fiction. It's at . So, yeah, I've done that. TTFN
