Jim woke up unpleasantly hot.

It took him a moment to figure out why, blinking lethargically and groaning. A strip of bright light beamed across his face and he cringed away from it, down into the covers where it was even hotter. The warm arm gripping him tightened around his waist, and he blinked again, heart seizing for a moment before a lazy grin spread across his face and he rolled himself onto his other side to burrow up into Spock's neck.

"Hmm," he murmured. "You awake?"

Spock did not reply aloud, but the palm at the small of Jim's back smoothed up it and over the nape of his neck, long fingers working into his hair. Jim nuzzled like a contented cat.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

Spock's fingers twitched. "Some."

Jim licked at Spock's neck and they moved again, either encouragement or discomfort; Jim was unsure which.

"You are aroused," Spock said, and Jim snorted.

"You're surprised?" He moved up to Spock's pulse point. "Besides, it's morning." He went to nip at Spock's ear and then paused, drawing back to look at his face, serene but not. "You're not freaking out on me, are you?"

Spock's features melted slightly. "No," he said, fingers petting. As if to prove this, he pressed a soft kiss to Jim's lips. Jim was lethargic enough to keep it slow, but not enough to keep it the short affair Spock had clearly intended. He carefully opened his mouth and coaxed Spock's tongue out, adding a few noises that he knew from the wonder of past melds were rather affecting. God, he had missed this; this comfort, this ease. Treating Spock as though he were only his first officer had been like treating a book as though it were only a paperweight.

He worked a thigh over Spock's legs and scooted closer, half on top of him. Then, difficult though it was, he broke away to smirk down at him. "You are aroused," he breathed, humming when Spock shifted with what may have been unease.

"Jim," he said, in that tone he used on the Bridge when Jim was making what he believed to be an inappropriate joke. Occasionally, he would hear it in Sickbay as well, if he made light of a serious, or even minor, injury of his.

Jim had been intending to rotate his hips a little, but he obediently relented. "You thinkin' about what to say to T'Pid?" he asked.

Spock's forefinger trailed his ear; sometimes Jim wondered if he was as fascinated with their roundness as Jim himself was with the angular curve of Spock's. "I am calculating the amount of time needed to prepare for this afternoon's luncheon in ratio to the current hour," he corrected him.

Jim blinked and moved more of his weight to his elbows, rather than Spock's chest. "I didn't mean that in a, like, 'get on it' kind of way-"

Spock silenced him with a look. "I know." But either way, he had changed the subject, even if telling the truth, and Jim decided not to ask again unless a lack of action was becoming suspiciously on-going. Clearly, Spock wanted to work out what to say to her alone, and really, Jim should have expected that. Spock was often that way with his problems; did not see the need to involve others if he could work out his own solution, especially when it came to bothering or endangering Jim. And Jim didn't know T'Pid or the way this was going to work, how Vulcans handled this sort of thing which surely must be viewed as distasteful. It might even be as personal as pon farr, which Spock had been reluctant to discuss with even him. Best to leave it alone, for now.

Jim cleared his throat. "So, what's the verdict?"

"The verdict?"

"That, uh... time ratio."

"We have one hour and seven minutes until our presence is required."

It sounded nice, before Jim really thought about it. He was now wide awake and they had decided last night and somewhat reiterated this morning that abstinence would be the course of action for the time-being. Lying in bed, naked, with Spock, unable to do anything about that was perhaps the most frustrating thing Jim could imagine right now. In that same vein, he was reluctant to leave. If he left, Spock might change his mind. This all might disappear, one way or another.

Jim could wake up, just as alone as he had the last time.

Either Jim's eyes had drifted off for too long, or Spock had picked up on the concern, because his previously wandering fingers moved to cup Jim's jaw. "T'hy'la," he said this time, in much the same tone as before. Jim leaned into the touch.

"I know," he mumbled. What he knew, he wasn't sure, but he knew he knew it. Spock didn't promise things lightly. Jim dropped his head down with a sigh. "I should go shower."

"Indeed," Spock said, in a way that Jim was certain was meant to imply he smelled or something and he snorted. A Vulcan, trying to lighten the mood; he apparently needed to stop being so maudlin.

"Okay, I can take a hint." He lifted his head and kissed Spock in farewell, laughing a little when he clung a bit as Jim tried to pull away. He obediently stayed put for another moment, allowing them to break apart naturally, fascinated by the way Spock's eyes remained shut when they did, fingers still tight on Jim's hips. Perhaps he was not the only one feeling unsure. "Hey," he said against Spock's chin, "okay?"

Spock nodded, hands moving to his back and absently stroking. "I am..." But he didn't finish.

"Nervous," Jim supplied, and Spock did not protest the assessment. "I would be too. Hell, am. But it'll work. Whatever it is we're gonna do with this."

Spock's eyes followed Jim's lips with a wan expression. "I can guarantee nothing beyond my devotion to you."

"I know that."

"And in Vulcan tradition, that will mean little."

"I know."

"What you are to me garners a certain... nominal respect, and it is on that we must rely, but even this will be viewed as antiquated and unnecessary."

Jim took that in, unsure if he should be having as much trouble translating Spock's point as he was. "You mean by T'Pid."

"Jim!"

Jim winced and groaned. "... That would be Bones," he said.

"I would come in, but I'm afraid to!" he heard, and damn, it could not be good for passersby to see the doctor standing outside their door, screaming, if anyone was out in the hall with him. "You go about your business and then you let me in, understand? Or better yet, just... meet me back in our room. I'm givin' you five minutes before I just come in anyway!"

Jim heard no more and had no proof that his friend had departed other than his word. He sighed and looked from the door back to Spock. He looked unimpressed.

"The doctor has a predilection for taking liberties with your personal life," he noted, unnecessary except to convey his annoyance.

"Yeah, well," Jim pecked his lips again, "he's not the only one." And he reluctantly hoisted himself off both the Vulcan and the bed, stretching. Spock's eyes, unsurprisingly, followed him. "I'm gonna go put out that fire. I'll meet you in the chancellor's anteroom in..."

"Fifty-seven minutes."

"Yeah. That." Jim lifted the blankets from the foot of the bed and extracted his sleep pants from them, wiggling into them and cringing at the idea of going out into the corridor in nothing but them by the light of day. "We'll talk more back on the ship." He shrugged. "When there's something to talk about."

Spock did not argue this and so Jim moved for the door, shooting a smile back at him before commanding the door open. There was no way to prevent it swinging open entirely, no hope for discretion, and he poked his head around the frame to peek into the hallway. There were noises, on down toward the next corner where it branched off, but no one present, and so he slipped out, making for his own room with more speed than his reluctance to arrive there would normally allow.

McCoy was tugging his boots on when Jim entered, looking harassed. He waited for the door to shut behind him again before fixing him with a glare. For some reason, Jim didn't feel joking it off his face would be the best avenue.

"You can't yell in the hall," Jim told him in his best command voice.

"Like I would have if there had been anyone to hear. Were you in there all night?" he demanded. "Tell me you just got up really early."

"Not... all night."

"Goddamn it, Jim." McCoy's foot dropped down to the ground, shoe in place. "Did you sleep with him?"

Jim's brow furrowed. "Why should that have to matter to you?"

"Because it's my job to tell you when you're being unbelievably stupid! Lord knows, someone has to." He stood and tossed a shirt at Jim. "He's married, Jim. I'm not sure you get that."

Jim huffed, tugging the shirt over his head. "Believe me, Bones," he said. "I get that."

"No, you get that something is in the way," McCoy protested. "I'm not sure you get -- really get -- that other people are going to be affected by this. That she's a real person. And that no matter how Spock came to be hers, he is hers."

Jim swallowed, feeling more chastised than he had been prepared to. "He was mine first."

McCoy shook his head. "This isn't grade school. It's an affair. No matter what else you're calling it." He sighed and slumped back to the bed. "You know, I thought maybe... but I thought Spock would hold out."

"And that I wouldn't; is that it?"

"Be as offended as you like, Jim," he said, "but here we sit, don't we?"

Jim was trying to be angry, but he felt more sick than anything. The fact that he couldn't argue the point was only making it worse. It took him a moment to remember how to gulp down the feeling. "I'm..." he managed, before deciding there was no way to finish the sentence. He silently retired to the bathroom. There was hardly time to say more, anyway.