Spock was just about to dig into a steaming bowl of plomeek soup when Lieutenant Kirk of the Farragut sat down across from him, grinning in his friendly manner.
Spock blinked at him and said, "May I help you, Lieutenant?"
"Don't let me interrupt your dinner-"
"Thank-"
"Only I was wondering if you could give me the basics on how that ion storm disrupted our ops systems? I'm sure it's something I'm going to see again."
Spock started to speak, frowned, and said, "Have you never encountered an ion storm?"
"Well, yes. But I could use a better understanding of how they work."
Spock forgot about his dinner and fixed Jim Kirk with a wary gaze.
"Lieutenant, this is the sixth question you've asked me today concerning a subject about which I'm sure you are already knowledgable. You have already asked me about diplomatic relations with Andoria-"
"Your thoughts on it were invaluable!"
"And about experiments in the use of neutronium-"
"Well, yes, I've read about that. But I thought a science officer like yourself might have new insights."
"Lieutenant, is there a reason you continually ask me questions to which you already possess answers? Are you testing my knowledge?"
"Not at all, Mr. Spock! I ...suppose I just enjoy listening to Vulcans explain things to me."
Spock raised an eyebrow, perking up slightly. "Do you know many Vulcans?"
"No," Kirk said, resting his chin on his hands. "You're the only one."
"I...do not understand."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Kirk said. "You're the best mind in the fleet after all."
“Let me do that,” Jim says, gently nudging his first officer aside to tend to the fire.
Spock’s face is flushed green from the bitter wind and his hands are shaking. But he still protests, “I assure you, I am fully capable—”
“I know you are,” Jim assures him with a smile. He runs a palm down Spock’s back, leaving it to rest at the base of his spine. "I just want to help.“
Spock relents, probably because he has experience dealing with Jim’s own brand of stubbornness when it comes to Spock’s well-being. He stays close to the fledging flames, his hands clasped tightly together now, in an effort to conserve warmth.
As he concentrates on the fire, Jim berates himself for bringing Spock along on this particular mission. Of course, he couldn’t have known they would be separated from the rest of the landing party—or that their communicators would be rendered useless for reasons they still haven’t discovered.
But he did know that this planet was considerably cooler than Spock could tolerate for long periods. And even though he hadn’t expected to be planetside for more than a few hours, he should have left Spock onboard anyway.
"Recriminations are illogical,” Spock’s says quietly, breaking into Jim’s thoughts and bringing his attention from the fire. Firelight dances in Spock’s brown eyes, shadows playing over the angles in his face and Jim can’t help but reach for him, to draw his fingers down Spock’s jaw.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs, although he means to say something else. The corner of Spock’s mouth lifts a fraction.
“And you are warm."
Jim smiles, slides his thumb over his bondmate’s bottom lip. The fire is crackling between them now. Spock’s still shivering though. ”Come on,” Jim says, letting his hand fall away. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
Spock’s eyebrow arches at that, and Jim laughs softly. ”Not an innuendo this time,” he chuckles.
They have supplies, thankfully, insisted upon by Bones before they left. Thermal blankets and rations. The ground is rocky beneath them, but it doesn’t matter once they’re tangled together, the blankets wrapped tightly around them, the fire hot at their backs.
Spock’s face is nestled in Jim’s neck. His nose is cold, but Jim just pulls him closer. Spock exhales softly, his gratitude fully felt through their bond.
Jim and Spock’s carefully coordinated plan to keep their relationship secret until the end of the five year mission doesn’t end up working out - not for any reason that Jim imagined (he worried he’d flirt too much on duty, if somebody would catch them sneaking around at night, or some bizarre away mission would reveal it to the crew) but because it turns out Spock cannot keep his hands to himself. And not even in a sexy way - no, Spock is straight up cuddly. Jim’s talking holding hands at lunch, giving impromptu back massages on the bridge, sitting way too close to each other on away missions for there to be plausible deniability. And, of course, their ongoing game of oz’esta relay tag whenever one of them relieves the other of duty. Jim’s not complaining - in fact, he prefers this to just about anything their original plan included - but it’s not what he expected. When he brings it up to Spock over dinner one night (“hey, not that I want you to stop - please don’t stop - or anything but what happened to nobody knowing about us and why all the public hand-kissing?”) Spock takes a serene sip of whatever bland-ass soup he’s wrung out of the replicator and fixes Jim with a look that’s somehow sheepish and smug at the same time.
“Jim,” Spock says slowly. “I found that restraining my urge to maintain physical contact with you throughout the day was extremely unpleasant. You voiced no objection, and...dishonesty is illogical in most cases.”
“Uh huh,” Jim says around a bite of terrible, terrible, Bones-ordered salad. “I didnt like not touching you either.”
“If you would like, I could compose an explanatory memo for members of the-“
“No,” Jim said. He grinned at spock. “Plausible deniability if the fleet decides we’re emotionally compromised, or whatever. Plus, I think Pike’s been waiting for us to make an announcement and I want to keep him in the dark for a little while.”
“You two have a most interesting relationship,” Spock says. He reaches his spoon-free hand over the table and slides his fingers over Jim’s wrist, feeling for his pulse in a way that shouldn’t be sexy (no sir, my boyfriend checking my vitals are stable after a minor allergic reaction to peanut oil isn’t hot at all, jim thinks. Definitely not hot at all) and meeting Jim’s gaze with warm, dark eyes.
@gatewaygeek keeps enabling me?? This is a lot shorter than the last but it’s very sweet and fluffy. Not beta read - all mistakes are mine! :)
Jim lived for days like this. The snow outside fell in silent sheets, blanketing the watchful fields and making the darkness even more formidable. Yet inside, a fire roared in the hearth, and his love was leaned against him, and he was drinking tea and reading a classical, hardback novel, and everything was right in the world.
His aforementioned love shifted slightly, stretching out his taut muscles and exhaling slowly as he came out of deep meditation.
He played with his love’s hair, black and silky soft, scratching his scalp lightly with the blunted edges of his fingernails. Jim couldn’t help the dopey grin on his face when he felt Spock purr under him, his torso vibrating with palpable joy.
“Welcome back,” Jim said, lowering his book and shifting so that Spock lay against him more fully. His husband looked up with adoring brown eyes, snuggling into Jim’s chest and leaning into the crook of his neck.
“I was not gone,” Spock murmured, his voice raspy after hours of disuse. “You are simply jealous of my attentions.”
Jim chuckled, continuing to card his fingers through Spock’s hair. “Can you blame me?”
Spock simply closed his eyes and purred louder. A distinctly Vulcan trait that Jim could never get enough of, he had screamed the first time Spock purred with happiness when snuggled up against him in bed. It was an evolutionary trait passed down from Spock’s ancient Vulcan cat-like ancestors. It was a deep rumble from his chest and belly that tuned Jim in to his love’s joy even when his face was an impassable mask.
Pulling the soft blanket closer around Spock’s shoulders, Jim dropped a kiss to his husband’s temple and closed his eyes with a gentle smile on his lips. This was the best life he could imagine; he lived for days like this.
2. Jim has a panic attack (Tarsus) and Spock helps him through it ( for @shipitliketheussenterprise )
It’s a routine meeting with the admiralty, a video call in Jim’s ready room. Pike’s on the screen, along with half a dozen other leaders in the fleet. They meet like this once a month, to review Jim’s logs, to discuss any missions that they may want the Enterprise to undertake.
It’s okay, until one of the other captains who’s patched into the conference brings up a colony that she’d been assigned to take emergency supplies to. Her ship, the Dauphine, had arrived at the planet without a hitch, delivered their supplies, but had chosen to stay on in orbit once they discovered what the settlers were up against in the first place.
“It’s a vine,” Captain Hernandez says, gesturing to the visual aids that appear on screen beside her. “Similar to our Morning Glory on Terra, but exponentially more aggressive. Completely inedible, and its flowers release a kind of gas in the air that seems to have had a detrimental effect on human immune systems. Half the colonists are sick and the other half are starving, Admirals. We’ve taken the worst off into our sick bay but we just don’t have the resources to care for them all, to solve the problem, or to move them off-planet without help.”
Jim can feel the tightness in his chest before the captain finishes speaking. He wraps his fingers around the edge of his desk and digs them into the synthesized wood grain, nods when Admiral Pike asks if the Enterprise would be able to make a detour on their route to Yorktown.
He almost doesn’t notice when the doors to his ready room slide open and Spock steps inside. It shouldn’t be a surprise; as XO, Spock often intrudes on these meetings to observe or, when he has the conn, to present Jim with information or receive his approval for a change in coordinates. Jim notes the moment that Spock realizes that something is wrong; the Vulcan officer pauses, and lowers the PADD held in his hand.
“Captain,” Spock says, voice low. Jim lets his gaze slide away from the vidscreen in front of him to meet that of his first officer.
“Mr. Spock,” Jim says. Even to his own ears, his voice is strained.
“Duty calls, Jim?” Admiral Archer says, jovial despite the subject matter of their meeting. “We’ll sign you off, then. Notify us when you’re within range of Demeter.”
“Yessir,” Jim says, and the vidscreen goes dark. Jim releases his hold on the desk; his hands are shaking. He tries to inhale, but finds that his breath comes in short, quick puffs.
“Jim,” Spock says. Jim feels Spock’s hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he gasps, mind filled with memories- the colony-wide broadcasts, cold nights in the cave with Riley, the taste of rotting wheat in his mouth. “Really sorry - it’s just like - it’s just like it was on -”
“Do not speak,” Spock says. He orders the doors of Jim’s ready-room to lock, and bends over Jim so that both his hands rest on both of Jim’s shoulders. Jim tilts his head back to look at Spock. Somehow, just looking at his first officer’s face makes Jim feel...if not better, then more grounded. Spock holds Jim like that until his breathing evens out, and then moves to the replicator and orders Jim a glass of water.
“You remember our encounter with Kodos,” Jim says, finally. His voice is hoarse.
“Yes,” Spock replies. He returns and Jim takes the glass from Spock. Their hands brush. Spock’s skin is warm and dry in comparison to Jim’s clammy skin.
“There’s a similar situation the Dauphine needs our assistance on. I- I wasn’t prepared, it caught me by surprise.”
“Your reaction is an understandable one,” Spock says. He rests one of his hands on Jim’s neck, thumb stroking at Jim’s hairline, even and calm. Always calm. “Would your prefer that I hold the conn for the duration of this expedition?”
Jim thinks for a moment, and shakes his head.
“No,” Jim says. “Just stick with me. I’ll be okay if you just stick with me.”
once they actually start dating jim discovers that spock’s. Well. He’s cuddly. Maybe not the octopus-arms, PDA, constant attention kind of cuddly, but definitely more than he would have expected from Mr. All-Vulcan-All-The-Time. Still, it’s not that Jim’s going to complain - he knows his XO well enough to know that if he brings it up, Spock might stop touching period.
So Jim does what he does best (okay, so he’s not the best technically, but literally nobody’s memory is better than Spock’s so Jim’s doing his best, okay?) which is catalogue the moments when Spock gets...touchier, and the ones where he isn’t.
Before long, Jim knows to expect the brush of fingers against his shoulder during the change from Alpha to Beta shifts. He can tell by the set of Spock’s jaw when it’s time to find a quiet little corner of the Enterprise to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s jaw. Sometimes, their hands touch when Spock delivers weekly crew logs to the bridge or their knees knock beneath the table at dinner.
The best times are when they’re truly alone - in either of their quarters or in their shared bathroom - because that’s when Jim gets a warm arm around his shoulders, a taste of Spock’s skin, the long press of Spock’s body over his own.
And the worst are when they’re in danger - when Spock’s injured, or the crew’s been captured, or yet another (how many are there? too many) formless alien’s decided that they want to make humans into their playthings and the most Jim can get away with is wrapping his hand around Spock’s wrist and squeezing tight - I love you, Jim wants to say, but never does. I’m so scared I’ll lose you. That you’ll go away.
Jim doesn’t know until later - weeks, maybe months after that first heady crush of teeth and tongues and whispered, secret things - about that one of Spock’s many Vulcan secrets. Touch telepathy. In retrospect, Jim thinks he should have suspected that the cool, infallible calm he felt in those worst moments when he had Spock at his side wasn’t just some testament to the power of their love, but was, in fact, Spock opening his mind to Jim and promising everything he was afraid to ask for.
“And, of course, the menu provides dishes compatible with both my vegetarian diet and your considerably more carnivorous tastes,” Spock says. Jim blinks. He’s aware that sometimes - under stress on a newly discovered planet, usually - Spock has a tendency to over-explain, but somehow he didn’t think that would extend to their first official date outside of the Enterprise mess hall. They’d walked from the hotel which was, as Spock put it, “an homage to traditional courting activities in which many species, including both Human and Vulcan, partake.”
Jim loves him, and it’s taking an amazing amount of willpower not to say so right now, standing in the entrance of a brightly-lit Lebanese restaurant and inhaling the composite scent of warm dinners and watching the tips of Spock’s ears turn green because … because Jim’s waited too long to say something.
“I believe many authentic appetizers are offered,” Spock says. “Hummus. Baba Ghanouj. Falafel. I thought we might have Baklava for - Jim.”
“Yeah, Spock,” Jim says, and smiles widely as, for the first time in the last hour, Spock turns to meet his gaze.
“You are holding my hand.”
Jim gives said hand a squeeze, just in case Spock’s still having a moment. Spock clears his throat. Fascinating.
“Let’s get a table,” Jim says. “Order some Arak, and you can tell me all about the upgrades the lab’s getting.”
Spock nods. Jim leans closer.
“Then, if you want, I might even let you kiss me.”
“Jim,” Spock says. His eyes are warm, the Vulcan equivalent of a smile. “You always allow me to kiss you.”
“Exactly,” Jim says. He inclines his head toward the waiting hostess standing in the restaurant’s waiting area. “Let’s get this party started.
“What?” Pike says. He looks up from his PADD to where Una stands by the replicator, waiting for a mug of coffee.
“Spock,” Una says. “And Jimmy Kirk.” It’s early enough in the day that neither of them have started the process of getting ready for the day. Una is wearing one of Pike’s old uniform shirts, with the god-awful yellow turtleneck. Her hair spills dark over it, obscuring part of her face when the replicator finally beeps and she turns to retrieve her drink. Pike smiles.
“What gave you that idea,” he says. “They’re as different as you and me.”
Una flops into one of the chairs around their dining table and sticks her feet in Pike’s lap.
“We’ve been married for over a decade,” she says. “But go on.”
“They don’t even like each other,” Pike says. He puts down his PADD. “I had both of them in my office yesterday to complain about having to work together. At the same time. Partway through the meeting, Spock started proofreading Jim’s paperwork.”
“Hm.” Una shrugs. She lifts her mug to her lips. Pike sighs.
“Why do you think they’re in love,” he says, knowing full well that she’s already got some trump card up her sleeve.
“Well,” Una says. “I have it on good authority- from our favorite Scotsman down in engineering- that they seemed to be enjoying each other’s company pretty enthusiastically last night. If you know what I mean.”
“No.” Pike leaned forward. “Tell me everything.”
“Scotty just told me they volunteered to upgrade the thermal positioning system - since it’s an hours long upgrade and nobody else could monitor its progress last night. He went down to see how things were going and, uh, you know how those pipes echo.”
Pike did. Not that he cared to remember the embarrassment that had followed that little escapade.
“The kids weren’t exactly caught in flagrante delicto, but Scotty heard some pretty choice Vulcan endearments before they heard him coming and shut up.”
“Spock was sweet talking Jim Kirk?” Pike removed Una’s legs from his lap and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “ They’re never gonna live this down. I love you so much. Where’s my jacket?”
“On the hook,” Una says. “You’re a beautiful disaster, Admiral.”
“Back at you,” Pike yells from their bedroom. “Can you believe they’re in love?”
