Spock only wanted to play chess that night. He followed his Captain into his personal quarters. They usually preferred their games to be private.
The First Officer of the Starship Enterprise had been battling with intense emotions for the past weeks. He hadn't felt this depth of emotion since his mother's death. And while these new feelings were nothing like the rage he felt for his mother's killer, they were just as consuming.
Their game that night was leisurely with neither one truly playing to win. The lights automatically dimmed, reminding the Captain of his bed time. But Spock couldn't make himself leave the room.
He had tried to let these feelings go, as he had let go of so many emotions before. But a part of him wanted them to stay. He reveled in the blood pounding in his ears, the fact that he could feel warmth outside his own quarters. He watched as Jim's fingers lingered over the chess pieces. He listened to Jim's breathing. Besides the ventilation system, it was the loudest noise in the room.
Spock knew he should leave. He could feel something uncurling within him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if it reached the surface. He looked back down to Jim's fingers, which had stilled on the chess piece and back up into his face. Jim's breathing had quickened from it's slow, even pace, his lips were slightly parted.
Spock wasn't leaving. Not just yet at least.
Jim fell asleep, his hands loosely grasped in Spock's. Spock couldn't sleep. Not only did he not require it at this time, but he began feeling a new emotion, one he was vastly unfamiliar with: blind panic.
He tried to calm himself down but was on the verge of hysterics. He had opened himself up farther than he ever had before. He shivered. Even the nearness of Jim's body was not enough to keep him warm. He needed Jim to wake up. He didn't want to wake him. He just needed Jim to realize something was wrong and wake up.
Jim slept on.
As gently as he could, Spock removed his fingers from Jim's grasp and eased himself out of bed. He quietly dressed and brushed his lips across Jim's forehead before exiting the room.
He spent the rest of the night in meditation, preparing himself for what the next day would bring. He didn't know how Jim would react, if he would be angry, if he would want to talk about what had happened.
Jim didn't say anything. The next day, they went about their business as if nothing had happened.
Jim and Spock fell back into a routine, a routine that was randomly broken by Spock's inability to contain what he felt for his captain. He tried to meditate, to control what was inside him. Most nights he did just fine. They were able to enjoy a chess game in peace.
But whenever Spock felt that need, he would look up to see that Jim knew what he wanted. And Jim would give it to him. But he couldn't bring himself to stay, and Jim never asked.
It was getting harder and harder to leave. He could watch Jim sleep for hours. He was fairly peaceful in slumber. He didn't snore. He didn't drool. Sometimes his lips would part slightly. On anyone else, Spock knows he would have thought it ridiculous. But on Jim, it was almost sensual. And he wasn't even trying.
But what Spock liked best about watching Jim sleep was the transformation in his face. Being a Starfleet Captain took it's toll on anyone, and Jim was under more pressure than any captain, current or previous. Jim's face softened as he slept. It was a look no one else got to see.
Each time Spock would stay a little longer, loathe to tear himself away. Clearly, Jim did not want him to stay the whole night. Spock was well aware of the Captain's history. He knew what was to be expected of him. This knowledge didn't make leaving Jim's side any easier.
So, most nights, he tried to simply be Jim's friend, to play chess and exult in their camaraderie. But on the nights he gave into temptation, he wanted to stay, to keep the body next to his warm. He wanted to keep his fingers wrapped in Jim's.
It was another reckless night of passion. Spock stroked back Jim's hair as he slept on, knowing he should be going, and completely unable to. He glanced over at the clock. Jim would wake soon. It was as if he had to drag himself out of the bed. He dressed, brushed his lips against Jim's forehead. His captain stirred slightly, and Spock knew it was time to leave once again.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted! It encouraged me to write this...and I even made it longer! And I just might write more!