Spock was not expecting the bed to be empty when he awoke. While 5.23 hours of sleep was more than sufficient for him, it was well below the ideal amount for a human. Especially when said human had just gone directly from fourteen days of exhaustive negotiations to spending most of his first night back 'reacquainting' himself with Spock.
But while the bed was empty, his quarters were not. He could hear movement coming from the sitting area, see a familiar shadow on the wall through the ajar door. He lay there silently for a few minutes, appreciating the warmth of the room around him, the sensation of sheets against bare skin. Soon footsteps approached the door, and Jim appeared, peering around the frame.
He looked fatigued, but incredibly pleased with himself. He grinned at Spock, the kind of devious, lazy grin that according to Dr. McCoy, he always wore for twenty-four hours after he had 'gotten laid real good.' Spock had observed it many times throughout the years, never suspecting that one day he would be directly responsible for such an expression.
"Look who's finally up." Jim said. "G'morning."
"Good morning." Spock rolled onto his side to face the door. "I am surprised to find you awake this early."
"Me too. Force of habit, I guess. The delegation meetings were all before oh eight hundred." Jim stepped entirely into the doorway, the too-large Vulcan robe he wore askew and belted sloppily around his waist. "I'm synthesizing breakfast. What do you want?"
Spock thought for a moment. "Waffles."
"Really?" Jim ran a hand through mussed hair and gave him an incredulous look.
"I would prefer blueberry, if the database has them." Spock hesitated. "Is that so unusual? I was under the impression that waffles were not an atypical meal for this time of day."
"No, you're right. I just wouldn't take you for the waffles type."
"Their engineering intrigues me."
Jim leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, his grin widening. "Go on."
Even after spending half his life amongst them, some human nuances still eluded Spock. For example, he wasn't entirely certain if Jim was teasing, or genuinely curious, or some combination of both. Regardless, he decided to elaborate and make it clear that his statement had a rational basis.
"They possess a surprisingly logical design for something invented by humans. The grid of coffer-like depressions efficiently contains viscous toppings, while at the same time maintaining the structural integrity of the cake. Their relative thinness lends itself to easy division and consumption, and I find the textural variation between the sponge-like interior and crunchy exterior interesting. Furthermore, the addition of blueberries can serve to supplement their admittedly low nutritional value."
One second Jim was staring at him, the next he was back in bed, pinning Spock to the mattress and sealing their lips together. "My God, you… you're just…" He panted between kisses that tasted faintly of coffee, then pulled back and gazed down at Spock. "You're something else."
Before Spock could question what the point of comparison was, Jim curled a hand around the back of his head and engaged him in another round of slowly deepening kisses. While Jim was never precisely insatiable as various rumors suggested – regardless of his considerable erotic abilities, the refractory period still applied – he was certainly a challenge to keep up with, particularly at times like these. Spock had always enjoyed challenges.
"I missed you," Jim murmured, the next time he paused for air.
"I had noticed."
"You and your ridiculous idiosyncrasies."
"Ridiculous, captain?"
Jim was evidently too busy adding to the bruises on his neck to come up with an appropriate response. "And you calling me that." He mumbled, breath pleasantly warm against Spock's skin. "No one says it quite like you."
"I fail to see how the verbal expression of your rank could differ in significance between individuals. Captain." He added the title as a deliberate, slightly emphasized afterthought, and Jim moaned against his throat.
"Trust me, it does." Jim trailed a hand down Spock's waist, pushing the sheets as he went, and his thumb idly stroked over an exposed hip.
Spock shifted a bit to lean into the touch, and was temporarily distracted by the careless knot holding Jim's borrowed robe together, well within his reach. That thought was pushed aside when he calculated that it had been at least fourteen hours since Jim had last eaten. "Do you think it is prudent to do this before breakfast?"
"We need to make up for lost time."
"You have only been away for two weeks."
"That long?" Jim chuckled. "Don't know how I survived."
"I can only assume it involved copious amounts of autoeroticism."
"You bet." He could feel Jim's smile through the brush of teeth just below his ear. Jim lowered his voice to that hushed, sly murmur that made it unusually difficult for Spock to think. "I would have video comm'd you, but I'm fairly sure they monitored our transmissions." He dragged a hand over Spock's stomach, then made a quick, exploratory pass a little lower.
"Jim – ah! Jim, wait."
"Hmm?" Jim's fingers traced teasing circles around his navel, and he leaned back to look at Spock with heavy-lidded eyes. The instinct to push toward that touch, seek it out again was powerful, and Spock struggled few seconds to remember what he had intended to say.
He meant to sound resolved, to be the proverbial voice of reason and urge Jim that foregoing nourishment any longer was not a sound decision. He intended to discuss the importance of a regular metabolic schedule, of replenishing energy stores no doubt lost during the several hours spent in strenuous physical activity the previous night.
Instead he looked up at Jim's earnest, hopeful face, and all he could come up with was a noncommittal, "I am hungry."
"Well I'm starving." Jim licked along the edge of Spock's ear with a quiet chuckle. "The waffles can wait."
A/N: Great, now I want to go raid an IHOP or something…
Also, thanks for the comments everyone! I wish you many hypothetical waffles (or pancakes, or your breakfast food of choice)!
