A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter ^^
warnings: this chapter is pretty long, l-lol. Also there are discussions of male genitalia and some sexy situations. You've been warned ;]
So as I'm sure most of you know, NaNoWriMo starts on Monday. I will definitely try to stick to the updating schedule (I'm cheating a bit this year and instead of my goal being 50k words, it's to finish writing this fic, haha. Since it's got about 30-40k words left to it if I am guesstimating correctly) but if updates become more erratic than usual, I apologize and can assure you that if they do, they will be back to normal come December. So thanks for your understanding ^^;
As always, comments and critiques are appreciated! Please enjoy.
Chapter Five
"It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun." – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The next several days passed surprisingly quietly. Perhaps a little too quietly – but at the very least there were no shouting matches or hostile confrontations. There was an uneasy air about the bridge – the Captain had been unusually subdued and the obvious lack of Dr. McCoy's once-frequent visits were equally unsettling. The fact that something unpleasant had happened was nearly tangible in the bridge's atmosphere, but no one knew exactly what – true to their word, Uhura and Chapel had not shared their knowledge with anyone else, though the rumors that the crew had come up with were not much better.
Jim had been filling nearly all his free time in the ship's gym. Whether it was running mile upon mile on the treadmill, swimming laps until he could barely breathe, or sparring round after round with various men from Security – he attacked the activity relentlessly, stopping only when he was too exhausted to think, at which point he would stumble back to his quarters, shower, and collapse drowsily onto his bed, or sometimes Spock's.
He was frustrated, Spock knew, and he was venting it the best way he could. Spock at least understood that.
After the first uncomfortable day or two, Spock only felt curiously quiet and calm; accepting, even. The initial shock had been the worst and now that it was over he found it surprisingly simple to return to his normal equilibrium. He trusted Uhura, and she had never given him reason to doubt that trust before.
"Are you still up for that date?" Jim had asked three days after his fight with Dr. McCoy, his expression dejected and hesitant.
"Yes," Spock had replied, simply, wondering why he had seen a need to even ask.
One morning five days later, Spock woke to find Jim's body curled against his own. He was lying on his side with Jim's shoulders against his collarbone and his groin pressed flush to Jim's backside. He recalled that Humans called this "spooning" and while it generally was meant to serve an erotic purpose, he found it to be quite calming and peaceful in its intimacy. He discovered that he had one arm wrapped around the smaller man's torso, their fingers barely touching, and carefully, drowsily, he used that hand to pull Jim's body closer. Jim shifted slightly with the change and when his hand followed Spock's, he realized the other man was not asleep. They lay this way for a moment before Jim murmured softly,
"You're all I have left, you know. Please... Please don't deny me that." Spock tilted his head to breathe in the smell of Jim's hair, eyes only half-open.
"I will not," he whispered in reply, and Jim tangled their fingers together. It was so peaceful, so tender a moment, that they both nearly drifted back off to sleep before the alarm roused them from their repose.
When they retired for the night later that evening, they settled silently back into the same position, Spock laying one arm protectively across Jim's torso, Jim gladly allowing him to make his claim. It all felt so easy, so natural, that Spock did not think anything of it. He did not have any more nightmares.
The days blurred together this way until they arrived in orbit over Wrigley's Pleasure Planet.
"Winter clothes?"
"Well – yes, sir. These coordinates are to the region of the planet currently in the winter season." Jim stared at Lieutenant Kyle dumbly until the man added hesitantly, "With snow." Jim groaned.
"Yeah, I know what winter means," he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Damn. Well... Thanks for telling me now and not when I'm beaming down."
"What time are you beaming down, sir?"
"1600 hours," Jim replied distractedly, beginning to leave the transporter room. "Make sure someone's on duty." Kyle began to say that there would be someone on duty around the clock both days they would be in orbit, but the captain left the room before he had the chance. He settled instead with chuckling to himself, wondering who would be accompanying the captain to the planet. Scotty wasn't one to gossip, but he may have mentioned to one or two transporter techs that the captain was planning on going on a date at some point during their two days of orbit...
Jim stepped into Spock's quarters with a sigh and the Vulcan glanced up at him questioningly from his desk, PADD in his lap.
"Is something wrong?" he asked as Jim stood in the doorway with a sheepish expression.
"I, uh, I kind of made a dumb mistake," Jim mumbled. "I didn't check and – it's wintertime in the place I was planning on taking you. I'm really sorry, I know you don't like the cold, I should have checked..."
Spock could not bring himself to be annoyed the way Jim seemed to expect him to be, finding the younger man's embarrassment to be illogically endearing.
"That is not a problem," he replied steadily. "I will simply wear winter clothing to accommodate for the temperature."
"You've got winter clothes? Oh, good," Jim sighed in visible relief. "I was afraid you wouldn't." Spock raised an eyebrow but said simply,
"When are we leaving?"
"1600 hours, ship's time. We're two hours ahead of where we'll be beaming down."
"Understood. I look forward to a pleasant evening." Jim smiled a warm, soft smile at him.
"Me, too, Spock," he replied before going back to his own quarters.
At 1600 hours Jim studied himself in his mirror one last time. He was wearing his favorite pair of dark-washed semi-skinny jeans (the ones that made his ass look glorious) with his black uniform boots. A white long sleeved shirt was nearly entirely hidden underneath his dark green winter jacket and a black scarf. He grinned at himself in the mirror – freshly showered and shaved, his teeth brushed and his hair tidy. He was ready.
He walked out into the hallway to retrieve Spock. He chimed the door and after a brief moment Spock joined him in the hallway and Jim's heart stuttered.
Spock looked – well, amazing. A dark gray double-breasted coat adorned his frame beneath a navy blue scarf, over a pair of black pants and black leather shoes – and every piece of clothing looked as if it had been made for the express purpose of being worn by him. He had so rarely seen the Vulcan out of uniform he could scarcely believe it was Spock, for he looked just like one of the tall, lanky, brooding male models in Terran advertisements. Spock noticed his scrutiny and asked,
"Am I presentable?"
"Yeah, you, uh..." Jim began, glancing around – the hallway was clear. "You look really good. Like, really great." Spock raised an eyebrow at his lack of eloquence.
"Shall we go?" he said, and they headed for the nearest transporter room.
None other than Scotty himself was waiting for them at the transporter controls. He grinned slyly when Jim stepped into the room – and his eyes bulged when Spock followed him. Jim suppressed an exasperated groan as he said,
"Hello, Scotty."
"Captain," he replied in greeting, eying the pair in confusion. "I, ah, was under the impression ye were goin' on a date on th' planet, sir." Jim smiled slightly and, he hoped, enigmatically as he and Spock stepped onto the transporter pad.
"Who says I'm not?" he replied coolly, and, with a glance at Spock, commanded, "Energize."
When they were gone, Scotty leaned back in sheer and utter shock. The captain and Spock... looking back now it began to make sense, but Scotty had only ever known Jim to court women – not stoic, Vulcan, undeniably masculine men.
He needed a sandwich, and maybe some scotch to wash it down.
Twenty minutes later Uhura scurried in and, glancing about to ensure they were alone, promptly demanded,
"Who was it, who was it?"
"Ach, lass, ye won't believe it," Scotty replied. "But – it was Spock!" Uhura squealed and threw her arms around the bewildered Scotsman.
"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I knew it!"
"What?" Scotty exclaimed, shocked, but was silence when she kissed him firmly, only adding to his confusion – not that he was complaining.
"Don't tell anyone!" Uhura said as she pulled away. "They'll let us all know when they're ready, so don't ruin it." Scotty sighed.
"I doona understand ye, lass, but I won't tell," he assured her, and she kissed him again, smiling against his lips.
She knew McCoy would be furious if he found out after what Chapel had told her – but that was the least of her concerns. She had known Spock had wanted Jim since before he left the Enterprise – probably before he even realized it himself – and somehow she knew, she knew, they would be all kinds of wonderfully happy together. So she was happy too.
They were beamed down to a small space travel center where a woman greeted them, smiling broadly as she said,
"Welcome to Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, gentlemen. Do you require a map? Directions?"
"No, thank you," Jim replied, smiling back politely, then looked over at Spock. "Let's go."
They stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, brightening the walkways of the quiet, spacious city. It was a little cold, but not too bad yet since it was still the afternoon. Jim pulled his pocket PADD from the pocket of his coat.
"Let's see," he said, pulling up the directions on the touchscreen. "Here we go. Come on, it's this way." Spock followed him complacently as he began striding down the sidewalk, and Jim slackened his pace for a brief moment so that Spock was walking next to him. They continued down the sidewalk this way for several strides, then Jim glanced carefully over at Spock, who had both hands pressed firmly into his coat pockets – and so Jim reached over and looped his arm through Spock's. The Vulcan glanced quickly at him, visibly surprised – but he only smiled at him and after a moment of adjustment Spock's arm relaxed into his. Contentment bubbled in his chest as they made their way down the sidewalk. The museum was only about half a mile away, and they arrived at the large, stately building before long.
"Here we are," Jim said as he turned to face the building.
"An art museum," Spock stated, studying the fanciful architecture. Jim gently squeezed his arm.
"Yeah," he replied, smiling hesitantly. "I figured that it would be something you would enjoy. Is – is this alright?"
"This is very agreeable," Spock replied evenly, looking softly at Jim, who beamed back at him with relief obvious in his features.
"Good, I'm glad," he said, and they walked into the museum. They paid their admission fee and then began perusing the many aisles and adjoining rooms. Quickly Jim realized that each section was divided by the planet the art hailed from, and they arrived first in the room of Earth art – unsurprising, as the majority of the population on Wrigley's was Human.
"Look!" Jim exclaimed in wonder, grabbing Spock's sleeve as he stepped into another room. "Look, it's an actual Van Gogh painting!"
"I was not aware you are familiar with classical artists," Spock said as he studied the piece Jim was gesturing at.
"I'm not, really, but... I know that piece. It's called 'Irises'."
They observed the painting for a moment, Jim with an expression of near-childlike awe, Spock with a technical appreciation.
"Most curious that the only white flower is so far from the center of the piece," he commented. "Generally such a focal point would be positioned in the center."
"It's different," Jim replied. "The others don't want it around because it's different, it's special. It's a Human thing – push away the things you don't understand." Spock glanced briefly at him, wondering when he had become so well-acquainted with the piece to formulate so strong an opinion. Of course, he said nothing; but he wondered, even as they moved on to more recent artworks and sculptures.
They wandered into the next section, Andorian art. After a few rows of fanciful landscapes and brightly colored portraits, they entered a room and they both stopped dead.
The walls were covered from ceiling to floor in fairly small sheets of paper all posted one after another. Some were painted, some resembled relief sculptures, and some simply bore a single word in the foreign Andorian script – and it was stunning.
"What is this?" Jim murmured as Spock, ever helpful, found a plaque explaining the installation.
"This artist made a single artwork every day for an Andorian year reflecting his thoughts and feelings that day," Spock explained, scanning the information quickly. "They are put in chronological order. To Andorians, living is in and of itself an art form and to them a true 'masterpiece' comes in the culmination of one's entire lifetime. This is something of a reflection of that."
"Wow," Jim breathed as he studied each sheet of paper in turn. "This is really amazing, isn't it? Like looking into someone's life. I wish I could read Andorian now..."
They spent a long time in that room, then finally moved on.
After a while they arrived in the Vulcan section of the museum. It seemed woefully small compared to the other sections – but that did not come as a surprise to either of them.
Quietly – reverently, even – they stepped into the single room of Vulcan artworks and examined them each in turn. There were very few paintings, all dating back from before the Age of Surak. One of a burning red desert landscape, then one of a fierce-looking Vulcan warrior. Jim paused briefly in front of a depiction of two male warriors, standing naked side-by-side with nearly feral expressions and long shaggy hair, each holding a weapon Jim knew was called a lirpa, the bladed ends crossed in what appeared to be an act not of violence but of teamwork.
When Spock moved on, Jim cast a furtive, somewhat embarrassed glance below the warrior's waists. He knew he was blushing as he hurriedly studied the foreign genitalia in a mixture of anxiety and curiosity – and found himself wondering if that was what Spock looked like, with the peculiar double ridges and the distinct lack of testicles – where the hell did he keep them, then? Again he flushed with embarrassment, wondering what the hell he was doing, and quickly rejoined Spock, hoping he would not ask any questions about his delay.
Spock did not acknowledge him as he stood next to him once more – he was studying the fourth and final painting. A Vulcan woman was depicted walking with a bundle of some kind of grain under one arm, and by the other hand was leading a small child. Jim could not tell if the child was a boy or a girl, but it looked up at the mother with an expression that was obviously adoring even on stern Vulcan features.
Jim suddenly felt like a complete asshole – he had been off making notes on Vulcan junk while Spock was here and likely hurting. Stupid, stupid, stupid... He looked hesitantly at Spock's face and and found the Vulcan's gaze locked not on the mother as he had expected, but on the child. His lips were pressed together tightly and Jim was unsure what to do.
"You okay?" he asked gently. Spock tore his gaze away and met Jim's questioning eyes. His expression softened and Jim was all the more bewildered.
"I am fine," he replied just as quietly, and they moved on.
All the post-Reform artworks were either vibrant tapestries that Spock murmured depicted ancient Vulcan rituals, or metal sculpture-looking things of Vulcan glyphs that Jim studied for a long while – the text was so fluid and graceful that although he could not read it he understood now why Vulcan words, Vulcan calligraphy, was considered its own art form.
"Would you like me to translate?" Spock offered and slowly Jim shook his head.
"No, I... I think I like it better not knowing. Beauty in the mysterious, you know?" Spock raised an eyebrow.
"I find your reasoning highly peculiar for a human. When we viewed the Van Gogh piece you said yourself it was a reflection of the human fear of the unknown, yet now you claim there is beauty in what you do not understand." Jim grinned sheepishly and looked away.
"Yeah, well," he murmured. "If I were one of those blue irises I wouldn't be captain, would I?" Spock stared at him for a long moment with an expression Jim could not name, pondering the deeper meaning of his statement, before replying,
"No, I daresay you would not."
They spent a little more time in the museum and the adjoining gift shop before Jim glanced at the clock and exclaimed,
"Oh, we'd better get going or we'll be late for our dinner reservation."
They stepped back outside – it had grown a bit colder and Spock stood closer to Jim than he had before. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily, from Jim's perspective) the restaurant was nearby and they reached it before long.
As Jim approached a uniformed woman standing just beyond the entrance to be seated, Spock studied the interior of the building, noting the whimsical and ornate style of the architecture and design that had been prominent in the other buildings they had seen – a reflection of the hedonistic lifestyle pursued by the planet's inhabitants, he was sure. Fascinating.
They were seated at a small table, fairly private, facing across from each other. Jim grinned as Spock continued to study their surroundings.
"This is quite a well-run establishment," he commented finally.
"You like it?" Jim asked eagerly, his smile widening.
"Yes," Spock replied evenly in spite of the contentment rushing through him and the sensation Humans often referred to as "butterflies in his stomach".
They scrolled through the touchscreen menu on their table and punched in their orders, Jim delighting in the fact that the restaurant had real Earth lobster, while Spock selected an elaborate Tellarite vegetable dish.
"Did you like the museum?" Jim asked as they waited for their food.
"Yes. It was an enjoyable and enlightening experience," Spock replied, conscious that his hands were folded on the table in front of him while Jim's were splayed across the clear surface.
"Told you it'd be amazing," Jim replied, finding Spock's answer to apparently be satisfactory. "You can just go ahead and say it – I have great taste. I totally know what you want – what you need." He waggled his eyebrows in a way that Spock understood was meant to be seductive, but the motion was grossly exaggerated and Spock fought against a smile as Jim succumbed to a fit of laughter. "Well, seriously for a minute – I'm really glad you agreed to this, Spock. Thanks for giving me a chance."
"It would be illogical to deny you without first, as you might say, 'testing the waters'," Spock replied primly, and Jim wrinkled his nose.
"Well, thanks," he replied, smiling wryly. "That made me feel real good about myself."
"I am certain I can employ other methods of bringing you pleasure," Spock replied tonelessly, feeling suddenly daring, and Jim's eyes widened in shock before he burst into another peal of laughter. Spock tried not to let it show that the fact that he could make Jim laugh brought him a deep satisfaction.
They continued to engage in the human practice of "flirting" through the remainder of their meal, which was quite palatable, adding to their pleased, jovial atmosphere. When they were done eating and beginning to consider heading back to the ship, Jim nudged Spock's foot with his own under the table and murmured,
"We don't have to go back to the ship yet, you know – it'd be easy to rent a hotel room, just stay here for the night..." His unspoken offer hung heavy in the air between them and Spock was suddenly filled with apprehension.
"I would prefer not to," he said carefully, then added, "Our absence would likely begin to spread more rumors than I am comfortable with." To his relief, Jim grinned and even laughed a bit, so he was not upset.
"You're right, of course," he agreed. "Back to the ship it is."
They were beamed back up to the ship by Scotty, again – thankfully he said nothing other than "Welcome back, Cap'n, Mr. Spock" as they stepped down from the transporter pad.
They walked together back to their quarters – and Spock stopped, surprised, when Jim followed him past the door to his own quarters.
"S-Sorry," he said quickly, flustered. "I just wanna walk you to your door. You know, be a gentleman and all." Slowly Spock nodded his assent and they walked the remaining few steps to Spock's door. "Can I, uh, can I come in?"
Spock paused nervously and glanced about the hallway. A passing yeoman shot them a curious look – then noticed Spock watching her and looked away hurriedly, quickening her pace. The hallway was empty.
"Come in," he assented, and they stepped into his quarters.
The door closed behind them and Jim hovered a few steps inside as Spock stepped into the middle of the room and pulled off his scarf, folding it and placing it immaculately in a drawer. He moved to unbutton his coat when Jim said quickly,
"Wait." Spock looked questioningly at him and he added, "I, uh, I like that coat on you. Don't change yet." Spock lowered his hands and they stood staring at each other until Jim held out an arm and said nervously,
"Come here." Spock took a hesitant step forward and Jim gestured with an impatient hand. "Here, come here." The moment Spock was within his arm's reach, Jim pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his upper back with his face settling into the crook of the Vulcan's neck. Spock nearly jerked back, startled, but did not and instead stood stiffly with his arms remaining at his sides. He could feel Jim breathing against his skin, could feel the gentle pressure of his head resting on his shoulder.
"I had a really nice time today," Jim said slowly, his breath ghosting against Spock's pulse point. "Thanks for that." A pause. "Do you believe me now, that I love you?"
"I am more receptive to the idea now, yes," Spock replied softly, his voice a low rumble to Jim's ear against his throat, and he could feel the younger man smile against his skin. They stood this way for fourteen seconds before Jim pulled his head away to look Spock in the eye, his hands sliding down to settle around Spock's hips.
"I really... I really want to kiss you," he said, his voice low and fervent. "Can I kiss you?" Spock's gaze was steady as he appeared to evaluate the offer.
"You may," he replied softly, and Jim smiled as he leaned forward to kiss him, Spock tilting his head to meet him halfway.
The kiss started off as gentle and chaste as their previous one on New Vulcan had been, but quickly became more fevered, more insistent. Spock felt Jim's mouth move against his own and he reciprocated forcefully, and when Jim's tongue tickled his lips he eagerly let him in. He did not realize he had moved his once-stationary arms until he felt Jim's shoulder clutched beneath his hand.
The velvety-smooth feeling of Jim's tongue against his own was all he count concentrate on – until the Human's hands moved from his hips to press against his lower back, sending sizzles of pleasure up Spock's spine and he jerked his mouth away with a gasp, Jim's head lurching forward with the sudden movement and he pulled his hands away quickly.
"Sorry, sorry," he said breathlessly. "What did I do, did I hurt you?"
"No, I..." Spock struggled for words, finding it exceedingly difficult to formulate proper sentences. "The... the lower back is a – a highly erogenous zone for male Vulcans." A flush crept over both faces and Jim sputtered,
"...Oh, I – I, uh, I'm sorry." There was an uncomfortable pause, then he asked, "Why is... Why there?" Spock visibly composed himself and replied unsteadily,
"As I am sure you noticed while perusing the Vulcan artwork, Vulcan testicular systems are quite different from their Human counterparts." Jim blushed again – nothing seemed to escape Spock's notice, much to his dismay. "That particular component of our reproductive system is located within the body, near the kidneys, due to superior internal temperature control, and – and can be stimulated through touch in the lower back."
"So..." Jim replied hesitantly, carefully letting his hands settle back to where they had been and Spock closed his eyes, leaning into the pleasurable contact. "So me touching you here would be like... Like you cradling my balls?"
"A very... colloquial phrasing, but essentially, yes," Spock managed to reply. A pause.
"God, that is so fucking hot," Jim said breathlessly – then he ground his palms into the small of Spock's back and muffled the answering cry with his mouth.
They kissed furiously, Jim's hands rubbing small insistent circles into Spock's back, and he didn't realize he was making small needy sounds in the back of his throat until the cool Human mouth pulled away from his own to kiss and lick down the length of his throat, travel back up and again claim his slightly bruised, green-flushed lips.
Jim's tongue was in his mouth. Jim's hands were kneading the small of his back. Jim moved his hips and the evidence of the younger man's arousal undulated gently against his own. Jolts of pleasure burst through his synapses, and –
– and suddenly all he could see were fevered red-tinted images of pinning the Human down and taking him, violently, mindlessly, of biting down hard into that lightly tanned shoulder and reveling in the cool Human red blood that he brought to the surface, marking that body as his and his alone, of aching to satiate the need that consumed him so that he barely even heard Jim's sobs and cries of "please Spock please stop, please you have to stop no stop, god no, Spock please I'm begging you – "
And suddenly Spock found himself begging, "Stop, stop, Jim please stop..." Quickly Jim complied, looking bewildered, as Spock stumbled a step away, clamping a hand over his mouth – he would not vomit, he would not vomit, he would not vomit – and panted for breath and Jim reached for him, hesitant, worried, confused.
"What's wrong?" he asked desperately, brows furrowed. "What happened, what's wrong, Spock?"
Spock could not find the ability to speak and so blindly reached out his other hand. Jim grabbed it – and was suddenly surrounded with flashes of guilt and revulsion and above all, complete terror – absolute, crippling fear of bringing harm to another, of hurting him – and as Spock jerked his hand away Jim understood. He put his hands on Spock's shoulders, turning him so that they faced each other.
"It's okay, it's okay," he said gently as Spock closed his eyes. "I'm okay, see? You didn't hurt me. You're not gonna hurt me, Spock. It's okay, everything's okay, it's gonna be okay..." Slowly Spock's breathing calmed as Jim continued to murmur into his ear, and he straightened up shakily.
"I..." he began faintly. "I apologize..."
"Don't," Jim replied firmly, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry too. Too much too fast... Don't be sorry. We're gonna go at your pace, okay? We're only gonna move as fast as you're comfortable with." He chuckled dryly. "Besides, you're not supposed to fuck on the first date anyway. It's okay. If anything, it's my fault." He rubbed soothing circles on Spock's shoulder with his thumb and hesitantly Spock met his gaze.
"I do want..." he began, hesitated, then said firmly, "I desire to be in a romantic relationship with you." Jim grinned, his eyes brightening
"Of course," he said softly, joy permeating his tone. "Come here." He pulled Spock closer and embraced him and this time Spock did not hesitate to wrap his arms around the smaller man.
He was breathing in Jim's scent and Jim's head rested against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around Jim's torso, and Jim's arms were wrapped around him. Spock closed his eyes, pressed his lips to the Human's dirty-blond hair, and the rest of the world melted away.