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Chapter Text

Kirk pushed him away, the foreign shape and moisture of Gary’s lips still lingering on his. “What the hell are you doing?”

Gary shook his head with a disbelieving little laugh. “Well, I thought maybe you’d grown up from the little tease you were at the Academy.”

His voice was soft and flirtatious, not cruel, which only made Kirk more confused and humiliated. Blood rushed to his face. How had he given the impression— and apparently more than once— that there was anything between them other than friendship?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever you think this is, it… it isn’t that.”

“Oh my god,” Gary said under his breath. He continued with a little more sympathy. “You really don’t know, do you? You can’t even tell when you’re flirting if it isn’t with a woman.”

“You thought I was— coming on to you? Is your ego really so—”

“This isn’t about my ego, Jim!” Gary cut in. “For god’s sake, this is about—” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re a time traveller from the era of one of those old books you like to read. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed,” he said defiantly. “I’m just not— I know what I am.”

“You’re not ashamed, but you can’t even say it?” The frustration had crept back into Gary’s voice. “Gay, bisexual, whatever it is— they’re just words. They’re useful words for some of us, but there are shades of— I mean, hell, you could permit yourself a little nuance…” Kirk remained silent. Gary scrutinized him, a look of almost-sadness in his blue eyes. He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, Jim. It’s fine, really. Say I… misread the situation.”

“You did.” Kirk heard the breathless stubbornness in his own voice, and didn’t like it.

“All right,” he said, nodding. There was a brief silence. Kirk licked his lips, and then realised he was licking away the saliva from Gary’s mouth. His heart sped up.

“And you won’t… tell anyone?”

Gary raised his chin toward the ceiling for a second, a rueful smile lingering at the corners of his mouth as he replied. “Believe it or not, I’m not itching to let the world know I made a pass at one of my closest friends and got rejected. If it’s like you say, there’s nothing for me to tell.”

Kirk nodded distantly. “Right.”

“Listen… self-confidence is great and all, just— don’t let it be the enemy of self-discovery. I know you love rules, but even starship captains are allowed to live a little.” He clapped him on the upper arm, which jarred Kirk back into his body. “Go sleep it off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A few days later, after replaying the incident countless times in his mind, Kirk decided he needed a second opinion on whether he’d somehow given Gary the wrong idea. McCoy had been the only one he trusted with the knowledge of the little misunderstanding. But though he’d listened sympathetically, the doctor was unusually tight-lipped with his opinions.

“I’m not saying you weren’t within your rights to say no,” said McCoy, “I only mean that as an objective third party, and based on prior, uh, observational data… I could see how he might’ve thought you’d respond differently.”

“Why, though?” Kirk prodded. “What’ve I done that was…”

“Well, for one, there was that thing with the two of you and his old girlfriend.”

Blushing, Kirk shrugged as if he’d practically forgotten about the incident between them some months earlier— just before he’d taken command of the Enterprise— which he certainly hadn’t. “We had a few drinks. She had a particular fantasy, they asked me to help fulfill it. It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Gary and I hardly even looked at each other.”

That also wasn’t exactly true. The two men hadn’t touched at all, but the positioning for the main event had made it a bit difficult to avoid each other’s gaze. To not visually track the path of a bead of sweat as it made its way from Gary’s neck down his collarbone and into the hair on his chest. To ignore the slaps and groans as Gary pounded into her. But that was no different than looking at porn, he’d reasoned, afterwards. Two people enjoying themselves during sex was a completely natural thing to find arousing, perhaps even if those people happened to be your real-life friends.

“If you say so,” McCoy replied, dubious. “But come on, Jim, you can’t pretend the way you show affection with Gary is the same as it is with me, for instance.”

“That’s not fair,” Kirk protested.

“Why not?” McCoy said, folding his arms, a gleam in his eye. “If we’re both just friends to you, how come I’m never the recipient of any of those long looks across the bridge?”

Kirk gave him a withering glare. “Forget I asked.”

“I didn’t mean to tease.” McCoy softened, grabbing Kirk’s arm when he made to turn away. “I’m only saying— why are you being so hard on yourself? It makes no difference to anyone else’s life if you feel some attraction, some form of interest in him, even if you don’t want to do anything about it.”

“He’s a good friend, Bones. That’s all.”

“Then what are you crying to me for, if you’ve got it all figured out already? If nothing about how you’ve acted stands out to you in any particular way, then just call it a misunderstanding and move on with your life.”

“Thank you, I will,” Kirk snapped, and left.

Later, they both apologised for losing their patience, but they didn’t talk about it anymore. Which was good, seeing as there wasn’t anything to talk about. And things mostly went back to normal between him and Gary, which was good, too. Except Kirk started to wonder if the occasional competitive edge he saw between Gary and Spock was something new, or if it had always been there, and he was only noticing it now because he’d started paying closer attention to Gary’s behaviour after that kiss.

He never got the chance to find out.

Chapter Text

Spock could not pinpoint when, precisely, he had begun wanting to touch Kirk. He could, however, pinpoint the moment when he had realised he wanted to touch Kirk. It had been when Dr McCoy had sent him to the captain’s quarters, perhaps believing that Spock’s strength might be needed to subdue him after his behaviour in sickbay. Of course at that point, they hadn’t known that the half of Kirk that had demanded the brandy was not the half that was in the captain’s quarters, still only half-dressed when Spock arrived.

He had seen Kirk without his shirt before, so that was not what had affected him, in particular. Though Spock was aware of his own attraction to male bodies, it was irrelevant in this case: he’d always been able to clearly delineate between his professional duties and his personal curiosities. The Captain remained his superior officer whether he were dressed or not. So perhaps it had been seeing that isolated, softer half of his personality— so unguarded and tender, his gaze openly trusting as he looked back at Spock— that had made Spock’s response so shocking and powerful. It had been difficult to imagine the man who faced him in Kirk’s quarters grabbing his friend the doctor and forcefully demanding brandy. It had not been difficult to imagine that man permitting Spock to run his fingers over the bare, muscular arms and chest. To imagine that man caressing Spock’s hair as Spock kissed and licked at a soft pink nipple.

He’d stood half-frozen in the doorway with the fear that his inappropriate line of thought was somehow audible; and Kirk denied having been to sickbay at all, which only compounded Spock’s confusion, but thankfully, gave him something to focus on other than Kirk’s body and the immediacy of his own uninvited desire. When the crisis had been dealt with, and both halves of Kirk reunited as one, he had examined his reactions in meditation.

Spock had, since Kirk became captain, been impressed with his seemingly innate ability to command; to make difficult choices with the proper consideration and in the proper amount of time; to know when a situation called for a firm hand or a gentle one; to connect on that so-called human level so easily with so many. Now he saw that the ability was not innate, but rather something Kirk was driven to, something he had worked to cultivate. He had a critical and dynamic mind, a way of viewing things that did not always occur to others, a strong adherence to duty and self-control. The animal part of the Captain that had gone to Rand’s quarters was balanced by the compassionate part that had spoken so sweetly to Spock. It was fairly similar to the way the passions of his own people were balanced and subdued by their logic. He could well relate to Kirk’s desire not to embrace the less favourable aspects of himself.

In that vein, Kirk seldom chose to indulge in sexual or romantic companionship, at least to Spock’s knowledge. It was made explicitly clear that the Captain found liaisons with subordinate officers— something not expressly forbidden by Starfleet so much as ignored when discreet, and frowned upon when otherwise— to be disruptive to the chain of command. Spock therefore had not had enough opportunity to determine whether it was possible Kirk found him attractive in the same way.

For Vulcans, it was fairly common not to show sexual preference for one gender over any other, as it was more logical to value the connection of the minds. Though many humans seemed to favour a similar approach, it was still somewhat more common for a human to be inclined toward heterosexuality exclusively, or homosexuality exclusively. Indeed, T’Pring had believed it was Spock’s human blood that gave him an increased desire for physical sexual activity, which he found largely unsatisfying with partners who were not male. They’d thus agreed that pursuing other partners would be acceptable for either of them, and that if Spock found someone he believed would be more suitable for himself as a bondmate, they could then renegotiate their betrothal.

He’d felt somewhat conflicted about this, as the custom for Vulcans of their class did not allow T’Pring the same freedom to simply choose to bond with another without his agreement to dissolve their link. Though their decision benefited them both as best as it could given the circumstances, and she bore it with her usual collected neutrality, she deserved to be more than the safety net for a man who did not truly want her. Freeing her from her obligation to him would perhaps be the right thing to do, the kind thing to do. But he was not quite brave or selfless enough. He could face the disappointment of his parents and his clan; he was used to that. But he feared his Time. He was afraid he would be forced to endure the shame of requiring one of the priests or priestesses who saw unbonded Vulcans through pon farr, or worse, if he were not near enough to Vulcan, to die alone and in agony.

Feeling his heart rate increase, Spock forced himself to settle it and refocus. This line of thought had little to do with the matter at hand, which was how to manage his attraction to Kirk while he determined whether or not it might be returned.

He thought of Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, Kirk’s friend who had been killed early in their mission, an unfortunate event which had unexpectedly promoted Spock to the position of first officer. There was a long friendship between the two men, one which was referenced in personal anecdotes and memories, inside jokes which made no sense to Spock. But he had also noted its differences when compared to Kirk’s friendship with McCoy, which was certainly as important to him and nearly as long-running, or even his friendship with Uhura, whom he’d also known for some time. There had been an observable tension between Kirk and Mitchell which sometimes raised Spock’s hackles, though he wouldn’t have been able to define it if asked. He occasionally felt, when alone with the two of them, that the room could not hold the energy of all three. Spock was often the one to leave, in those cases. He had never been able to determine the particular nature of the relationship between the two humans— not to mention it was hardly his business. Humans were complex, ruled by many emotions that were strange to him.

Was it possible there had existed, at one time, a romantic or sexual relationship between James Kirk and Gary Mitchell? Spock hypothesised that it was. But his own vague observations of comparatively altered behaviour were hardly proof, and he was not about to ask Kirk himself, nor McCoy or someone else who might be more privy to Kirk’s personal life. In any case, it would only prove that Kirk was at one time capable of being attracted to that particular man; it would not lead to much further clarity on whether or not he was attracted to Spock.

Spock considered Kirk’s interest in people other than Mitchell. He had expressed some fleeting interest in women (both human and alien) whom he found attractive, and spoke on occasion with fondness about women from his past, so he clearly experienced both sexual and romantic attraction in some form or another. The fact that he had so far only mentioned women when referring to these did not necessarily preclude interest in those of other genders.

With all this in mind, Spock was able to identify the main objectives he needed to achieve to overcome his problem. Both objectives needed affirmation in order to initiate action. Proving one and disproving the other would necessitate the same result as both being disproved. His objectives were:

1. To determine if Kirk were attracted to him, and if so, whether that attraction were
   1. romantic,
   2. sexual, or
   3. both.
2. To determine if Kirk’s disinclination to pursue intimate relationships with those under his command extended to all ranks and stations, or whether there were a line wherein he might consider a potential partner if they were
   1. near enough to him in rank to be considered outside of inappropriate command influence, and
   2. capable of continuing to adequately serve the ship without either party becoming emotionally compromised.

If both proved true, it would be a simple matter of making his own intentions known, thus initiating the appropriate courtship based on their desires. If neither (or only one) proved to be true, then Spock would manage his feelings on his own in order to preserve his excellent working relationship with the Captain. He exited his meditation feeling clear-headed and determined, though with a mild sense of anxiety. His objectives would be difficult to achieve without giving himself away.

Spock had not much bothered to consider his own disinclination towards what humans thought of as ‘romance’. It followed, in his logical mind, that if he and Kirk found each other attractive, enjoyed one another’s company, and had many shared values and ambitions, that any partnership they chose would be rewarding for them both. Love was not a necessary element.

In the weeks following that enlightening meditation, Spock did little to alter his own behaviour, though he did study the Captain more closely. Although he enjoyed having given himself permission to look at Kirk more often, and to spend more time with him when possible, he was not able to detect any empirical evidence that Kirk would either welcome or disdain a change in their relationship. More involved strategies would perhaps become necessary.

They completed two fairly routine missions, a mineralogical survey of an uninhabited planet, and the delivery of emergency supplies to a colony that had recently suffered a seismic disaster. The subsequent mission at planet M-113 ought to have gone similarly: a short stopover to conduct a medical examination of an archeologist and his wife at an isolated outpost, per Starfleet’s requirements. Spock was left in command of the bridge while McCoy, a security officer, and the Captain (who’d stayed aboard the previous two missions and was clearly growing restless) beamed down to the planet. Spock had overheard some talk between Kirk and McCoy indicating that the woman, Nancy, had some past history with the doctor. It was of little interest to him, but he nevertheless stored the information as potentially relevant until the mission was completed.

While they were gone, Spock used some of his time on the bridge to review the department heads’ logs. When he pointed out an error in the communications log to Uhura, she had seemed in a strange mood, trying to engage him in all manner of frivolous conversation. She was one of the few who was comfortable enough with him to tease or joke with him occasionally, which he normally didn’t mind. Indeed, he found her an interesting conversationalist, but he was in command, and she, responsible for the communications console. This was not the appropriate time to discuss things outside of their duties, and he responded accordingly. It was difficult to tell whether her annoyance was genuine.

They were interrupted by the transporter room informing him that the landing party was returning, reporting one death. Spock took in the information and immediately dismissed the part of his mind that wondered if the dead man were the Captain. He worked to stabilise the quickened pace of his heart as he pressed the button to reply.

“Bridge acknowledging.” Spock stared straight ahead, focusing his controls. His heart rate was not responding adequately to his commands to return it to its usual pace.

“I don’t believe it,” Uhura said, stepping up to the command chair again.

He turned his head slightly, but did not meet her gaze, certain he would give something of himself away if he did so. “Explain,” he managed in a voice that sounded more like his father’s than his own to his ears.

“You explain. That means that somebody is dead and you just… sit there! It could be Captain Kirk, he’s the closest thing you have to a friend.”

That was indeed a matter he had been considering over the past weeks, though of course Uhura would not have known it. Vulcans did not tend to use the word ‘friend’ lightly. They favoured words which accurately specified the nature of the relationship— one for professional colleagues, one for fellow clan members who were not blood relatives, one for schoolmates, and so on. Humans had similar words and did use them, but the word ‘friend’ was rather ubiquitous. It was used often and with abandon; people of many years’ acquaintance sometimes receiving the same standing in language as people who’d met in a drinking establishment two hours earlier. Even in more than a decade living among humans, Spock remained uncertain who in his life qualified as a ‘friend’ to him. Perhaps Captain Pike, though he could be considered more of a mentor, as they rarely had cause to speak now that they were no longer stationed together. Perhaps Ms Uhura, though ‘trusted colleague’ would also be accurate. What criteria did one use to evaluate ‘friendship’?

“Lieutenant, my demonstration of concern will not change what happened,” he replied, with finality. “The transporter room is very well-manned and they will call if they need my assistance.” He continued to stare straight ahead, unwilling to subject himself to whatever emotion would no doubt be visible on her face. Uhura, however, chose to keep any responses to herself, other than a very slight huff of breath as she let go of the captain’s chair and returned to her console.

It had been confirmed shortly after that the dead man was in fact not Kirk, but the security officer Darnell, and the ensuing mystery which resulted in several more dead crewmen allowed Spock to ignore his emotional response to the possibility that it was Kirk who had been killed. At least, it had until the salt-subsisting changeling had turned its hungry maw upon Kirk. Spock arrived just in time to witness McCoy, unable to see past the face of his old lover and seemingly deaf to Spock’s shouts, hesitating while holding the phaser. And Spock, in his panic, was too clumsy to free it from the doctor’s grip. Opting not to waste further time, he insinuated himself between the immobilised Kirk and the alien, striking her— no, it— repeatedly until it steadied itself to hit Spock back with unimaginable strength. He collapsed against the wall where the force of the backhand had thrown him.

“Is that Nancy, Doctor?” he asked again, weakly, and the creature transformed, but only the Captain’s screams of pain as it touched him finally seemed to unlock McCoy’s ability to fire. Spock watched in horror as the alien morphed back into the woman’s form, calling the doctor by his first name in a final plea for mercy before he fired again. And Spock felt a morphing within himself, his relief now that Kirk was safe dissolving into shame over his emotional response, necessary though it had been to rouse McCoy from his own emotions. He now also felt pity for this creature whose life he had deemed less valuable than Kirk’s. Most Vulcans would agree that sacrifice, even death, was sometimes necessary in order to preserve lives— this creature had killed, would kill again, unhesitatingly. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. But it was unfortunate that this had been the last of its kind. Perhaps, in another circumstance, it could have been preserved. Kaiidth.

And he was affected again, by Kirk’s compassion. Kirk, who moments earlier had nearly been killed: expressing regret to McCoy for what he’d had to do. For the loss of a woman whom McCoy had already lost years earlier, a woman who’d been killed herself by this very creature. There was no logic to it.

Spock considered all this later, in his meditation, accepting that for humans there was not a singular way to grieve. He focused his kash-tepul on the dead creature and its species, on Nancy and her husband, on the lost crewmen, using the Vulcan tradition of visualising their eternal energies rejoining the fabric of the universe. But as he did so, he permitted himself one more moment of illogic: gratitude that the universe had not chosen that day to take back the Captain. The closest thing he had to a friend.

Nurse Chapel’s confession had disturbed him. It was not particularly because of her feelings— he had been aware of those for some time— but the bald-faced openness with which she expressed them, thrust them upon him, forced him to look at them. Her usual professionalism gone, he had stood in frozen horror as she took his hand, stroking it with hers as she spoke in reference to some unnamed violence that made him briefly panic about what she had heard or seen and where, but then there was no time to concern himself with that, because as she spoke of love he realised he could sense her feelings. Bile rose in his throat. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with him.

He could not recall a time when he’d wanted to feel someone’s emotions less, but her desperate hope, her loneliness, her sad fixation which she thought of as love, seeped into his mind and he realised he was becoming helpless to his own feelings, his fear, his pity for her, his almost uncontainable frustration with this mysterious illness that was making all the humans act so very illogically. She was obviously afflicted— thanks to Riley, most probably— but seemed to have no understanding of this fact and did not respond to Spock’s attempts to divert her focus. She cornered him against the wall and touched his face and clutched his hand and pressed her unwelcome lips to his knuckle and made him speak her first name. Oh, why must he feel so desperately sorry for her?

When he was finally able to gently free himself, distantly he realised that he too must be affected, somehow; he had foolishly believed his Vulcanness would make him invulnerable. But it was only a faint flicker of understanding in the back of his mind, secondary to the overwhelming flood of his own emotions.

Spock heard his name on the intercom, Uhura’s voice, requesting he come to the bridge in Kirk’s absence. The bridge! He could not answer her. How could he go to the bridge? It was taking all of his control to keep his emotions from leaking out of him the way human emotions did, in so many movements of their mouths and eyes, in their voices. Their tears. Tears! Almost the moment he thought of them he felt the burning behind his eyes like a prophecy, and his desperation intensified as he moved through the corridor.

He had to make it to the bridge, but no one could see him like this, it would be humiliation beyond anything he could endure. Pausing, trying to compose himself, he noticed he was leaning on the wall directly outside Briefing Room 2. Yes, he would step inside just for a moment, just to recompose himself. He would banish these sorrowful emotions, these thoughts of love which Chapel’s silly fantasies had stirred to the surface of his mind. The door opened and he collapsed back against it, sobbing with the relief of being alone again. Sobbing? When was the last time he had shed even a single tear? Spock shook himself, curling his right hand into a fist. “I am in control of my emotions.”

Vulcans did not cry. Vulcans did not lose control of their emotions. But Vulcans also did not lie.

Nurse Chapel was right about one thing she’d said. “You hide it, but you do have feeling.” Vulcan emotions were even more powerful than human; the intensity of these was why Surak had deemed logic so essential to the survival of their people. So it must be his human blood, the human parts of his mind, that made him so weak that he could not control this. That had always been the problem. His peers, his teachers, they had all known it. His mother was the only one who had never shamed him for it, and he had not permitted her visible human emotions to affect him.

His mother? He did not have time to think about her. There were duties to attend to. He was needed on the bridge. But the traitorous sobs that rose in his throat did not care. It was too late to help himself now. The affliction was too powerful. None of his focus strategies were working— not grounding his energy with his hands, not working simple mathematical equations in his mind like a mantra— there was nothing that could staunch the bleeding of all the things he chose not to feel.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, to Uhura, to Kirk, to his mother, to no one. There was no way he could command the bridge in this state. He had failed in his duty as an officer. He had failed her as a son. Did humans feel sadness like this? Loneliness, like this? Longing, like this?

In utter despair, he did the only thing he could do: he gave in. He lowered his head to his hands on the desk, his body shaking with the sobs he fed to the empty room.

He didn’t know how long he sat there wallowing before he heard the door open. It was the Captain. The man who was perhaps his friend, a man who was deeply acquainted with love, emotion. Here was someone who could understand! Before he could stop himself, he felt his pathetic feelings spilling out of his mouth. Even as he distantly registered that Kirk was trying to tell him something, something possibly important, nothing seemed as important as this; if he didn’t say these things now, he might never be able to. It seemed absolutely imperative that he exorcise these feelings the way humans did.

Kirk grabbed him by the arms and pulled him out of his chair, shaking him. Somewhere separate from his whirling pool of shame and sadness and self-pity and regret, Spock noticed that he enjoyed the touch, the firm press of his fingertips and thumbs into his flesh, but it did not stop him from talking. Not even when Kirk’s frustration grew to the point that Spock felt the slap of his hand across his cheek. The surprise of it was jarring. It hurt somewhat, and his controls were so destroyed he could do little to prevent his body from responding to the pain, but he could not stop—

“Jim, when I feel friendship for you—” the word was not quite right as he knew friendship was not a feeling, but he could do no better, not with enough awareness to know that he did not want to be like Chapel, throwing his desires upon a man who did not want him— “I’m ashamed.” He was not ashamed of his physical attraction to Kirk. Sexual activity and release was logical and necessary for many, including himself. It was the nature of his attraction that felt shameful, for he’d been finding it more difficult to divorce from his loyalties to Kirk, his wish for closeness between them that went beyond what duty required of them, beyond thoughts of how they might please each other physically.

Kirk slapped him again, hard, both cheeks this time. Spock caught his hand by the third one, holding him in place easily. He felt Kirk’s palm and fingers pressed to his in a way that might normally have made Spock blush. He sensed the desperation and fear in Kirk’s emotions through their touch. The shock of it, along with the bloom of pain in his face, had allowed him to comprehend Kirk’s request properly at last, but it was hopeless. Impossible. It no longer mattered…

“Understand, Jim… I’ve spent a whole lifetime learning to hide my feelings.”

As Kirk’s hand again made contact with his cheek, Spock felt his own frustration peaking. He needed him to understand. Did Kirk not realise Spock might never be able to speak these things aloud again? He felt his own hand rise, slapping Kirk with a force he had not had the mental control to contain, and watched in helpless terror as his Captain tumbled over the briefing room table.

Captain! Jim! The thought that he’d hurt him brought Spock back to his senses. It was still difficult to focus, but he began to regain some of his controls, containing the more severe effects on his consciousness. He leaned his hands on the table, steadying himself and organising his thoughts as Kirk got to his feet, apparently not harmed significantly, though Spock noticed with a pang that there was a spot of blood at the corner of his mouth. The intermix formula…

By then, of course, the Captain was also afflicted, and Spock’s assessment of the risks was interspersed with Kirk’s ramblings. “Love… you’re better off without it,” he said bitterly, “and I’m better off without mine.” He was speaking of the ship, Spock realised, even before he said it. “This vessel… I give, and she takes. She won’t permit me my life, I’ve got to live hers.” Kirk loved nothing more than his ship, and it cost him everything else. He did understand Spock’s loneliness, then. Whether he knew it or not, he understood it.

“Jim…” he began, but Kirk was hardly listening.

“I’ve got a beautiful yeoman,” he said. Sweat was collecting on Kirk’s face, and Spock felt a powerful urge to run his tongue along the bow of his upper lip and taste it. “Have you noticed her, Mr Spock? You’re allowed to notice her.”

Spock felt his head tilt in confusion. Surely Kirk must know…? Others on the ship seemed to have gleaned Spock’s preferences. If Kirk were to ask him, he would give the information freely, but now hardly seemed the time. They had three minutes to save the ship. If the ship were Kirk’s greatest love, Spock would do all he could to save it for him, for all the crew members under their command. The other matters could be dealt with later. Or perhaps, not at all. If Kirk had made up his mind that everything he had to offer belonged to the ship, then Spock would respect it. More information was still needed.

Once he returned to the bridge from engineering, he went straight to the captain’s chair. “Are you all right, Jim?” he asked quietly. The shoulder of his shirt was torn, and he was still sweating, but his face seemed calmer. Dr McCoy was there…

Kirk had not exactly answered. “Are you?” he asked, with an apologetic half-smile. Spock found himself returning the minute smile as he nodded. It seemed intrinsically understood that they would not discuss with anyone else what had happened in the briefing room. But neither would they discuss it with each other. Spock found himself, illogically, both relieved and disappointed.

Chapter Text

Kirk nearly always removed the top half of the unfortunate Starfleet workout clothing— skintight leggings and a matching short robe in a shade of red that looked good on hardly anyone (except Uhura, who looked good in everything). He was comfortable with his body, and the robe always got sweaty so quickly. But the first time Spock, who was generally covered from neck to toe in long sleeves and pants no matter the situation, had removed his, Kirk had been caught a little off guard by the sight of the dark hair covering his firm chest, the thick trail leading down his abdomen to his navel.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting— maybe he hadn’t thought Vulcans had much body hair to speak of— but he’d found himself almost disturbed by it. Not that body hair in and of itself bothered him, of course; it was more that it made Spock’s body seem suddenly sexual in a way Kirk had never considered him to be. Spock had always just been… well, Spock. It had never occurred to Kirk to wonder about Spock’s private life, not in that way. Sure, he endured the good-natured jokes about his disinterest in women, but Spock had never shown much in the way of preference or attraction to anyone that Kirk could remember. He wasn’t sure if it was a Vulcan thing or what, but it was none of his business, regardless.

He’d then realised he was staring, and turned away to drink from his water bottle. Spock hadn’t given any indication he’d even noticed him looking, let alone cared. The heat in Kirk’s face had been from exertion, not embarrassment.

The sight was familiar enough now, so on the uncommon occasions Spock chose to remove the robe, it no longer affected him. Not that it ever had, in particular. He’d just been surprised.

Sometimes, if they were both in the training rooms together, Kirk would follow along with one of Spock’s more straightforward Vulcan martial arts practices. Watching Spock move through the poses, he’d mistakenly believed it was something like tai chi until he’d ventured to try it himself for the first time, and emerged coated in sweat, his muscles shaking with the effort involved. Spock had been encouraging about it, in his way. “Vulcan muscle control is quite different from that of humans, Captain. I am certain the asumi will become more natural to you, with practice.”

Other times, they’d run on treadmills side by side— boring, but necessary, not only to keep his heart in a condition that would meet McCoy’s approval in quarterly physicals, but because he never knew when he’d need to chase someone down, or outrun a wild animal, or get back to a shuttle before a natural disaster struck, or what have you. They’d talk until Kirk was too breathless to make good conversation. He didn’t know if Spock’s Vulcan physiology required the same level of upkeep, but Kirk appreciated the companionship nonetheless, since the time passed more quickly with something to pay attention to other than the timer on his machine.

Sparring was another necessity, as Starfleet required active duty officers to be adequately prepared for hand-to-hand combat. Many of the crew had at first been reluctant to spar with Kirk, but once they’d seen him do so a few times with Gary, others gradually grew to want their own turn to face the captain. After Gary’s death this curiosity had only increased. Possibly people were hoping to keep Kirk from feeling the loss of his friend too keenly, without making him uncomfortable by vocally showing sympathy. Or possibly they just wanted an acceptable excuse to roundhouse kick their captain. Either way, he appreciated it. By the time they were six months into the mission, he’d sparred multiple times with Sulu (quick and agile), Giotto (like a wall), Harrison (fought similarly to Kirk), and Spock.

Kirk appreciated that Spock was so much stronger than he, because it was good practice for the all-too-frequent occasions in which he’d be forced to clumsily fight his way out of one away mission predicament or another. He rarely expected to win fights solely based on strength. Kirk was by no means weak— in fact, out of everyone on the ship, his upper body strength was probably outstripped only by Spock himself and some of the security personnel. But he was perceptive and wily which were easier to rely on in many situations, so when he did need to fight, he tried to use those skills to the best of his ability no matter the fitness level of his opponent.

In this Spock was helpful, as Kirk was often able to get him off-balance simply by doing something so unexpected he was taken by surprise, even managing to weasel his way out of Spock’s pins from time to time. You couldn’t call it fighting dirty, because there were no set rules. And Spock never complained.

They were alone in a training room; there had been a small crowd who’d watched them at the beginning, but they’d trickled away over the course of the half hour or so they’d been there. Kirk’s robe lay crumpled on the bench next to his water bottle and towel. He’d taken it off before they’d started, not wanting to give Spock any extra leeway in being able to grab onto him with those quick hands of his. But Kirk was finding it hard to concentrate on staying on his feet.

They were only a couple of days out from the fiasco with Chapel’s fiancé. Chapel was still on compassionate leave, at McCoy’s (and Kirk’s) insistence. His heart ached for her loss, and the loss of Matthews and Rayburn, killed in the line of duty because of Kirk’s trust in Korby. But selfishly, he was thinking about the words he’d used to tip off Spock that it wasn’t him who’d beamed back to the ship from Korby’s lab. Words that Spock had shared when Kirk had innocently asked him, after some reminiscence about primary school, about his own experience. Children could be so cruel about any form of difference, and Vulcan children were apparently no different. ‘Half-breed’… Kirk didn’t even like saying it in his mind, much less out loud, but it was the first thing that had popped into his head when he’d needed something powerful.

“Yield, Captain?” Spock said above him. Kirk was face down on the mat, panting, sweaty, his right arm held behind his back. Spock was astride his thighs, and although he wasn’t actually putting much weight on him, Kirk could feel the energy of his body as he hovered over him.

“Yes, all right, I yield,” he said quickly. “What’s that, four in a row for you, now? You’re merciless today.” Spock let him go and stood up. Kirk slowly brought himself to his feet, facing away from Spock. There was a faint throbbing in his abdomen as he walked to the bench at the edge of the room to take a drink from his water bottle and towel off his face.

“I believe you said at the start of our session for me not to hold back,” said Spock’s voice somewhere behind him.

“I suppose I did, I just didn’t realise you’d apparently been holding out on me before,” Kirk said, turning back to face him.

“You must realise the full extent of my strength could injure you severely. But I have not altered my methods today compared to any other time in the past,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I suggest that if you feel you’re being bested unfairly, perhaps your focus is elsewhere,” he continued somewhat uncertainly. “Shall we continue this another time, Jim?”

Spock was giving him an out, which he could easily take. But as they stared at each other from several metres apart, the use of his first name had snagged in Kirk’s mind. Spock used it often enough; it should not have made him feel anything at all. But Kirk was still thinking about what the android duplicate of himself had said to Spock. Spock had borne it, understanding its necessity as Kirk had known he would. And though there’d been some friendly teasing between them later about the crudeness of it, Kirk hadn’t exactly apologised. Perhaps he ought to.

He wondered if on some level, he was letting Spock tackle and pin him without trying too hard to fight it, because he felt he deserved it. Mentally he gave himself a shake. He’d centre himself, put in his best effort for one more round, and then apologise to Spock afterward, properly.

“I think I’ve got one more in me.” He turned to put the water bottle and towel back down on the bench. “Let’s go.”

“Very well, Captain.”

Kirk turned around and saw Spock removing his robe, laying it over the bench behind him. They’d been at it awhile; possibly he’d gotten warm, too. It took a lot to make a Vulcan sweat, but there was a bit of a flush in his cheeks. Moving back to the centre of the mat, they faced each other, circling slowly. “Ready?”

“I am.”

They spent a few minutes making little contact, blocking hits and knocking each other’s hands away as they tried to grab for one another. Kirk darted in from one side, trying to get Spock’s feet out from under him, but Spock dodged easily, coming around behind him. Spinning quickly to face him again, Kirk struck at him with his right hand, and felt Spock’s strong fingers close around his forearm. He twisted out of the grip with difficulty while bringing one foot around the back of Spock’s leg, trying again to knock him off his feet. He made contact, but Spock stayed steady and managed to get hold of both his arms this time, the right one drawn up at one side toward his face, the left one held immobilised behind his back. Their opposing efforts had the effect of bringing their bodies closer together, thigh to thigh, Kirk’s sweaty torso slipping occasionally against Spock’s bare skin.

He kept up his attempts with the leg he’d hooked around him, using Spock’s body to maintain his balance, lifting his knee a little higher as he felt Spock attempting to push him to the floor. If he could just nudge the back of his knee enough to dislodge the firm plant of his feet—

To his surprise, it worked. Spock’s left foot flew out a little in front of him, and Kirk used his own centre of gravity to knock him backward. They fell to the mat together, Spock’s grip on his arms loosening as he fell, and Kirk freed his left arm, managing to get Spock’s right wrist pinned down beside them as he landed on top of him. It all seemed remarkably easy, suddenly. Spock struggled a little beneath him, twisting his hips where they were pinned between Kirk’s thighs, pushing back with the grip he still had on Kirk’s right arm as Kirk tried to press that one, too, down to the mat. Kirk was aware of the breath from Spock’s nose, the sweat along his own hairline and upper lip. This was good. He felt strong, capable, alive.

With his thighs tense with the effort of holding him down, Kirk focused the strength in his right arm, making some headway in pushing Spock’s left toward the mat. They both grunted with the strain. Kirk, feeling his bicep starting to shake, let out a noise of frustration and finally got Spock’s arm to the mat. Spock wasn’t putting much effort into trying to unseat him from his position, so Kirk gathered he was ready to call it.

“Yield?” Kirk said, breathing hard. He felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead to the tip of his nose, where it dripped onto Spock’s cheek and trailed down toward his left earlobe. Kirk noticed Spock’s nostrils flare minutely, and remembered that Vulcans had a stronger sense of smell than humans. Spock stared back at him, something strange in his eyes as he panted slightly. There was a flash of movement, his tongue licking over his lips before he replied.

“Yield, Captain.”

He let go of Spock’s arms and began to drag himself to his feet. “I suppose I was due,” he said, extending a hand to Spock. Spock grabbed his wrist, letting himself be helped to his feet, where he broke away and headed toward the bench. “Sorry to get you all sweaty.”

“It is expected.”

“Still, I’m sure it’s not exactly something you care for, seeing as you hardly sweat at all.” Kirk groaned as he stretched out his tired arms and legs. Spock was pulling his robe back on, facing away from him. “Ready to call it a night, I take it?”

“If you don’t mind, Captain.”

Kirk waved him off. “Thanks for the workout. I’ll see you later.”

With a brief nod of acknowledgement, Spock exited into the corridor. Kirk grabbed his own things off the bench and headed for the communal showers, assuming Spock would have beat him to the one between their quarters.

As he peeled off his sweaty leggings, he realised he was half-hard. Well. It wouldn’t be the first time physical exercise had had that effect. He turned on the sonics and stepped in. Had it happened after he and Spock had gotten up from the floor, or before? He felt a wash of embarrassment at the idea that Spock might have noticed it. That sort of thing probably never happened to Vulcans.

He washed his hair and moved on to his arms and chest. No sense making a big deal of it. If Spock had noticed, he’d seemed perfectly willing to act as though it had never happened. Of course that was the best approach.

Kirk washed the rest of his body quickly, ignoring the hopeful twitch from his penis as he soaped his genitals, and his body was back to normal by the time he’d dressed in his uniform again. He sighed, feeling simultaneously tired and restless as he exited into the corridor, not looking forward to sitting at his desk, but there were still logs to review before the end of the day.

It was in the bathroom brushing his teeth a few hours later that he finally remembered the apology he’d meant to give Spock. He spat out his toothpaste and wiped his mouth, hesitating with his hand in front of the door on Spock’s side. Spock was very likely still awake, considering how often he mentioned Vulcans needing less sleep than humans. Was it late enough that he might be in the middle of meditation?

Kirk decided to risk it. Spock could very well not answer if he didn’t want to be disturbed. He rapped a knuckle on the door. “Spock?”

A few seconds of silence followed. “Enter,” came Spock’s voice from within.

The door slid open and Kirk stepped in. Spock stood next to his desk, barefoot and wearing a black t-shirt and the same black Starfleet pajama pants Kirk wore. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“No, Captain. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Kirk said automatically. “Yes.” Spock only looked at him, waiting. “I know it was a few days ago now, but you said you were… dismayed by my choice of words. I never really acknowledged that.”

Spock’s hands came together behind his back. “The situation, as you noted, was hardly standard. I accept that you utilised the means at your disposal to capture my attention.”

“I know that,” he said, moving into the room, a bit closer to him. He saw that Spock didn’t have eye makeup on, presumably having not bothered to redo it after showering, and Kirk realised he rarely saw him without it. “But it— you told me it bothered you, and I tried to dismiss it. Because I wished I’d said something else. I was ashamed.”

Spock nodded slowly. “I had surmised as much.”

Kirk licked his lips. It was always very dry and warm in Spock’s quarters. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s… possible there will be other missions when I— or you, or McCoy, or whoever— might have to do something uncomfortable like this, and I don’t think it’s fair to expect that to go ignored simply because it was done in the name of duty.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

“Damn it, Spock, can’t you say something?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Such as?”

“I don’t know, don’t you want to… call me a thoughtless bastard for using those words against you?” Kirk didn’t know why the words I’m sorry refused to form in his mouth.

“Not particularly,” he said mildly. “In fact your behaviour was logical, and showed remarkably quick thinking. You correctly guessed that I would not believe you yourself would say such things under normal circumstances. It instantly confirmed my earlier suspicion that something was amiss— your voice during the overdue check-in did not sound like you, but I required more information before taking action. My objection to the term was, therefore, precisely the point.”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to simply shut up and take it.”

“I did not,” he said evenly. “I made that objection known to you. We do not need to discuss it further.”

“All right,” Kirk said. If he wanted to be stubbornly Vulcan about it, so be it. “I’ll let you get back to…” he trailed off. It hadn’t been clear what Spock had been doing before he’d come in. Nor was it his business, for that matter.

Spock acknowledged him with a nod. “Goodnight, Jim.”

In spite of himself, Kirk felt the corner of his mouth lift. “Goodnight, Spock.”

A couple of weeks later, he and Spock were in the captain’s quarters, involved in the weekly task of approving staff transfer and leave requests, and duty roster changes. Spock usually took care of the bulk of it, claiming the captain’s time was better spent on other tasks, and simply summarised everything when he brought them to him to sign. But sometimes, if they’d been occupied with missions, they worked through everything together, rewarding themselves with a game or two of chess afterwards.

Kirk had beaten Spock at chess a few times early in the mission, but Spock had fairly quickly gotten a handle on it and adjusted his method of play accordingly. They ended in stalemate often now, and Spock’s victories were not as effortless as they had been some months earlier. On the less frequent occasions when Kirk managed a victory, Spock seemed almost as pleased by it as he was. “An excellent game, Captain,” he said.

“You had me on the ropes, but I did manage to pull something out of my sleeve,” Kirk said, smiling. “Another?”

“Certainly.” They reset the board in silence, switching colours. “I noticed Dr Noel’s name among the transfer requests,” Spock ventured cautiously.

“Yes,” Kirk said, moving his king’s pawn. He didn’t know what else to say. Aside from when they’d had to compare reports, they hadn’t talked about what had happened on Tantalus V. McCoy had advised Kirk to see a counsellor to discuss what had happened to him, but he hadn’t done so, concerned that even if he spoke to someone other than Helen Noel, what he said would somehow get back to her. Anyway, he was fine. It was over now. Dr Adams couldn’t hurt people like that anymore.

“Perhaps it’s for the best. It is obvious she was emotionally compromised on board the Enterprise.” Spock mirrored his move, pushing ahead the same pawn on his side.

“She’s only human, Spock,” Kirk said. “She indulged in a silly little fantasy for a moment. It’s not her fault Adams seized that for his own purposes. I shouldn’t have indulged her at the party like I did in the first place, anyway.”

Spock had encouraged him to stop in at the science lab’s holiday party to meet some of the other staff, as most of the lab scientists had little opportunity to interact with the captain, and he knew how Kirk liked to be aware of everyone on his crew as well as he could. He’d allowed himself a glass of punch as he chatted with a few unfamiliar faces and a few familiar ones, even enjoying a few dances as the evening went on. It had made him feel more like a man who was simply enjoying a night of revelry, less like a captain responsible for four hundred lives, and he blamed that for the way he’d let his mask slip while he danced with the pretty young psychiatrist. He’d complimented the nebula-like iridescent clip she was wearing in her hair, more to begin the conversation than because he’d especially liked it, and eventually she’d asked if he’d always wanted to be a starship captain. He’d grown nostalgic, talking about lying on the roof of his childhood home with his star charts, and the first time he’d visited Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco with his mother and father.

When the song ended, she’d mentioned she had a bottle of icewine that had been sent to her as a gift, and would he like to join her for a glass in her quarters? Feeling the blood rise in his face, he’d politely declined, and she’d smiled and moved off, wishing him a good evening. Perhaps he’d been more flirtatious than he’d intended, but he wouldn’t be making that mistake again. That had been the end of it. He’d forgotten all about it until he’d seen her again in the transporter room.

“As I recall, at the party you also danced with Nurse Chapel and Lieutenant Masters, neither of whom has conducted themselves since with anything other than professionalism,” Spock replied. “You must agree that her behaviour, even before Dr Adams’ interference, was not appropriate.”

“Spock, we don’t need to talk about this,” he said tiredly. “You and I agree. I granted the request, and she was honest in her own mission report. She knows that lapse in judgement is going to trail her around forever, and she doesn’t need to be reminded of it every time someone mentions the captain.”

“I merely thought—”

“Thought what?” he snapped. “That the idea Dr Adams implanted in my head would last forever? That I still believe I’m madly in love with some woman I met a grand total of twice?” He placed his queen’s knight on the board with more force than necessary, satisfied as Spock blinked at the crisp thunk it made. “I let my guard down with her for five minutes, and look where it got us both.”

“I apologise, Captain. I have overstepped.” Spock studied the board, but didn’t make a move yet. Kirk suspected it was only because he wanted to avoid looking at him.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s your job to question me whenever you think it’s necessary.”

“Your personal life is not for me to—”

“It is when it affects my ability to command this ship, Spock, and I thank you for it.” Spock finally moved another pawn and met his gaze again. Kirk smiled, exhaling through his nose.

“You need not thank me for doing my duty,” Spock said, but the lightness had come back to his tone.

“Then may I thank you for being a good friend?”

Spock’s expression softened. “You may.”

Chapter Text

Spock took the Captain at his word about the incident with Dr Noel. He had therefore gained two important data points in his observations of Kirk’s behaviour. He’d confirmed that Kirk did not wish to violate the chain of command for a casual affair, even when such an opportunity arose quite naturally. In the same conversation, he had also confirmed that Kirk wished for similar anomalies in his behaviour to be called to attention, if they might interfere with the smooth operations of the ship. So perhaps Kirk might make Spock aware of choices in his personal life where he might not have done so in the past. He appreciated this growing level of trust between them.

It was this trust that made him so reticent about the third data point he had observed. This had occurred earlier, when they’d sparred: Kirk’s penis had become erect.

Spock did not generally find it difficult to keep his controls in place during hand-to-hand, even with the Captain. It was a fairly simple matter of maintaining his focus on physical movement and keeping his shields active to avoid the unintentional transfer of emotion. But during the final bout— even before Kirk had pinned him to the mat— with their bodies aligned and Kirk’s sweaty chest sliding against his, the sexual nature of it had struck him as suddenly as a storm, to the point that he’d lost his footing amid Kirk’s efforts. When they’d fallen to the floor, the fight had continued, and as Spock had attempted to twist himself free, he’d felt Kirk’s hardness against his pubic bone, his testicles brushing against the top of his sheath through their few layers of fabric.

He’d nearly yielded immediately as heat began to pool in his own groin, but Kirk had not acknowledged that there was anything amiss, and Spock had not wanted to make him question why he’d stopped fighting back. He focused hard on keeping his sheath closed and dry, and on making the blood that had flown optimistically to his own penis retreat, and was fairly successful. Until the droplet of sweat from Kirk’s face had landed on him.

Even after they’d gotten to their feet, there was no sign from Kirk (who was still hard) that he’d either noticed or cared what had happened. So, Spock had simply excused himself with as much dignity as he could, and without staring— though the imprint of Kirk’s erection as it appeared through his leggings had already burned itself into his mind, and his own flesh felt branded where it had touched him. He made it back to his quarters with no outward evidence that anything was out of the ordinary, though his sheath throbbed beneath his own clothing. He began to disrobe as he considered all possibilities.

1. That Kirk had been too caught up in the match to notice that he’d become erect. This would bring Spock no closer to any conclusions about Kirk’s sexuality, nor whether he harboured desire for Spock in particular.
2. That Kirk had noticed, but considered it a common enough phenomenon that he need not draw attention to it. This, again, would bring Spock no answers.
3. That Kirk had noticed, and did not consider it common, but believed Spock would find it distasteful to draw attention to it, either by apologising or joking about it. This seemed plausible.
4. That Kirk had noticed, and had been disturbed by the fact that it had happened, because he was not attracted to Spock, and had therefore chosen to act as though it had not happened.

Naked, Spock had made his way to the bathroom between his and the Captain’s quarters, which he knew was safe to do as he’d not yet heard Kirk return— often he used the gym’s shower facilities rather than make his way through the corridor in a sweaty, unkempt state. The doors locked behind him as he entered. He stepped into the shower stall, but didn’t start the sonics immediately. He could still smell Kirk’s sweat on him, a raw masculine musk which only increased the flow of blood to Spock’s genitals, his penis stiffening again inside him, the lips of his sheath beginning to part as it supplied itself with lubricant to prepare for sexual activity.

He could have turned on the sonics and used the white noise to help refocus his mind in order to dismiss his arousal. He could also have used the water setting, indulging in the practice of ‘taking a cold shower’ which humans joked about, and which Spock had no doubt would have been effective— the temperature would surely have been sufficient to distract him. But he hadn’t wanted to. He let his fingers move between his legs, rubbing over his damp slit.

Groaning faintly, he unceremoniously pushed the tips of his index and middle finger inside the opening, just able to touch the swelling head of his cock. He rubbed gently, the palm of his hand providing an additional pleasurable sensation as it pressed against the front of his sheath, squeezing his inner walls more tightly around his fingers and cock. He braced himself with his free hand against the shower wall, gasping as the feeling intensified with the heady memory of Kirk’s body on top of him.

Already mentally very aroused, it did not take much stimulation to make himself fully erect. He felt his fingers slip out of his sheath as his cock filled the available space. Biting his lip, his hand encircled his shaft, imagining what it might feel like if Kirk’s body had continued to move on top of him. If he had freed Kirk’s erect cock from his leggings and allowed its human heat to touch his bare skin.

Panting, his nostrils full of the scent of Kirk’s sweat and his own arousal, Spock thrust into his own fist as he thought of Kirk’s erection thrusting alongside his own, its rounded head smearing fluid into the hair on his stomach, the warmth of Kirk’s abdomen against his own slick member. What would Kirk sound like as he reached climax? Would he gasp, or curse, or moan wordlessly? What would it feel like to have Kirk’s ejaculate join his own on his skin?

Spock came with a soft cry of pleasure, spattering the wall of the shower in front of him. He let go of his cock, both it and his fingers oversensitive after his orgasm, steadying his breath and his mind for several moments before turning on the shower controls.

He’d cleaned up his mess and begun to wash himself, able to consider the possibilities more rationally. By the time his shower was finished, Spock had decided that he could not make any logical conclusions based on this one instance of physical arousal, which Kirk may or may not have been cognizant of, and which may or may not have been related to sexual feelings or desire.

Spock’s sexual fantasy, he’d reasoned, was not a violation of Kirk’s trust, as thoughts did no harm on their own. However, it was only appropriate to visit such thoughts in private: he could not allow himself to again become as compromised as he had been during their match. He’d resolved in the future to either meditate or masturbate before visiting the gym with the Captain whenever possible.

He also resolved to make his own proclivities more apparent. Vulcans were known as being generally private about their affairs, so going about it too obviously might appear suspicious— not to mention undignified. But a casual mention in a related conversation would surely not be remiss.

Such an opportunity arose when the ship was redirected to meet with Dr Thomas Leighton, an esteemed colleague of the sciences and evidently also an old acquaintance of Jim’s. It would take two point six days before they reached orbit, and as all preparations for their previously scheduled mission were now on hold, many of the crew were enjoying what Uhura had referred to as a ‘staycation’. Although senior officers still had plenty of duties to keep them occupied, she’d said that after beta shift took over they’d have a chance to ‘let their hair down’.

“My hair is as ‘down’ as is possible,” he said, deadpan.

“Mine too, seeing as it’s a wig,” she laughed. “Come to the officer’s lounge tonight and play some music with me, at least.”

“Very well.”

He brought his ka’athrya to the lounge after dinner, plucking out several of the songs they’d practiced together previously, of Earth and Vulcan origin. Many of their fellow officers stopped their conversations to listen, with more filtering in from the corridor as they played. Uhura enjoyed singing, and had a lovely voice; Spock knew they were here for her and not him. He didn’t mind.

Kirk and McCoy were among those who came in from the corridor, getting themselves drinks from the synthesizer and sitting down at a table where they faced the musicians. Spock looked up from his strings when the song ended, glancing around the room before allowing his eyes to land on Kirk. He was smiling and applauding with the rest of them, and caught Spock’s gaze, but then Uhura was saying something, and Spock turned to give her his attention.

They played another old Earth song, one she’d shown him when he’d begun to teach her how to play the ka’athrya. The lyrics were rather suggestive, and he’d known from the expression on her face that she’d been attempting to tease him, but he’d surprised her by singing along once he’d memorized the lyrics. “I knew you weren’t that much of a prude,” she’d said, giving him a friendly nudge with her elbow. But they had never played it in front of an audience before. There were several wolf-whistles and cheers at particular points when she sang, and again when they finished. She made an exaggerated curtsey, smiling at her audience.

“A break, Mr Spock? I could use a drink,” she said as the applause died down and light chatter began to resume.

He nodded, carefully setting the lyre on the chair as he stood, and waited his turn at the synthesizer to get them each a drink of water. When he turned back, Uhura had taken a seat across from McCoy. Spock joined them at the table, setting her drink down in front of her and sliding into the chair opposite Kirk.

“—more of a mood setter, don’t you think? Something for before, not during,” McCoy was saying.

“I agree,” Uhura said. “Playing anything with lyrics during sex is a big risk. You don’t want to get distracted.” She winked, and both McCoy and Kirk laughed.

“You two are on your own. I don’t want to hear anything during sex except—”

“Careful, Jim,” McCoy interrupted, placing a hand on Kirk’s forearm, “you don’t want to embarrass the Vulcan!”

All three laughed again, and Uhura looked sidelong at Spock. He decided to seize the day, as it were. “In fact I share the Captain’s opinion. Music and sexual activity are best enjoyed separately.”

Kirk’s smile remained, but his eyes widened slightly.

“Well!” McCoy said, grinning. “I don’t suppose it would be, uh, logical to mix the two.”

“It is simply a personal preference,” Spock said, in order to remove any assumption that he was making a general statement. “Logic is not absolute in such matters. For some, it may be logical to combine two pleasurable activities. For others it may be logical to give a single activity one’s full attention.”

“I sure don’t want any damn logic in my bed,” McCoy said, though he was still smiling.

“Amen to that, Doctor,” Uhura said, laughing, and they toasted.

“So what do you do if, your, uh, logic on the matter doesn’t line up?” McCoy prompted.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Compromise. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the concept, Doctor.”

“Hmph! I could teach you a thing or two about what good-old fashioned southern charm can do for a woman,” the doctor shot back.

“A woman would hold no interest for me,” he said, delighted by how easy McCoy had made this for him. “It would therefore be illogical for me to attempt to ‘charm’ her.” In his periphery he noticed Kirk, who’d been taking a sip of his drink, coughing as he put it down again.

McCoy, meanwhile, hooted with laughter. “Boy, you are full of surprises tonight, Spock.”

“Are you all right, Captain?” Spock asked, as Kirk cleared his throat.

“Yes, fine.” He dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand.

Uhura had finished her glass of water, and turned to him. “Care for another song or two, Spock?”

“I believe I shall retire for the evening,” he said politely. “If you’d like to use the lyre you may return it to my quarters some other time.”

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“Goodnight, then,” he said, with a nod to her, and then in turn to the others. “Doctor. Captain.” He left the lounge for his quarters, pleased with his victory. Revealing this information about himself had been the correct choice, as Kirk had clearly been surprised by it. Now he would have an additional reference point when observing the Captain’s behaviour toward him. He was eager to see if there would be any new developments.

There was, in fact, a noticeable change in Kirk’s behaviour shortly thereafter. But Spock determined this did not have to do with what he’d revealed in the lounge, since Kirk had acted quite normally during the remaining travel time to the planet— it had not been until after his meeting with Dr Leighton. And the Enterprise’s task of transporting the players to Benecia Colony was a bit too timely to have been a simple coincidence. There had been nothing in Starfleet correspondence about it, and Kirk had not appreciated Spock’s reminder that Benecia was eight light years off their previous course. It was his right as Captain to make the decision to assist with emergency transport, of course. It was, however, unusual for him not to have noted the reason for the change in his official log, which he had not done.

Spock’s suspicion had also been aroused by the blonde woman who was evidently the company’s star actress. He could not say precisely what it was that bothered him. It was not the first time he had witnessed a woman eagerly seeking the Captain’s attention, but Kirk had not discouraged it as Spock had expected he might. And his order to have Riley moved to Engineering was equally puzzling— Spock had disliked watching the young lieutenant’s face fall when he’d given him the news.

“But I know Lieutenant Uhura’s only said good things in my evaluations, sir! If I’d messed up she would’ve—”

“Lieutenant Uhura has noted no fault in your work, Mr Riley. This is the Captain’s order.”

“Well then, surely he must’ve said why I’m being transferred, if—”

“He did not,” Spock said, hoping to avoid more emotional displays. “I received orders, and now so have you. I have no more information to give you.”

Riley sighed, smiling ruefully. “All right, Commander, I’ll be a good boy and do my penance.”

“Duty and penance are not synonyms, Lieutenant. You will continue in Engineering with the dedication you have shown in Communications.”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

Spock’s discomfort with the Captain’s behaviour persisted as he began to assemble the pieces in his mind. Without enough information to confront Kirk, however, he went to Dr McCoy to see if he, too, had noticed the changes. The doctor had been having a drink in his office and was, unfortunately, being rather obtuse.

“The Captain is acting strangely,” Spock persisted, ignoring McCoy’s gesture for him to sit. “I’m asking if you’ve noticed.”

“Negative,” he drawled, looking into his glass. “You know, this is the first time in a week I've had time for a drop of the true? Would you care for a drink, Mr Spock?”

Apparently the synthehol the doctor had imbibed in the lounge three evenings prior did not factor. Spock suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

“My father’s race was spared the dubious benefits of alcohol.” A partial truth, but McCoy need not know all the details. His hands clasped tightly behind his back, he felt on edge, pacing from one side of McCoy’s chair to the other as his thoughts spun.

“Oh. Now I know why they were conquered,” the doctor muttered, obviously disappointed. “What are you so worried about, anyway? I find Jim generally knows what he’s doing.” His accent was stronger than usual. Spock guessed this might not have been his first glass of the liquor that evening.

“It was illogical for him to bring those players aboard.” Eight light years off course, and for what? Kirk had said to Lenore that the crew would benefit from the relaxation and entertainment, not mentioning the fact that much of the crew had just enjoyed several days of aboard-ship leave or light duty. Kirk was a kind man, but this went well beyond a simple favour, and for a stranger at that.

“Illogical? Did you get a look at that Juliet? That's a pretty exciting creature!” Spock didn’t reply. “Of course your… personal chemistry would prevent you from seeing that.” The doctor smirked, presumably remembering their conversation several nights prior.

Spock sighed, folding his arms in annoyance. He had in fact noticed that the girl might be considered pretty, and he had at first wondered if Kirk was interested in a sexual encounter with her. But given what he knew about the Captain’s habits, he was able to quickly rule that out: Kirk would certainly not have taken the ship so far out of its way, not for a casual affair. Lenore was also at least ten years his junior, and Spock had noted, when he’d looked up her information file, that she seemed to have little in common with him. The women Spock knew of in Kirk’s past were intelligent and tended to treat him as an equal. So yes, he’d deemed it unusual to see him responding so favourably to the simpering, bright-eyed young lady who’d come to the bridge. The idea that she would have something to offer the Captain was almost laughable.

“Did it ever occur to you that he simply might like the girl?” McCoy continued.

“It occurred,” Spock said curtly, pacing back to the other side of the desk. “I dismissed it.”

“You would.”

Spock did not have time to wonder about the meaning of this. And the doctor seemed more interested in his alcoholic beverage than in the fact that Riley had been transferred to Engineering with no explanation. Annoyed, he left McCoy to it and resolved to investigate the matter further.

What he discovered was much worse than diverting a ship’s course for the possibility of a sexual encounter.

McCoy was somewhat more responsive, though still skeptical, when Spock returned to him with what he’d learned of Governor Kodos and the famine at Tarsus IV. It was an undeniable fact that Kirk and Riley were the only remaining witnesses who’d survived the eugenicist’s massacre. It followed, then, that Kirk had quickly identified Lenore, as the daughter of the so-called Anton Karidian, to be the most likely source of information about him— information which he’d need in order to determine whether the man was, in fact, Kodos— and was showing false interest in order to gain her trust. Now that he’d realised, the difference seemed very clear to Spock. Kirk’s compliments were too obvious, his touches forced rather than affectionate, his smiles only for show. It was a relief to be able to believe that Kirk had not compromised his own standards so, but it did mean he was putting himself at risk, considering what had happened to Dr. Leighton.

Spock regretted that he hadn’t deemed Riley as immediate a risk as the Captain, but McCoy was fairly confident the young man would pull through, and he’d agreed that they would share the CMO’s report with Kirk together. Kirk had not taken it well.

“Aren’t you getting a little out of line, Mr Spock? My personal business—”

“—is my personal business when it might interfere with the smooth operation of this ship,” Spock cut in, reminding him of statements he’d made only a few weeks ago.

“You think that happened?” Kirk snapped, standing up and staring him down. Perhaps he did remember, after all.

“It could happen.” It was happening.

“I don’t like anyone meddling in my private affairs, not even my second in command!”

McCoy had come to Spock’s defence then, and Kirk had been just as annoyed with him, but eventually relented somewhat, admitting his hesitation had been because he was unsure if he sought justice or vengeance. Spock was concerned. He didn’t understand how the Captain could be so cavalier with his own life, but then, Spock was not the one who’d witnessed the execution of four thousand colonists as a boy of only thirteen. Perhaps he too might have wished for vengeance— if he were human.

Riley was allowed to resume his duties in Communications and was not punished for his actions in the theatre— assuming one did not consider spending another night in sickbay and being scheduled for a weekly counselling session to be punishment. Aside from McCoy’s irritatingly smug line of questioning on the bridge, none of the rest of them spoke of Kodos nor of Lenore. Clearly the doctor did not understand, but it was hardly Spock’s business to correct him if Kirk didn’t care to.

Kirk himself was withdrawn and distracted for several days. Spock had been on the verge of attempting to broach the topic, perhaps over a game of chess that evening, but then he’d been sent out to investigate the Murasaki 312 formation, a rather unique opportunity for scientific observation. And of course that had been a complete disaster.

As the other officers— all but Mr Scott, who performed his duties as always— responded with difficulty to his Vulcan style of command, Spock’s frustrations with himself had grown. Captain Kirk maintained command so naturally, even in an emergency situation such as this when emotions ran high and any one choice could have multiple, disastrous outcomes. Surely Kirk was not punished so by his officers when he made the wrong one? Or perhaps… Kirk simply had never made wrong choices to the extent that Spock had. But he knew of no other way to conduct himself other than through logic. A Vulcan crew would not have questioned him like this.

And yet he wondered: would a Vulcan crew have obeyed his order to leave him behind when his own strength hadn’t been enough to shift the rock that had trapped him?

The decision to jettison the fuel and ignite it had been the only remaining option for success— infinitesimal though the odds were. But would he have so quickly thought to do it had he not heard the story from Captain Pike’s own mouth of when Pike and Tyler ejected plasma from the nacelles, thus allowing the Discovery to locate them in an equally unlikely scenario? Would he have so easily challenged the odds had he not believed it was what Kirk himself might have done?

On the bridge afterwards, Kirk’s eyes and then his feet had followed him back to his station. He had been… almost flirtatious in the way he’d teased Spock about making an act of desperation, leaning against Spock’s console beside him with his arms folded, near enough that Spock could feel some of the human warmth that radiated from him.

“Quite simply, Captain,” Spock said, enjoying the closeness of Kirk’s body. In his periphery he noticed the others were watching them with interest— perhaps even fondness?— McCoy and Uhura in particular. “I examined the problem from all angles, and it was plainly hopeless. Logic informed me that under the circumstances, the only possible action would have to be one of desperation. A logical decision, logically arrived at.”

Of course, this last was only partially true. I, for one, do not believe in angels, he’d said in the Galileo. Yet Kirk had rescued them like one. And Kirk’s eyes, his smile, shone so brightly at him now Spock could hardly bear to look.

“Aha-a-a,” he replied indulgently, shifting closer. If Spock leaned back even slightly, his shoulder would touch Kirk’s arm. “I see. You mean you reasoned that it was time for an emotional outburst.”

“Well, I wouldn't put it in exactly those terms, Captain… but those are essentially the facts.”

Kirk’s arm reached across the back of Spock’s chair, coming to rest on the other side of the console as he leaned in, close enough that Spock could almost feel his breath as he spoke. “You're not going to admit that for the first time in your life, you committed a purely human, emotional act?”

Spock’s heart thrummed in his side. He resisted the urge to allow his shields to drop, to allow his arm to brush Kirk’s where it rested, so near to him. Kirk’s tone and expression signified— affection? Amusement? Both? It had seemed so. Dearly he wished to touch him for confirmation, but he knew he musn’t. He shook his head slowly.

“No, sir.” That was not even a lie. It was not purely human, nor purely emotional. And even if it were, it would not have been for the first time in his life, but he certainly didn’t wish to discuss it in front of a bridge full of officers.

“Mr Spock,” Kirk said, eyes sparkling as he looked back at him, “you’re a stubborn man.”

“Yes, sir,” Spock agreed, hoping it would break the spell (and in any case, it was somewhat accurate). Kirk’s laughter spread to the rest of the bridge, and Spock felt something loosen in his katra, something that had drawn tight and closed during the mission. They were not laughing at him, but because of him. His human colleagues did not always understand him, but nor did they dislike him.

He wondered if any form of disciplinary action awaited Lieutenant Boma. If Spock and the other officers were to leave nothing out of their reports, the lieutenant’s insubordination would be obvious when Kirk read them, and Boma could, by rights, be court martialed.

Spock recalled Kirk’s reaction to Stiles, who, though he hadn’t been openly insubordinate, had grown increasingly hostile toward Spock once he’d noticed the similarities between Vulcans and Romulans. Stiles had been quietly transferred to the Gagarin shortly afterward, despite his contrition after Spock had rescued him from the gas leak. Spock had asked Kirk about it when he’d noticed the transfer paperwork. Kirk had said, rather firmly, “I won’t have an officer aboard who needs you to save his life before he believes he can trust you. My crew shouldn’t be questioning your command as first officer any more than they question mine as captain.”

When he left the bridge, Spock brought a meal back to his quarters, well ready to be alone. He ate as he completed his report honestly. The report took some time, and as he was already exhausted from the emotional strain of the mission, he sat for only a short meditation before going to bed. Though he felt more clear-headed, he couldn’t help replaying the conversation with Kirk on the bridge in his mind. He could practically still feel the warmth from Kirk’s body, see the shine in his eyes… Mr Spock, you’re a stubborn man…

Getting his tea the next morning was when he finally remembered his intention to ask Kirk if he’d wished to further discuss his feelings about the incident with Kodos. But the rest of the day the Captain had seemed his usual self, and when he invited Spock to his quarters for a game of chess after shift, Spock decided not to risk upsetting his good mood. He would broach the subject only if it became necessary.

Spock had heard of Areel Shaw. Kirk had mentioned her when they were last at Starbase 6, reminiscing about his previous visit several years earlier. He’d referred to Lieutenant Shaw as ‘an old friend’, but Spock understood well enough from the manner in which he’d spoken that in this case, she was not the same type of ‘friend’ that Kirk found Dr McCoy or Spock himself to be. So Spock was therefore unsurprised on Starbase 11 to find that she was pretty. But he didn’t think much of her methods as a lawyer.

There were not many Vulcan prosecutors— there was little criminal activity on Vulcan, and the most important issues were decided on by councils rather than courts. Some Vulcans who resided on Earth or served in Starfleet chose to use their strong memories and logical minds in the human law system, but they relied on facts to support their cases. Human lawyers, it seemed, only accepted as fact that which served them.

“I do not dispute it,” Spock said, his hand still resting dutifully on the lie detector button. Unnecessary, as a Vulcan would not lie. “I merely state that it is wrong.”

“Oh?” Shaw said, a little too dramatically. “On what do you base that statement?”

“I know the Captain. He is in—”

“Please instruct the witness not to speculate,” she interrupted, looking at the judge. Spock held back a sigh of frustration.

“Lieutenant, I am half Vulcanian. Vulcanians do not speculate,” he continued evenly. “I speak from pure logic. If I let go of a hammer on a planet that has a positive gravity, I need not see it fall to know that it has in fact fallen.” He had seen Kirk command through dozens of crises, many more stressful or unpredictable than this one had been— the thing he’d been accused of would simply never have occurred. A lesser commanding officer might have been so fallible. But not Kirk.

“I do not see what that has to—”

“Gentlemen,” Spock said, keeping his tone neutral. He did not want to appear out of line, but he could not risk being shut down again before his statement was complete. “Human beings have characteristics just as inanimate objects do. It is impossible for Captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice. It is not his nature.”

“In your opinion,” she added.

A Vulcan’s opinion was based on collected observations of the issue in question, and the Vulcan memory meant that no relevant data would be conveniently forgotten or misconstrued. A Vulcan’s opinion, therefore, ought to be the next best thing to pure fact. The computer was inaccurate. Spock had yet to discover how that had come to be so, but he had no doubt that he would.

“Yes,” he said tersely. “In my opinion.”

Kirk sat rigid and straight-backed in his seat during Ensign Liu’s testimony. And as Shaw interrogated McCoy, Spock’s frustration with her increased. She’d accused Spock of speculation, and now, here she was, leading the doctor to answer increasingly hypothetical questions with highly biased responses, designed to make the court believe Kirk had cultivated a resentment toward Finney which, Spock was certain, did not exist. He felt his eyebrow threaten to lift but he forced himself not to react. And after watching the tape (about which Shaw seemed rather self-satisfied), his concern grew. Falsifying video records was not something easily done. This was more than a computer malfunction; it was sabotage. Who aboard would wish to discredit the Captain like this?

The sabotage, he eventually discovered, was quite sophisticated. Nearly every aspect of the Enterprise’s computer function and memory had been slightly affected in order to fool the computer itself into believing nothing was wrong, in a way that would appear invisible on any diagnostic. Spock was so fascinated by the level at which it had been altered that Dr McCoy had been the one to remind him that time was of the essence.

He was pleased to find that he’d been correct about the Captain’s character— of course, he hadn’t had any doubt about that— but most importantly, Kirk was no longer in danger of being punished for a crime he had not committed. He was not in danger of losing his command. Kirk’s casual utterance of the words ‘your next captain’ had filled Spock with a strange feeling, something akin to grief, as he’d realised he had no wish to serve under another captain.

Lieutenant Shaw returned to the bridge with Kirk, later. Spock supposed the Captain would hardly be one to fault her for performing her duties as required, but still, he had been surprised by the kiss the two shared in front of the turbolift. McCoy, it was evident, had also been somewhat taken aback.

“She’s a very good lawyer,” Kirk said, after sitting down in the captain’s chair with a sigh.

“Obviously,” Spock said, trying to match his tone.

“Indeed she is,” McCoy said, without looking at either of them.

Spock considered what this meant in terms of proving his objectives. Shaw was only a lieutenant, but she did not serve on the ship. Kirk had evidently deemed her therefore unlikely to be influenced by the power afforded by his rank. (It might have been noteworthy in another circumstance that she had been the one to request the kiss, but Spock reasoned that that was almost certainly not the first time they had done so, which made that data point somewhat irrelevant.) It was possible, then, that under the correct circumstances, Kirk would consider another such affair with a fellow officer.

That evening, Kirk visited Spock’s quarters, waving Spock off as he made to stand in parade rest, but Spock didn’t sit down again until Kirk had retrieved a chair to sit opposite him at the desk.

“I never got a chance to thank you, earlier, for what you did.” His hand rested on the desk, his thumb rubbing against his forefinger.

“There is no need,” Spock replied. “It was my duty.”

“Duty or not,” Kirk said, “I don’t think there are many first officers who would have viewed that tape and come to the conclusion it was the tape that had made the error, rather than the captain.” He gazed back at Spock, a small smile at the edges of his mouth.

“I never doubted it,” Spock insisted. Kirk huffed, almost a laugh, and looked down, making his eyelashes appear even longer.

“I did.” He looked up. “That means something to me. That even when I became unsure of myself, you never were.”

“You have never given me reason to be.”

“Well.” Kirk had not broken his gaze. “Thank you.”

Spock nodded. “You are welcome, Captain.”

“I know Areel didn’t exactly make it easy for you, did she?” Kirk gave him a somewhat apologetic smile. “McCoy didn’t seem to think much of her line of questioning, either.”

“She did as was required of her.”

“Yes, I… suppose she did,” he said quietly, looking down at his hand again.

“Do you intend to keep in contact with Lieutenant Shaw?” Given the conversation, it didn’t seem overly invasive to ask.

“Oh, no more than usual, I think,” he said dismissively. “She’s a fine woman, and she knows better than to wait around to see a starship captain once every four years or so.” He stood up, straightening his shirt. “Well, no need for me to intrude on your free time any longer.”

“It’s no intrusion, Captain.” Spock stood to see him to the door, suppressing the feeling of disappointment that Kirk was leaving so soon after he’d arrived, though he acknowledged there was no logical reason for him to stay. The conversation was concluded.

Kirk smiled as the door slid open. “Goodnight, Mr Spock.”

“Goodnight, Jim.”

Chapter Text

Kirk stood, clumsily, his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. He was laughing, but it hurt to laugh, his muscles and bones aching a faint warning of how bad they’d feel once the adrenaline wore off. He tasted blood. Beneath his right eye, his cheekbone throbbed. His skin was dusty and sweaty, his shirt torn in a way that made it seem impossible that any of it was still hanging onto his body: the collar remained, but the front of it had torn comically away at the shoulder, exposing the majority of his chest as well as a significant amount of his right shoulder blade and upper arm. He should probably just have taken it off, at that point.

“Did you enjoy it, Captain?”

The phrasing jarred him. He hadn’t realised Spock had followed him. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” he said, more to himself than to Spock. “After all these years…” It hit him then, how much satisfaction he’d gotten out of it, how good it felt to let Finnegan have it. Go ahead, lay one on me… that’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? He’d made the double entendre intentional, Kirk was sure of it. He was always doing— or rather had always done— things like that. Kirk could shrug off the normal kinds of bullying— people calling him a nerd or a narc or a virgin, stopping their conversations and giggling behind their hands when he came into a room— but Finnegan’s type had always felt different; vaguely unhinged and sinister, like the Joker in the old Batman comics. Only he doubted Finnegan was that smart. “I did enjoy it,” he continued. Spock nodded. “The only thing I wanted to do after all these years was beat the tar out of Finnegan.”

Spock nodded again. “Which supports a theory I’ve been formulating.”

“That we're all meeting people and things that we happen to be thinking about at the moment,” Kirk finished.

“Yes, somehow our thoughts are read, these things are quickly manufactured and provided for us.”

“Dangerous, if we happen to be thinking about—”

“Yes, we must all control our thoughts,” Spock interrupted, glancing away from him and looking around a bit awkwardly.

Kirk wondered what Spock had worried his captain was going to say and thus drum up into reality. But he went on after a moment, talking about force fields and underground passageways, and evidently in his excitement forgot his own warning, mentioning Rodriguez’s tiger. It instantly appeared behind them, and then Kirk was back in survival mode as they made their way toward the landing party.

When he heard the noise of the old planes, Kirk felt himself instinctively reach for Spock, grabbing him protectively with both arms. Spock placed a hand over his for a moment, probably also instinctively, as they both looked up at the sky to check the planes’ location. Spock’s hand, cool and smooth against his overheated and dusty skin, slid to his wrist to urge him onward. The noise of the engines was getting closer. He pushed Spock back toward the rock where they’d be harder to hit, and Spock gripped him by the arm again, tugging Kirk after him. The shots sounded just behind them, right on the path where they’d been only seconds earlier, close, too close. Spock let go of him as the deafening roar of the engines began to fade, and they moved on.

When they’d gotten back to the glade with the rest of the landing party, the caretaker of the place had broken everything down. Kirk hadn’t found much amusement in it at first, but as he saw the fences McCoy was going to have to mend with Barrows after showing up with those two chorus girls, and as one of them clung hopefully to Spock’s arm before he gracefully passed her off to Sulu, and then Ruth— or, well, a recreation of her, anyway— appeared again behind him, he’d felt his sour mood lifting. If she wasn’t real, there was no chance of her needing something he couldn’t give, no chance of him needing something she couldn’t give. The reasons they’d split up didn’t matter, because they weren’t really… well, anything. It could be just like the old days for a little while.

He’d felt Spock’s eyes on him as he joined her. Spock never voluntarily took leave, and normally Kirk would have tried to insist he take at least a day, but… well, he’d already said he’d be more comfortable on the ship. Uhura and Scotty were both perfectly capable, of course, but they’d probably want to come down, so what was the harm?

“I know a place we can be alone,” Ruth said into his ear. Just as she had at the Academy, before taking him back to her dormitory that first time— her roommate had been gone for the weekend. The sense memory made him shiver pleasantly.

“I’ll bet you do,” he said softly. “Just give me a moment.”

Spock had been more than agreeable to take over command for awhile, so Kirk didn’t understand the pang of regret he felt as he watched him vanish in the transporter beam. He shook it off and returned to Ruth, patiently waiting with her quiet smile.

She walked him a little ways, and the scenery changed to something more like an evergreen forest. A path eventually led them to a small cabin. Kirk supposed he must have dreamed it up. Though it wasn’t familiar to him, every aspect of it delighted him: the smell of the wooden walls, the cobblestone fireplace, the wool blanket spread over the end of the bed, the old-fashioned stove (not that he’d use it, he couldn’t cook worth a damn). “Why don’t you take a shower, Jim? I’m sure you’ll feel better,” Ruth suggested.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I must be— well, I’m filthy.”

“But you finally gave Finnegan what was coming to him,” she said, looking at him knowingly.

He laughed. “Yes, but I got as good as I gave along the way.”

“Go,” she said, indicating a doorway at the other end of the cabin. “I’ll be here when you’re finished, if you want me to be.”

“Of course I do,” he said, and kissed her. It felt just like any number of times he’d kissed her when they were young. Or rather, when he was young. She was still young. As they kissed, it was suddenly all he could think about. Somehow he knew the caretakers couldn’t change him, even temporarily, back to the young man he was at the Academy— and anyway he didn’t want them to. He wasn’t nineteen anymore, he was thirty-three, a man, a captain. He broke away. “Ruth,” he began awkwardly.

But she only smiled. “I understand, Jim. I thought you’d want me as you remembered me, but whatever makes you most comfortable. You’ll see when you get back.”

He kissed her hand. “I won’t be long.”

The shower not only rid him off the dust and dried blood, but also seemed to heal his aching muscles and bruises; when he got out and looked in the mirror, the swollen purple of his cheekbone was back to normal, the split in his lip smooth and pink again. His dirty, ripped uniform was gone, a fresh one in a folded pile on a shelf above the toilet, and a clean robe hanging on the back of the door. He marvelled at it for a moment as he dried his hair, and hesitated over whether to dress again or go for the robe. No sense tiptoeing around it, he thought to himself. If I want Ruth to be naked on that bed when I come out, she will be. He put the robe on.

She wasn’t naked. He supposed the caretakers would have learned from his own thoughts how much he liked to undress someone, and while that was slightly unsettling, it didn’t stop his excitement about it. As he got closer, he saw that although she didn’t appear too different, there were small lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before, a shadow beneath her cheekbones where they’d previously been round. She looked absolutely beautiful. She smiled at the sight of him.

“It seems I’m a little overdressed,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to help me with that?”

“You know me well,” he said, kissing the soft skin of her neck.

He took his time, the way he had with her the first time, only they knew each other’s bodies now, which made it better— so long as he didn’t think about it too hard. So long as he didn’t let himself focus on the fact that she knew what he liked not because Ruth knew what he liked, but because this Ruth was made from his memories, his mind. She acted the way he’d have expected her to act, yes, but she wouldn’t have any new thoughts or ideas that weren’t just his own thoughts and ideas said in her voice. Still, it felt good to be with someone physically, someone who’d known him.

He’d had sex only a handful of times since taking command of the ship, but it didn’t much bother him that it wasn’t more. It was no small effort— not that he minded it, but it was effort nonetheless— to find someone who not only fit within his self-imposed parameters, but was also interesting enough for him to care to do so, because being with a woman wasn’t just about getting his cock wet. His sex drive was maybe a little higher than some, but he could take care of that part himself well enough. It was the companionship he missed. The feeling of being wanted, of pleasing someone other than himself. The excitement of making or building a connection with someone. And that wasn’t something easily done over a single night at a starbase or on a shore leave of only a few days. It was a shame there hadn’t been time to stay a night with Areel. She’d always understood his situation better than most, which meant no awkward conversations or hard decisions, just an enjoyable time together if they had the chance.

He went down on Ruth until she came, bucking upward against his mouth. He was glad that, as in the fight with Finnegan, his subconscious hadn’t made it too easy a victory— when they were together it had initially taken ages for her to relax enough to come from oral sex, or maybe Kirk just hadn’t been very good at it at first, or some combination of the two. He did it a second time, and a third, until his jaw ached and she was panting audibly, her face slack and flushed. Kirk ignored the part of his brain that asked him why he was doing it at all when she wasn’t even really a sentient being capable of pleasure, let alone the real Ruth. When he slid into her, she was perfectly wet and tight, and he ignored the primal desire to take her by the hips and fuck her hard and fast and dirty, even though he knew she wouldn’t and couldn’t mind it. He let it feel real, and when he came inside her at last, her face buried in his neck as she moaned, it almost was.

Afterwards he laid on his back with Ruth next to him in the crook of his arm. It was comfortable. She smelled good; she always had— like magnolia blossoms and black pepper with a hint of vanilla. He could no longer remember what perfume she wore, and he knew if he asked her, she wouldn’t know either. The thought made him chuckle a little. It was all very odd, but in his post-orgasmic haze, it didn’t bother him. The laughter brought Ruth to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “What’s funny?” she asked, running her fingertips over his chest.

He exhaled, turning to look at her. “I just never expected I’d get to see you like this again,” he said truthfully. “It’s nice.”

She smiled her reserved smile at him. It made him nostalgic. She’d never been as free with her laughter as Areel or Carol, but then when he made her really laugh, he got to feel like he’d earned it. “I’m glad we could have this time together, Jim darling.”

“Me too,” he said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She turned to kiss the palm of his hand, and he hummed his enjoyment, closing his eyes again. She resettled at his chest, and Kirk found his thoughts drifting, wondering what the rest of the crew were getting up to. It had only been about an hour and a half, maybe two hours since they’d left the glade. Barrows might still be making McCoy grovel after his behaviour, which Kirk figured was somewhat deserved. But the way they’d been flirting lately, she wouldn’t hold out forever. At least, he hoped not. It would be a nightmare for Kirk if both his yeoman and his CMO returned from their leave feeling self-righteous and sexually frustrated.

Had Sulu kept on with the two showgirls he’d been handed? He’d seemed pretty interested in the adventure possibilities of the planet. Maybe he was teaching them how to shoot that old pistol first. Kirk almost laughed again.

What would Spock have done if Kirk had gone ahead and ordered him to take leave? None of the things that had shown up before the caretaker’s explanation had seemed to be of Spock’s conjuring. Probably, Kirk thought with some amusement, he would’ve gotten more satisfaction out of spending his time with the caretaker and learning more about how the planet worked than he would have dreaming up some rare text or artefact to examine, or some person from his past to visit with. Who even existed in Spock’s past? The only people Kirk knew him to be close with, other than Kirk himself, were Uhura and Captain Pike. And of course Pike was— well, gone now, for all intents and purposes. Maybe Spock would have liked to talk to him again, with Pike the way he’d been before the accident. But then, maybe Spock would have found fantasies like that illogical.

It made him sad suddenly, and he guessed Ruth could feel it, because she sat up. Kirk opened his eyes to look at her. “Why didn’t you bring Mr Spock with you, if you were worried about him being lonely?” she asked.

Kirk blinked. He hadn’t realised he was worried about Spock being lonely, but if she was saying it, he guessed he must have been. “Well, it hardly would have been appropriate,” he said lightly, gesturing to her naked body.

“Jim,” she said patiently, “I’m here because you want me to be here. If you wanted Spock to be here, I could be too, if you both wanted, or not. I’m here to make you happy.”

“What do you mean?” he said, sitting up, his heart beating faster. “What do you mean ‘if we both wanted’? Spock doesn’t want— did he think something up, before he left?”

Ruth shrugged. “I know as much as you do.”

Kirk sighed through his nose. He’d only learned recently that Spock was even interested in sex, and given his stated preferences, Kirk sincerely doubted he’d have any interest in watching as his captain made love to a woman.

The thought made him suck in his breath. Where had that come from?

He certainly didn’t want to find out if this planet could conjure up its own version of Spock from his thoughts— he’d never be able to look his first officer in the eye again. Pulling Ruth into his lap, he wrapped his arms around her back and kissed her, feeling his penis stir again. “I have everything I need right here.”

“So do I,” she said, smiling, and kissed him back.

Kirk had focused on Ruth for the remaining day and a half they’d spent together, and when he returned to the ship he felt all the better for it. They’d spent plenty of time making love, but they’d also walked around in nature and returned to beautifully cooked meals that appeared on their own; read books on the couch with Ruth’s bare feet in his lap; talked like they used to. He fell asleep with her breath at his shoulder. She hadn’t mentioned Spock again.

But now that he was back on the Enterprise with little to distract him as they made their way to Cestus III in the next sector, he kept turning that conversation with her over in his mind, knowing it had been, for all intents and purposes, a conversation with himself.

He still felt some embarrassment about what had happened on the bridge, right before Spock had essentially tricked him into taking leave. He’d been right to do it— obviously Kirk had needed it. Sure, Spock had, on occasion, used his Vulcan neuropressure training to help relieve the tension he carried in his lower back or neck, but that had always occurred either in the training room after a workout, or at Kirk’s desk. Spock wouldn’t have crossed the boundary of propriety like that on the bridge, and without warning, too. Generally Spock asked first, owing to his own reservations about touch, Kirk figured. It had been ridiculous for him to assume… mind you, Barrows had also been a bit out of line to assume that would be part of her duties, and he tried to recall where she’d transferred from so he could judge the officer she’d served as yeoman for previously.

Spock had seemed amused by it, though, and Barrows had taken the brush-off like a professional, so there was no harm done. It was only his own lapse in judgement that made him embarrassed, not the activity itself. He’d never thought much about that; Spock’s strength and technique simply worked better for him than the ship’s physical therapist’s treatments. It had never occurred to him before to consider that Spock seemed to reserve use of this particular skillset for the captain only. 

Similarly, they’d been so busy on the ship following Spock’s comments in the lounge that only now had it really begun to sink in for Kirk that Spock’s disinterest in women was because they were women, not because he found sexual attraction distasteful. He wondered a little— how could he not?— about the ways Vulcan sexuality might be different, but he was hardly going to ask Spock about it. And then that gave him pause, because he doubted he’d have hesitated to ask someone like Bones or Uhura, if it had come up. Maybe because Spock was so private about everything else it felt more invasive. Humans talked about their families, about love, sex. Spock tended not to. But then, Spock could have simply not said anything about it if he hadn’t wanted them to know.

Kirk could feel the furrow between his eyebrows, and his thumb kept running over his bottom lip. He removed his hand from his face, pinching the head of a pawn between his thumb and forefinger, though he wasn’t sure that was the piece he wanted to move. He picked up his queen’s rook instead, placing it in a protective position for where one of Spock’s knights could check him in a couple of moves.

With an exhale out his nose, Spock unfolded his arms and picked up his remaining bishop, capturing the pawn Kirk had hesitated over. Kirk stared at the board, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the game, but he couldn’t seem to stop his inappropriate wonderings. Spock had certainly implied he’d had sex before. When was the last time? And with whom? Had he enjoyed it?

Spock was watching him as he studied the board, which normally wouldn’t have made him self-conscious, but he was irrationally concerned Spock could sense his thoughts, even though he knew that wasn’t how Vulcan telepathy worked, and even if it were, Spock wouldn’t do that without telling him. Kirk realised he was biting the side of his thumb, a nervous habit from his youth that he’d never been quite able to break. He put his hand down on the desk in front of him and licked his lips. When he looked up, he saw that Spock’s own lips had parted slightly, and it gave Kirk a rush of… embarrassment? Something like it, anyway; a whoosh of feeling that made his gut turn over, his cheeks threaten to blush as their eyes met. He looked away and moved another pawn forward, putting it in the way of Spock’s bishop, which was also trying for a check.

The intercom sounded. “Bridge to Captain,” came Lieutenant Palmer’s voice. Kirk practically leapt out of his chair.

“Kirk here.”

“Sir, is Commander Spock with you? The lab’s looking for his approval on a time-sensitive experiment but he didn’t respond when they commed his quarters.”

“Oh,” he said, looking back at Spock. “Yes, he’s here, you can tell the lab he’ll be right down.” Spock was already getting to his feet.

“Yes, sir. Sorry to disturb you.”

“No trouble, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” The comm blinked off and Kirk followed Spock to the door.

“Shall I return?” Spock asked. “I don’t expect this should take long.”

“No, no, it’s getting late,” Kirk said, hoping it sounded casual rather than relieved. “We can finish our game tomorrow.”

Spock nodded as the door opened. “I anticipate I’ll have you checkmated within four moves.” The strange intensity of his gaze from before had gone, and he looked at Kirk in that particular way he had, the way that almost felt like smiling.

Kirk chuckled. “We’ll see, Mr Spock.”

“Goodnight, Captain.” His eyes lingered a few seconds longer before he turned and strode off down the corridor. Kirk stood there in the doorway until he rounded the corner and was out of sight. He stepped back inside, rubbing his lip again as the door swished shut behind him.

He thought about the oddness of the evening on and off all through the next day, wondering if he could draw any other conclusion, but ultimately decided that either way he had to talk to someone about it. He went to McCoy’s office once alpha shift had ended, knowing McCoy would probably still be there updating charts. “Something on your mind?” McCoy said, as Kirk paced the room aimlessly.

“It’s nothing,” he began, and McCoy folded his arms, waiting. “It’s just that… last night, Spock and I were playing chess and… I don’t know. The way he was looking at me… I think he… I got the feeling he might’ve been… well, interested in me.” Kirk didn’t mention he’d spent half the time trying to think of a subtle segue into the topic of sex because his curiosity about Spock in that respect had been occupying much too large a space in his mind.

McCoy huffed; not quite a laugh, but something akin to one. “Ya think?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know well enough to mind my own business, but I’m not blind.”

“You’re saying you’ve noticed something?” His mouth felt dry suddenly. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Like I said, it’s none of my damn business what the two of you get up to on your own time.” He was enjoying this, Kirk realised. The little bastard.

“Bones! What was it? What made you think he…” he trailed off, both desperate and afraid to hear the answer.

“Jim,” McCoy said, more gently, “it’s not just Spock I’ve noticed. I figured you were finally starting to relax a little, and you were just taking your time.”

“‘Taking my time’? Taking my time with what?”

“Well, I don’t know, whatever intricate rituals you’ve been using to dance around the facts of the matter.”

Kirk scoffed. “Go ahead and say what you mean, Bones.”

“I only mean—” He paused, eyes moving briefly as he gathered his words. “Why not look at it this way: you and Spock are already a team. You know him better than anyone. He understands you. You learn from each other, look out for each other. And it’s obvious he’s not as unfeeling as he always claims to be, particularly not when it comes to you. Call it whatever you like, but I know love when I see it.”

Kirk scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Would it be so bad, Jim?” the doctor continued softly. “If you loved each other?”

“Of course I love him, he’s my closest friend,” Kirk said, defensively, then remembered who he was talking to. “Apart from you.”

“Relax, I’m not gonna get jealous,” McCoy said, with a wry expression and a dismissive wave of his hand. “But we’re not talking about me. Whatever you two have is different from the friendship you and I have, and I think we both know that. Has it ever occurred to you that might be a good thing?”

“But how can we have that without… I mean, I’ve never been interested in men. Romantically, or… otherwise.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t say it. There was nothing wrong with being sexually attracted to men. It just wasn’t the case for him.

“Now, I’m not here to tell you your own mind, but I do think you should consider whether that’s really true, or if you just want it to be true because it’s easier. What about the whole thing with Gary, for example?”

“There was no ‘whole thing’ with Gary!” Kirk retorted, reflexively, as the uncomfortable memories rose up like a flooded sink inside him, recalling an ensuing conversation that had been very much like this one.

McCoy nodded, defeated. “Suit yourself, but you know what they say about learning from history and all that. I’m just suggesting you think about it. Think about it the way Captain James Kirk thinks about things.”

“And how does Captain James Kirk think about things, since you seem to have all the answers?” he asked, annoyed.

“He gathers all the available information. Weighs all the options, all the possible outcomes. And then he’ll go ahead and listen to his gut.”

Kirk returned to his quarters and lay on his bed in thought, turning over what McCoy had said about Gary. He didn’t let himself think of him often anymore. The good memories were still painful less than a year after his death, and the other memories, the ones that made him feel guilt or shame… well, he could easily go on ignoring them. But of course in thinking about the fact that he was ignoring them, the memories themselves began to rise up in his mind like a curse.

He and Gary, sometime after they’d met during Kirk’s time as a teaching assistant in his final year at the Academy, drinking together after Gary’d gotten dumped by some girl. The two hadn’t been together long. Relationships at the Academy were often born and died within the span of a few weeks, and Kirk was glad he avoided that kind of drama, first by being with Ruth, and then after Gary had introduced him to Carol a couple of months earlier. Anyway, the girlfriend had seen Gary kissing someone else at a party and decided she’d had enough. He’d spent the evening on a pendulum, at one end ranting to Kirk about how they’d never claimed they were exclusive, anyway, so she’d had no right to be mad, and at the other getting melancholy about how he’d never meet another girl like her, and what if she was the one and he’d screwed it all up, and so on.

But Kirk managed to cheer him up somewhat by the end of the night, and had switched to drinking water without Gary noticing. So by the time they left the bar at last call, Kirk was drunk, yes, but not so drunk he couldn’t look after his very, very drunk friend. Gary had an arm slung over his shoulder, slurring into his ear about what a good friend he was and other nonsense while Kirk laughed, the grounds jumping a little in his field of vision as he walked.

“Take me home, Jim, ‘m tired,” he mumbled as they’d stopped to readjust their position.

“I’m not leaving you alone in this state to choke on your own vomit and die a rock star’s death. My room’s closer, come on, we’ll go there.”

They made it to Kirk’s room, one of the bachelor-style dorms given to seniors, and he sat Gary on the edge of the bed, helping him out of his boots and uniform. “God, you’re all sweaty,” Kirk said, feeling the clamminess of his shoulder through his soaked undershirt. He was clearly drunk enough that his body was trying to get rid of the alcohol in any way it could. “Hang on.”

With that strangely amused sense of focus one got from being inebriated when there was an important task to be done, Kirk went into the bathroom for a clean hand towel. Then he opened the cupboard under the sink, dumping out the contents of a large plastic storage bin. Last, he filled a glass of water in the kitchenette, setting it on the nightstand beside where Gary sat listing a little to one side, his eyes half-closed. “Can you get your shirt off, dry off a bit?”

This was apparently a very funny request, because Gary started laughing. “You do it,” he said, one of his arms flopping about aimlessly. “‘M too tired…”

Kirk rolled his eyes, but managed to peel the shirt off him, manoeuvring him around to towel his chest and back off a bit before getting him to lie down on his stomach with his head to one side. “There’s water there, and a bucket next to the bed if you need to throw up, okay? And in the morning when you wake up and feel like shit run over twice, we’ll visit the medbay for some hypos.” He didn’t know why he was saying all this, seeing as it was unlikely any of it would register in any meaningful way. Kirk stripped down to his own undershirt and underwear and climbed over to the far side of the bed. He wasn’t about to sleep on the floor in his own damn room, but he prayed Gary wasn’t drunk enough to piss the bed.

“You’re a good friend, Jim,” Gary mumbled sleepily into the pillow. “I love you.” He flung an arm out beside him, patting at whatever part of Kirk he reached first, which happened to be his stomach.

“All right,” Kirk laughed, patting his hand and placing it back on the other side of the bed. “Get some sleep.”

“Mm.” He was out like a light in seconds, breathing heavily. Kirk ordered the lights off and passed out himself not long after, but woke after a few hours as abruptly as if someone had yelled in his ear, sitting upright in bed. It was dark out, but he hadn’t closed the curtain, and the light from the walkway outside shone through the small window above the desk. His mouth was dry. He reached across Gary to take a drink from the glass of water.

Gary hadn’t moved, which worried him slightly. Kirk looked at his back in the dim glow of the streetlight and noticed it moving gently with his breathing, so he relaxed, lying down again. Gary had fallen asleep on top of the blankets— he’d been so sweaty Kirk hadn’t wanted to put him underneath it. There were freckles dotting the smooth, light skin of Gary’s shoulders and upper back. He’d never noticed them before.

Kirk looked away, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he didn’t feel so awake. He was still drunk, a little; he felt mildly dizzy and his head buzzed, and his hands didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. He folded them across his stomach. He wished he could’ve gone to Carol’s, now that he knew Gary wasn’t going to die in his sleep. But that was drunk thinking— it was oh-four, maybe oh-five hundred; Carol would probably have made him sleep in the hall if he showed up there now and woke her up. He smiled. He liked how independent she was. That she liked him but she didn’t need him. Sometimes they’d go out and then spend the night together, but other times she’d get out of bed after sex, gathering her clothes and saying she had papers to grade or that she needed to study before her xenobiology midterm, or whatever.

Kirk realised he was getting hard, thinking about her in his bed, about the way her breasts shook a little as she stood in the middle of the room shimmying back into her underwear, about the line of her back and the pale half-moon of her ass as she bent to pick up her uniform. He slid his hand lower, over the bulge in his briefs— only to adjust himself to a more comfortable position, nothing more.

But, well, if he gripped a little harder than necessary as he did so, no one but he would know. Gary’s breathing was even and slow beside him. Another glance over at him confirmed he was still deeply asleep. Kirk’s hand was still on his erection. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to do anything about it, not with his friend asleep right next to him, he didn’t want to let go, uncomfortably aroused now. He recalled similar situations, hastily jerking off in a semi-private shower stall of the communal bathroom on his floor during first year, knowing anyone might deduce what he was doing if they came in. Trying to be as silent as possible while fucking Ruth with the curtain closed around her bed, her roommate asleep a few metres away in her own bed. Just a couple of weeks ago, when he’d visited Carol in her empty biochemistry lab between classes and she’d stuck her hand down his pants. He wasn’t an exhibitionist or anything, but there was something to be said for the thrill of what was just slightly forbidden.

He felt his hips move a little, pushing his cock into his hand, and in spite of his promise to himself, he stroked over his length a few times, the friction from his underwear simultaneously stimulating and unpleasant. He imagined a warm, wet mouth closing around him, sucking gently. His balls tightened. Would it be so bad if he got out of bed and took care of it in the bathroom? Maybe he’d be able to get back to sleep afterwards.

Beside him, Gary made a noise in his sleep, somewhere between a snore and a moan. Kirk’s hand flew back to his stomach as quickly as if his dick were on fire, his heart pounding. But Gary didn’t move. Kirk sighed. The fear of getting caught had done little to diminish his erection, still throbbing inside his briefs. He slithered out the end of the bed and tried not to bump into anything on his way to the bathroom, turning the lights on at the lowest setting only after the door had closed behind him. Even if Gary woke up and figured out what he was doing, it’s not like he’d do anything more than tease him about it. Gary was open— sometimes almost too much— about his own sex life and desires, so someone else’s need to get off probably wouldn’t bother him. It’s not as though it had anything to do with him, anyway.

Kirk lowered his waistband and leaned his left hand on the counter, licking the palm of his right and closing it around his cock, the perfect mouth from his vague fantasy returning to suck at the head. He gripped the edge of the counter, imagining it was a handful of hair as the owner of that soft, lovely mouth moaned and sucked faster, harder.

It didn’t take long before he came, gasping, into his palm, his faint dizziness intensifying until he caught his breath. While washing his hands, he noticed a splash of come on the counter, and wet a tissue to clean it up. He tucked his limp penis back into his briefs, feeling sobered, a little shaky, a little ashamed of himself. He was twenty-two, not a helpless, hormonal teenager. He should have just been able to go back to sleep.

Shutting out the bathroom light, he returned to the room and got back into bed as softly as he could. He could feel a damp spot at the front of his briefs as he pulled the sheets back over himself. Beside him, Gary shifted, groaning as he rolled over. “Baby…” he mumbled sleepily, his arm flopping across Kirk’s chest.

“No, god damn it, it’s Jim,” Kirk whispered, trying to shrug him off. “You and Siobhan broke up, that’s why you’re here. Drink some water, you’re still drunk.”

“Mm… cold…” He made no effort to move away from Kirk nor drink any of the water. Kirk sighed.

“Get under the blankets, then, for god’s sake, so you can shut up and go back to sleep.” He held the sheets up as Gary clumsily kicked his legs under them. “Better?” Gary hummed, curling up even closer to his side. Kirk gave up trying to get him back on the other side of the bed, only thankful that this was happening after he’d gotten rid of his erection.

“You mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kirk whispered irritably. “But it’s five in the morning and I’m sharing my bed with you rather than my girlfriend. At least let me sleep.”

Gary’s hand was still on Kirk’s chest. “You’re good to me, Jim… better ‘n any of them…”

“You’ll get over it,” Kirk said, patting his arm, feeling the urge to laugh in spite of his annoyance. Gary passed out again quickly, his arm heavy and too warm, but Kirk didn’t want to risk waking him up again by moving it away. He fell asleep again himself soon enough. In the morning, Gary was back on the other side of the bed, and they were both blindingly hungover, and they didn’t discuss any of what had happened. Kirk could almost believe the orgasm he’d given himself in the bathroom was a dream he’d had.

Almost.

At the time, he’d convinced himself it had been no big deal. But if that were the case, why did he keep the memory of it locked up in a box in his mind where he was never, ever allowed to think about it? It could have just been another one of those funny Academy stories people told: the time Gary had drunkenly passed out in Kirk’s bed in his underwear and sweated all over the sheets and mistaken Kirk for his ex-girlfriend when he’d woken in the night. But neither of them ever brought it up. Possibly Gary didn’t even remember, and Kirk had chosen not to ask if he did. And now Gary was gone, and Kirk was here remembering the freckles he used to have on his shoulders…

He sat up again in his quarters, throwing his legs around to the side of the bed. He was not ashamed of the fact that he loved Spock. If Spock asked him, he would tell him so. But Spock— did he understand love? Was he content with the love Kirk felt already existed between them? Or did he wish there were something more, something Kirk was unequipped to give? What would that mean for their friendship? For their command?

He stood up, pacing the room. He couldn’t do this. It was too much, driving himself crazy like this, and for what? A couple of lingering looks over a game of chess? That he was probably reading into simply because he’d recently learned Spock was gay? No. It wasn’t necessary. If Spock gave him some more obvious sign that he was interested in more than friendship, then he could worry about what to do, if anything.

All things considered, Kirk felt pretty good after his battle with the Gorn, physically; he supposed that was the Metrons’ doing. He returned to the bridge flooded with confusion and relief (and only a little pride), joking with Spock as they set course back to Cestus III to help sort out the mess there. An hour or two later, he jolted upright in his chair, eyelids flying open as Spock placed a hand on his shoulder. “Captain?”

“Sorry, I must’ve—” He straightened his shirt, embarrassed. “Adrenaline finally wore off, I suppose.”

“Our remaining travel time to Cestus III is four point six hours. The Magellan will rendezvous with us there to assist within eight hours. May I suggest you return to your quarters to rest until we arrive?”

Kirk rubbed his eyes, looking around the bridge. The rest of the crew had already changed over. “Yes, and I’m going to have Lieutenant Preston take over command so you can get some rest yourself, Mr Spock. I imagine there’ll be plenty to do when we arrive and I’d like you ready and able to beam down with me.”

“Understood, Captain.” Kirk raised his eyebrows as Spock returned to his station to transfer it over. Usually Spock put up more of a fuss whenever it was suggested he required anything so human as a rest, but Kirk wasn’t about to question it. He stood and stretched, but waited until the relief officer had taken over and Spock had gotten into the turbolift before he handed the conn over to Preston. Kirk got out of the lift and turned in the opposite direction from his quarters.

“I’m just going to stop by the rec lounge and grab a drink to take back with me,” he said, at Spock’s questioning look. He felt jittery the way he sometimes did after falling asleep unexpectedly; a little shot of something— even if it was only synthehol— would settle him.

Spock nodded and headed off toward his own quarters. As Kirk approached the lounge he could hear vibrant conversation and laughter from inside.

“—never seen him like that in my life! I was glad we had that screen to distract us because it would’ve been downright embarrassing if I had to look Mr Spock in the eye.”

Kirk’s ears pricked, and he slowed as he approached the door. Officers had to be able to let off steam about their superiors once in awhile, and he didn’t want to make them uncomfortable by coming in in the midst of their complaining and watching as they all stopped talking. Plus, it was sometimes useful to know what sort of things they were saying about the command crew. He leaned against the wall outside the door.

“Oh, come on,” came Sulu’s voice. “We were all watching like it was reality television, the commander just got a little more… invested in the process.”

“What’s reality television?” said a woman. Masters, it sounded like.

“It’s a form of entertainment from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries,” Sulu began, “kind of like—”

“‘Invested’ is what you wanna call it?” the first voice said again. Kirk now recognised it as Lieutenant Brent, the relief science officer who’d been on the bridge earlier. “He was turned on! Didn’t you hear his voice?”

More laughter. “Well, you know how much Vulcans value intelligence,” said DePaul. “That much ingenuity and knowledge on display… the captain might as well have been wearing lingerie, as far as he was concerned.”

“How do you know there’s even anything going on with them? It’s not like they’re gonna share that information with you. Sulu or Uhura, maybe…” Masters again.

“I only know what I observe, my friend,” Uhura said smoothly.

“And don’t bring me into this,” Sulu said. “I get so much time on the bridge because I do my job well and keep my head down. If anyone knows what’s going on with them, it’s McCoy, and you know he won’t talk.”

“It doesn’t matter if there’s anything going on with them or not,” DePaul insisted. “He says he has no emotions, but unless unbridled lust doesn’t isn’t considered an emotion…” A bit of awkward laughter.

“I was surprised he stayed on the bridge so long after the captain got back,” Brent said. “I thought he might have needed a fresh uniform, if you know what I mean.” Some laughs, some noises of disapproval at the crude joke.

“Maybe he was saving it for later,” DePaul said. “I wonder how Vulcans even—”

“All right, that’s enough,” Sulu said, with enough authority that the laughter began to die down. “It’s none of our business.”

“No, you’re right, that was too far,” Brent said, contrite. “You won’t tell him we were making fun, will you?”

“You kidding me?” Sulu said. “I’d rather throw myself out the airlock.” More laughter, mingled with the sound of shuffling cards. “Now who’s in?”

Kirk’s heart pounded as he turned and headed back toward his quarters, forgetting entirely about his drink. He paced the living area of his room, rubbing his hands together anxiously. His first instinct was to call McCoy, find out how he thought Spock had been acting on the bridge, but he was too afraid of the answer. The idea that Spock had been…

No. His original plan, to wait for Spock to give him some direct sign, would stand. If Spock was aroused by simple resourcefulness, that was his own business unless— or until— he chose to share it with Kirk.

In the bathroom, Kirk splashed water on his face, compiling the beginning of his report in his head. He didn’t allow himself to think about Spock on the other side of the wall.

Chapter Text

Spock had in fact intended to stay on the bridge until their arrival at Cestus III. The work had been enough of a distraction from the inappropriate thoughts of earlier, but when Kirk had ordered him to rest, he hadn’t resisted. And by the time he arrived back at his quarters, he was almost as worked up as he had been on the bridge, thinking about it again. It was not so difficult at this point to contain his reactions to Kirk’s body until a more suitable time, but he had been unprepared for how much more affecting he would find this display of Kirk’s formidable mind.

He’d been so focused on Kirk, on the events unfolding on the planet below, that he had not immediately noticed how aroused his body had become as he watched. He’d taken a seat in the captain’s chair and regained some of his controls, enough to quell the moisture that had begun to gather along the opening of his sheath, but his groin still throbbed in conjunction with the mental desire which he was seemingly helpless against. As he watched Kirk’s mind at work, putting together the primitive weapon exactly as the Metrons had laid out so subtly for him to do, his fingers pulsed with telepathic energy— McCoy accidentally touched his pinky with his thumb at one point and it had shocked him through to his core, a blast of worry and frustration that were not his own, but if McCoy felt the resonance of it, he’d said nothing. Spock had moved his hand away and steepled his fingers, trying to ground the energy within himself. If he had been less distracted by discovering the outcome of Kirk’s ingenuity, he might have felt concern at the time over how primed, even inflamed, his qui’lari felt at the prospect of knowing a mind such as Kirk’s.

He had no reason to believe that aspect of Vulcan sexuality would interest Kirk, though he also had no reason to believe that it specifically would not. Kirk was intelligent and did not seem to shy away from the unfamiliar or the strange. Spock doubted he was a selfish partner. But in any case, it was largely irrelevant for the time being. Even if Kirk had come to his rooms that very day wishing to engage in sexual activity with him, the joining of minds was not something done casually— and Spock knew that in particular he could not be casual about it with Kirk. Perhaps even if they engaged in a sexual relationship, it would be best to avoid such vulnerabilities, at least for a time.

When the door to Spock’s quarters slid closed behind him, he kicked off his boots and stepped out of his pants, draping his uniform shirt over a chair on the way to his bed. He lay down on his back in his black undershirt and briefs, which had begun to grow damp again between his legs. He could have taken them off. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. But he slid his hand inside, rubbing his fingers roughly over the rapidly parting slit, moaning quietly at the telepathic transference from the nerve endings in his fingers and genitals and back again. He thought of Kirk touching him like this, his fingers brushing the qui’lari of Kirk’s face— not to join with him, not yet— just to feel the delightfully electric buzz of his mind as it shot through him. His sheath contracted, slickness spreading over his fingers as his cock thickened further. He didn’t bother putting his fingers inside to stimulate it; it was almost fully erect already. Another moment or two…

His cock slid wetly into his hand as he lost himself in thoughts of Kirk, imagining himself inside the sweet pools of his Captain’s mind, wondering what would await him there. Kirk’s thoughts, undulating against his own, letting Spock caress and savour them, letting Spock lap at the essence of what made him himself. He stroked and squeezed his erection, imagining it to be Kirk’s own warm hand around him, Kirk panting in his bed and nearing orgasm as Spock thrust himself inside his mind, searching for what would please him the most, which of his thoughts he’d want Spock to touch in order to drive him to the brink of pleasure, their bodies writhing and sliding together as their minds fused and frotted—

Spock heard water running in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. He was already so near to climax that the very thought of Kirk’s presence in the next room was enough to push him over the edge. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from making noise as he arched upward, coming messily into the trail of hair below his navel, and onto the hem of his undershirt which had ridden up slightly over his stomach.

Resting his hand on his soiled shirt, he slowly began to gather some of his mental controls. He undressed, and since the bathroom was occupied, tidied himself with the shirt as best he could before lighting the incense at his altar to assist in a light meditation. He sat naked at the end of the bed with his fingers tented in the position for self-reflection, rather than the full focus position to work through his internal reactions to the day’s events, or the regenerative position for deep thought on a particularly troublesome issue.

Spock chose this form because he had broken two of his own restrictions regarding Captain Kirk. The first, of course, was that he had allowed himself to become compromised by sexual feelings about him at an inappropriate time. It was true that he hadn’t realised it immediately, distracted as he was by his own processing of the possibilities on the planet and his concern for Kirk’s safety, but regardless of how quickly he’d been able to control himself physically, he had been in command. He could scarcely imagine a less appropriate time for it to have happened.

The second was that while he did not believe that engaging in a sexual fantasy was harmful to his relationship with Kirk or to his own mental state, he had thus far been disinclined to allow such fantasies to extend further than the physical before he had determined Kirk’s level of interest (or disinterest). For instance, he did not permit himself to think of them sleeping in the same bed following sexual activity, nor what sort of things Kirk might say or do afterwards. And he certainly had not allowed himself to imagine entering his mind. Two Vulcans might engage in a surface-level meld to enhance sexual pleasure, but a full joining like what he’d imagined was quite different indeed. And since Kirk was human, this made him even more vulnerable.

That Spock had fallen so easily into such an intimate fantasy was worrisome.

Kirk had seemed to want to ask him something when they’d been playing chess shortly after Kirk’s return from his shore leave, but then they’d been interrupted by the comm, and he’d refused Spock’s offer to return after he’d finished in the lab. And Spock himself had been somewhat preoccupied that evening by Kirk’s hands, which had brought about thoughts of how they’d touched while on the shore leave world. It wasn’t so much the touching itself that had affected him, but the manner of it. The way Kirk had reached for him so protectively, and it had felt so reflexive for Spock to allow it. The way his own desire to protect Kirk had made him loath to let him go again. But it was expected to want to protect one’s crewmates— and in particular, one’s captain— was it not?

That, he reasoned, was true. But it was not the same. He never felt reluctant to let his hand drop after touching another officer when his assistance was needed. In fact, the opposite: he was always glad to be able to relax again from the powerful level of shielding that was required to block the transfer of human emotion. With Kirk, it was not relief he felt when they stopped touching. It was rather as though his skin were the negative end of a magnet and Kirk’s the positive, as though the natural state for them was now together rather than apart.

He deepened his breathing, inhaling the grounding aroma of his incense. There were four point two hours until their arrival at Cestus III, and Spock knew he must spend at least two of those hours in meditation. He had chosen the Vulcan way for a reason.

“Do you think we could have been a little kinder to Captain Christopher?” Kirk said. Spock felt his eyebrows raise at the abrupt question, though he continued to work his thumbs against the neural nodes at the base of Kirk’s skull and over the knotted trapezius muscles. They had paused in their handling of the day’s paperwork in the captain’s quarters after Kirk had placed a hand at the back of his neck, wincing as he stretched it from side to side, and Spock had offered to assist.

“You were perfectly kind, given the circumstances,” Spock said from his standing position behind Kirk at the desk chair. “I do admit that my initial… distrust may have affected my own behaviour, however.”

It was true that Christopher was merely caught in the crossfire, as the expression went. It was hardly the man’s fault that he’d ended up on the ship, even less so that Kirk had focused his attentions on him as he did. In fact Christopher seemed to be blissfully oblivious, and thinking back to what Spock knew of Earth’s social history, perhaps it was not even an act. Spock, however, having witnessed the kind of looks and conversation Kirk gave women who caught his interest, had been quite able to recognise such things when they were directed toward Christopher.

He’d at first been pleased to observe that Kirk was indeed capable of attraction to men— human men, at least. But Spock was also annoyed by the relief he’d felt to learn that the air force officer had a wife and children to whom he seemed desperate to return, considering that the Enterprise’s interference with Christopher’s aircraft had already made that impossible if they wished to preserve the timeline. Kirk would never compromise his values with advances toward someone who was already part of a monogamous relationship, but if it were necessary for Christopher to remain on the Enterprise indefinitely, how much would his marriage matter, given enough time?

So his reasons for continuing to search the databases were, Spock had to admit, at least partially self-serving. When he saw Christopher’s expression upon learning about his as-yet unborn son, he knew he’d made the correct choice, even if it did create a series of problems more complex than simply how to get the Enterprise out of the past. Quite aside from the preservation of the timeline in which Spock served as first officer to Captain Kirk, Christopher too deserved the opportunity to live his own life.

“Mm.” Spock wasn’t sure if the noise was one of agreement, or to express his enjoyment of the neuropressure treatment. “You were right, though. He would have given us the slip if you hadn’t been there to stop him.”

Spock made a noncommittal sound. That was true, but he felt it uncharitable to say so.

“Hell, I don’t know what I’m worrying about,” Kirk continued. “If we did everything right— and I think we can believe we did, since we’re here— he’s not going to remember a thing about anything, is he?”

“Quite correct, Captain,” Spock agreed.

“It’s too bad, isn’t it? That he couldn’t go home and maintain the knowledge of how he’s helped us achieve our future?” Kirk inhaled and exhaled audibly. Spock felt his back expand and contract beneath his hands.

“He will live to see his son’s accomplishment, though he cannot know the full extent of his contribution. And—” Spock ventured further, with a more daring change in his tone— “I should hope his wife will be grateful for his safe return, in any case.”

“I should hope so,” Kirk said, more cheerfully. “Their third child wasn’t born by divine intervention, after all.”

“‘Divine’ is not a word that comes to mind to describe our intervention.”

Kirk chuckled. “No, that’s certainly not how I’d describe it.”

“Incidentally, how is your hand feeling?” Kirk had injured it with a particularly hard hit to one of the air force officers during the scuffle, and Spock had relished the brief moment when he’d gotten to touch him to check on the injury before their attention was once again drawn to other matters.

Kirk held his right hand up, turning it over and back again. “Well, McCoy told me to take it easy the rest of the day after he healed it, so it is a bit stiff after holding this stylus so long,” he admitted. “But I assume there’ll be no lasting damage.”

“I am glad to hear it.” A few moments of quiet followed. Spock pressed his fingertips to the neural nodes at the base of Kirk’s skull again, to relax him. There was a tension present that Kirk seemed reluctant to let go of.

“Spock, may I ask you a personal question?”

“You may ask,” Spock said, not wanting to make himself beholden to answer the query if he didn’t want to.

“Did you find Captain Christopher attractive?”

Spock blinked. While he had noted that Christopher’s interesting features and fine build could indeed be considered handsome, Spock himself was not particularly attracted to him. He wondered what Kirk really meant to ask, since obviously Kirk’s own answer to whether or not Christopher was attractive was ‘yes’, and Spock’s opinion was therefore irrelevant.

“I had not considered it at the time,” he replied. “My mind was occupied by other matters.”

“Oh— yes, of course.”

“He is not without appeal,” Spock continued, wanting to keep the line of questioning open since it could lead to more important sharing of information between them, “even if he may not appeal to me, specifically.”

“Then… you prefer Vulcan men?”

“That is not what I said.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Kirk said quickly. “It’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have—”

“Jim,” Spock said, “I understand this is a topic of interest to humans, one that is not considered distasteful among friends. I have not discussed it in the past simply because it was never relevant to do so. Your curiosity does not offend me.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

“That is generally true.” Spock somewhat wished he were not touching Kirk during this conversation; the temptation to allow himself a sampling of the flavour of Kirk’s current emotions was immense. But perhaps it was only because they were not face to face that Kirk had been able to ask him in the first place. For humans, the face was often what revealed one’s emotional state most significantly. A Vulcan, on the other hand, would show nothing on his face, but a simple touch of a finger could betray him. It was important they maintain the same advantage— or disadvantage. “In the past, I have found both Vulcan and human men to be attractive. And occasionally those of other races, though I suspect that lack of frequency is largely a product of lack of exposure.”

Kirk made a hum of understanding, letting his head fall forward as Spock’s thumbs worked along either side of the vertebrae of his neck. “And… what about the present?”

“What about it?” Spock refused to make it easy for him. Kirk could be direct about what he wanted to know.

“Well, you said ‘in the past’. Is there something different about who you’re attracted to now?”

“I would not say my opinions have altered much,” Spock replied, his face flushing. “Though as I’ve served on the Enterprise for some time, the… odds have been in favour of humans.”

A noise from Kirk that was somewhere between mild surprise and gentle laughter. “That seems pretty logical to me.”

“Other Vulcans would tend to disagree.”

“Well,” Kirk said, “other Vulcans can’t live your life for you.”

Spock wasn’t certain how to reply, so he didn’t. The tension around Kirk’s shoulders had lessened, but his mind, even through Spock’s shields, still buzzed with a faint unease that Spock couldn’t do much about without accessing his emotions, and he intuitively knew it was not the right time to suggest he do so. As if attuned to his thoughts, Kirk spoke again. “I think my neck’s mostly functional again, Spock. You keep that up I might start falling asleep, and we’ve still got work to finish.”

“Yes,” Spock agreed, with one final touch to the pressure points at the base of his skull, trying to again project a sense of calm and quiet before letting go.

“Thank you,” Kirk said, as Spock moved away and sat back down at the desk across from him.

“Of course.” As Kirk picked up his stylus, peering down at his PADD, Spock glanced covertly at his face. He did look slightly tired, but his expression gave away little else. Spock picked up his own PADD again. “Shall I include the formula Mr Scott and I devised for the time warp in my report?”

“Oh, I think a description of the effect will be sufficient,” Kirk said lightly, a wry smile about his mouth. “If Starfleet wants to know the equations, they’ll ask for them.”

He nodded, looking back down at his work. Evidently, any other feelings Kirk had about the personal information Spock had just revealed were not going to be shared that evening.

The scientific part of Spock’s mind was occupied in many satisfying ways on Janus VI. The carnage was, of course, most unfortunate, as all death was; but the opportunity to study a unique form of life would be a most fascinating privilege, if they were able to do so safely. Of course the priority had to be the safety of the workers and the stabilization of the reactor, but perhaps the creature need not be destroyed in order to do so. Particularly as there was a significant chance it was the last of its kind.

He thought of the salt-eating changeling at M-113 that had caused so much trouble. It had killed, yes— in order to preserve its own life. Pure instinct. Perhaps the creature here was behaving similarly, and Spock dearly hoped it might avoid a similar fate. To kill it would be a crime against science.

Kirk, however, did not react well to this recommendation. Spock stood stiffly as the security team left, following Kirk’s firm correction to the suggestion Spock had made.

“Mr Spock,” he said, once they’d gone. Spock went reluctantly to his side. “‘Capture it’? I don't recall giving any such order.”

“You did not, sir. I merely thought that if the opportunity arose—”

“I will lose no more men,” Kirk interrupted, commandingly. “The creature will be killed on sight and that's the end of it.”

Spock allowed only a flicker of his regret and disapproval to show on his face before responding. “Very well, sir.”

“Mr Spock,” Kirk continued, as Spock turned away. “I want you to assist Scotty in maintaining that makeshift circulating pump.”

“I— I beg your pardon, sir?” Spock could not believe he was to be punished for simply suggesting that a creature needn't be destroyed if it might be captured safely. He knew his skills would not logically be of much assistance to Mr Scott. Furthermore, if he were separated from Kirk, both Kirk and the creature would be endangered further. He thought quickly as they spoke, and reasoned some exaggeration of the facts might be necessary in order to bypass his Captain’s obstinance.

“Captain, there are approximately one hundred of us engaged in this search, against one creature,” he said, presenting his case with the evenness Kirk expected from him when he was delivering pure fact. “The odds against you and I both being killed are two thousand two hundred twenty-eight point seven to one.”

“Two thousand two hundred twenty-eight point seven to one?” he repeated. Spock nodded. Something crossed Kirk’s face, then, coinciding with a brief raise of his eyebrows, and Spock’s heart leapt, wondering if he’d guessed that there were too many variables for the odds to be calculated with that level of accuracy. “Those are… pretty good odds, Mr Spock.” But there was an almost-smile playing at the edges of his mouth, and Spock knew he had won.

“And they are, of course, accurate, Captain.”

“Of course,” Kirk agreed. “Well, I hate to use the word, but logically, with those kind of odds,” he continued slowly and magnanimously, as though making a great consideration, “you might as well stay.” Spock kept his face carefully neutral, merely showing his acknowledgement of the statement. “But please stay out of trouble, Mr Spock.”

Kirk was teasing now, Spock realised. He forced himself to ignore the way this knowledge incited an entirely different type of leap in his heart.

“That is always my intention, Captain,” he replied, as though offended by the very idea.

As they moved into the tunnels, Spock sensed a presence. It did not touch his mind, nor was it tangible in any other way, yet he knew it to be there. Kirk’s suggestion of intuition would make sense if he were human, but Spock’s mind would not have alerted him like this to something that was not fact. His desire to keep close to the Captain was thus only increased, and he noted the divided tunnel with consternation. Kirk did not seem to share his concern. Knowing that he had pushed his luck to the limit already, Spock obeyed his Captain’s order, but only once Kirk was completely out of his sight.

He had to crouch as he cautiously made his way through the tunnel, still ill at ease— he was certain he’d sensed the presence of the creature, so it could not be far. The tunnel widened again after not too long, and Spock stood, answering Kirk’s comm. He was still reluctant to expand on his theory at this juncture, but in any case there was little time to decide as he heard a rumbling, a crashing on the other end, the crunch of rock.

“Captain?” No response. “Are you all right?” Nothing. Cold panic bloomed in his chest.

“Jim?” His feet carried him forward instinctually, blood pounding in his veins. “Jim!” He heard his voice rising, as though if he were louder Jim might be able to hear him even if he were unconscious or— no, he refused to think it. Catastrophizing was not logical. He simply needed to hurry to confirm that Jim was all right, to assist him if needed.

“Yes, Mr Spock, all right,” came the strangely calm reply on the other end. Spock paused in his sprint as he felt a bodily surge of relief, the tightness in his throat easing. “We seem to have had a cave-in.”

“I could phaser you out,” Spock offered, registering that his voice was still louder than necessary. He wondered if perhaps his concern would not abate until he was able to see for himself that Jim was unharmed. But Jim’s collected manner did calm him somewhat, and he accepted the logic of the suggestion to simply continue on and meet at the convergence of the two tunnels as planned.

“I shall quicken my pace,” Spock was unable to resist adding. For some reason it seemed important for Jim to know that it was only the limitations of their surroundings that prevented him from being at his side immediately.

As he made haste down the tunnel, checking his tricorder readings regularly, Spock used another part of his mind to consider his response to the cave-in. Should he not have stopped to consider the logic that using a phaser to disrupt rock in an already-damaged portion of the cavern would be just as likely to cause further damage as it would be to free the Captain? Would he have succumbed to feelings of such distress were it another officer at the end of the tunnel?

He thought back to Eminiar VII, another recent occasion when he was separated from his Captain and had grown concerned. And the strangely intimate moment that occurred between them on the bridge afterwards, when Spock had attempted to understand what had led Jim to believe his risky bluff would work.

“I had a feeling that they would do anything to avoid it, even talk peace.”

“A feeling is not much to go on.”

“Sometimes a feeling, Mr Spock, is all we humans have to go on.” He’d gotten the most peculiar idea, then, that Jim was speaking of more than his choice to destroy the attack computers. Perhaps another kind of feeling altogether.

“Captain, you almost make me believe in luck.” He had meant it to be only an expression of wonder at how successful the Captain often was in the face of unpredictable or unfavourable odds. But why had he phrased it so?

“Why, Mr Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles.”

What was the miracle? Spock had wondered at the time. Jim had been teasing, yes; some of their usual repartée about human emotion. But it seemed to diverge from the general tenor of things. Particularly the way his voice had altered as he’d said it, his eyes sparkling with— what?

Spock looked down at the tricorder again, to distract himself from the thoughts he had no time to focus on at this moment, and it was a good thing he did, because there were fresh signs of movement from the creature. Steadying himself, he spoke into his comm to alert Jim.

Later, after the crisis had passed— and in fact in a most auspicious way, with McCoy’s resourcefulness healing the Horta’s wound, allowing her and her offspring to enter into a symbiotic partnership with the miners— Spock was finally able to meditate to examine in detail all that had occurred.

His meld with the Horta had been taxing, not only because her mind was alien to him, but because her suffering had been so immense. There’d been waves of pain through just a brief lowering of his shields to exchange knowledge, not even a full meld. And only minutes earlier he had urged: Kill it, Captain. Kill it quickly. The visceral fear of Jim’s life being in danger had still hummed its alert in his mind and body… even after Jim's reminder of how he’d wanted to capture it, he hadn’t backed down. I remind you it is a proven killer. It didn’t matter the motive— be it self-preservation rather than malice— if the result was Jim’s death. So Spock had simply hurried onward, prepared to destroy the thing himself if his Captain could not. How quickly his respect for this creature’s life had been abandoned!

Her anger and grief toward those who’d crushed her eggs, thereby crushing her spirit, had been overwhelming. It had been difficult for Spock to make her see they meant to help, not hinder. She had been content to ignore the miners when they had been of no threat. She hadn’t wanted to kill. But it had been the only thing she had left. She’d believed she and the rest of her race would die.

Spock understood. And she, sensing his shame and guilt in turn, understood him.

His desires to protect the Captain, to be near to him, to know his mind— these were no longer simply because he was his Captain, but because he was Jim. Jim.

Was this what others called love? Was that what he wanted from Jim, in addition to sex and companionship? Love? The idea terrified him.

Love was a thing for children; a thing for humans and other races. Not for him. Spock had accepted some time ago that he had already known all of the people in his life who were capable of loving him, and whom he’d been capable of loving in return. His mother. Sybok. Michael. Perhaps even, in his own way, Captain Pike. Three of those people were gone from his life forever. And his love for his mother had lost the purity it had had when he was a boy, when he’d been too young to understand that her love for him had been nearly as conditional as his father’s, so in that way they, too, were essentially lost to him.

What would it mean to love someone who was present?

Chapter Text

Kirk thought it a kindness to let Spock come back to the bridge after the whole affair. He had seemed, comparatively, fine, and Kirk recognised Spock’s embarrassment, his need to escape after the emotion he’d shown in sickbay. He didn’t need McCoy taunting him about it. After what they’d all been through— all three of them— Kirk figured a few hours of normalcy might be better than trying to process it all immediately.

He’d let his chair turn toward Spock’s station whenever he felt the need to check on him. By the time they were nearing the end of alpha shift, he was finding Spock’s eyes already on him more often than not, before Spock would turn guiltily back to his console. When the relief crew began to arrive, Spock stood up instantly and started for the turbolift, leaving the science officer who’d been waiting for his update before taking the station standing there in confusion.

“Ah— nothing to report, Mr DePaul, you have the conn,” he said quickly to the lieutenant as he got up, slipping into the lift with Spock. Spock was holding the handle and staring straight ahead, unseeing. Kirk narrowed his eyes. “Mr Spock, come with me to sickbay, please.”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Kirk left him alone with the doctor when they arrived, pacing in the waiting area. When he noticed movement, he turned just in time to see Spock striding out into the corridor. “Spock—”

But he was already gone. McCoy came over, putting his scanner back down on a rolling table on the way. “He’s okay, Jim,” the doctor said. “You were right to have me check, but I can’t see any reason to keep him here. His readings are— only a bit outside normal range for him.”

“Outside how?”

“Hormones still a little out of whack, and his mental state is… well, more agitated than usual, but I think those things are probably expected, considering what he’s experienced. I told him to get some rest, maybe take tomorrow off, and I’ll check in with him later in case it’s better he miss the ceremony at Altair VI, too.”

“I wish I could miss it,” Kirk groaned.

“Me too. That goddamned dress uniform itches something fierce.” McCoy smiled, and Kirk returned it somewhat weakly. “How about you? You okay, Jim?”

“I’m fine.” Kirk rubbed the side of his neck. McCoy had already treated the bruising of his trachea (it was only a little sore now), healed the wound on his chest (the pinkish mark would be gone after a couple of days), and given him a stimulant to counteract the effects of the neural paralyser.

“I didn’t mean physically.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I’m worried about Spock, that’s all.”

McCoy nodded. “Talking to him might do you both some good.”

“I’m sure he’d rather be alone, if he’s still— recovering, like you said.”

“Want and need are two different things,” McCoy said. “He trusted you with this initially when he wouldn’t trust anyone else. I bet he’d like to know that his friend forgives him for what happened.”

“Of course I forgive him, there’s nothing to forgive! He didn’t want—”

“Jim,” the doctor said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “with all due respect, why the hell are you telling me?”

On the way back to his quarters, Kirk did briefly consider his own mental state. And in truth, he was mostly worried about Spock. He’d felt fear during the combat, but it had been for Spock nearly as much as himself.

He wondered if Spock remembered much of what had happened during the— what had T’Pau called it? the plak tow? Spock certainly hadn’t been himself. His eyes had been hard with fury, and Kirk had been shocked, when they’d touched, by the tumult of emotion he’d felt from him; he hadn’t known Vulcan telepathy could work that way. It was an indecipherable cascade in which he’d felt rage, despair, lust, determination, among other things, and Kirk staggered to learn that all of that was contained inside of Spock. No wonder he was suffering as he was.

In his quarters, Kirk laid down on his bed without even taking his boots off. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, while he gathered his thoughts.

He woke up to find the lights dimmed for evening. When had he fallen asleep? “Computer, time.”

“The time is nineteen hundred hours and thirty-four minutes.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It was after dinnertime. His mouth was dry, but he didn’t feel hungry— probably the stimulants’ doing. After removing his boots, he went to the bathroom to fill a glass with water. He drank it in one, then filled it again, sipping more slowly. He stood in front of the counter, trying to see if he could hear anything from Spock’s room, staring at the door on his side. It was quiet. Kirk chewed his lip.

Making up his mind, he set the glass down and knocked lightly on the door. “Spock?” No answer. Maybe he was asleep. He hesitated, then knocked again. The door slid open.

The lights were low. Spock was in the process of sitting up at the end of his bed, wearing just his uniform pants and t-shirt. His boots and science blues were on the floor, not neatly, as if he’d simply dropped them wherever he’d happened to be standing at the time.

“Did I wake you?” Kirk said, stepping further into the room. Spock shook his head, his hands resting at the edge of the bed beside him.

“No.”

“I just came to see how you’re doing. Bones told me you’re taking a little time off duty.”

He nodded, looking at the floor near Kirk’s feet. “He decided it would be wise. The fever has gone, but I am still experiencing some…” He paused, inhaling. “Symptoms.”

“Should you have stayed in sickbay?”

“The doctor is aware of them and agreed I would be more comfortable here. There is no need to concern yourself.”

“All right,” Kirk said, nodding. He was in the doorway to the sleeping area now. Spock hadn’t taken a shower yet; Kirk could still faintly detect the metallic-sweet scent of sweat that had been on him on the planet, the warm earthiness of Vulcan’s dust, the soft smoke of the fire bowl. It ignited the memory of Spock rolling them over in the sand, the feeling of being pulled on top of him. “I just wanted to be sure.” He licked his lips. “And to tell you that I… I’m sorry about— your wife.”

That wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but it drew Spock’s eyes upward. He shifted, exhaled. “I wish our separation might’ve occurred differently, but my betrothed and I have known for some time we had no real desire to complete our marriage agreement. I hope with Stonn she will find the satisfaction I could not give her.”

“But what about you? Don’t you need…” Kirk’s heart sped up, knowing what he was about to ask. “Someone?”

“While I admit it would make my symptoms easier to bear, it is no longer a necessity. The plak tow has abated.” Spock’s gaze was back on the floor.

“You’re being remarkably straightforward about all this compared to before.” Trying to get Spock to explain about the pon farr, even when it was becoming a genuine threat to his life, had been like trying to pull the proverbial sword from the proverbial stone. It was clear only his loyalty to Kirk had eventually gotten him to open up about it, and even then, he’d spoken largely in vagaries and metaphors, leaving Kirk to extrapolate most of the details on his own. And the ceremony had been so shrouded in ancient Vulcan rite and tradition that Kirk felt he could be forgiven for ignoring that it was, at its heart, about sex— at least until he’d felt the very telltale sensation of Spock’s erection against his thigh as they’d fought. But he’d certainly had more important things to worry about at the time, and Spock had hardly seemed to notice it. Clearly it had been out of his control.

Spock’s fingers stretched away from the bed, then relaxed back down. “Nothing about my current condition could possibly shame me more than my actions on my homeworld.”

“Spock!” Kirk rushed in from the doorway, grabbing his face with both hands and drawing it upward. He let go when he realised what he’d done, but Spock miserably met his eyes at last. “Don’t. I know you didn’t want that. I know that wasn’t you, it wasn’t your fault, you hear me? I heard what you said to T’Pau.”

“Captain—”

“No, listen to me. I’d do it again. It’s true I didn’t know the stakes going in, and of course I’m glad Bones did what he did, but even if he hadn’t… I don’t regret it. I couldn’t be the reason you…” He couldn’t say it. “Don’t you understand? My life without you would have been hardly a life at all.”

Kirk remembered his own behaviour at Omicron Ceti III months earlier, his reaction to Spock consorting with Leila. She’d rubbed him the wrong way from the beginning, though he hadn’t immediately understood why.

He ought to have realised something was wrong even before he’d seen the two of them together. McCoy had tried to tell him after that first comm, but he’d been so baffled he’d barely paid attention. Spock had never disobeyed his orders like that before. Kirk had been so consumed by his anger over Spock that the spores hadn’t worked on him, not until later. Not until he’d been all alone on the ship, filled with despair, had he been susceptible to the spores’ odd sense of complacency, a sort of mindless contentment more than it was a real happiness. Then he had been prepared to beam back down. It was better to be there with his friends than here on his great ship, his star-goddess, his silver lady, all by himself. If he had to share Spock with Leila and the spores, that was better than leaving him behind.

He couldn’t bear the thought of being on the Enterprise without Spock, but he’d also been sickened watching Spock touch her, smile at her. It hadn’t helped, really, to know that she’d been a victim of the spores as well, that although she might’ve wanted things to be different for Spock, she wouldn’t have forced the issue under normal circumstances. Kirk had said all kinds of things to Spock to ignite his anger. Things he knew would upset him to hear from his captain, cruelties about his appearance and manner, things he knew people said about his being a Vulcan living among humans, things Kirk himself had never believed. But he’d brought Leila into it, unable to contain his own real feelings within his false rage. The physical pain of being hit with angry Vulcan strength had been nothing compared to the bitter ache in his chest.

It was jealousy, he saw that now. Not just anger. It had made all the times Spock felt safe enough to lower his Vulcan mask around Kirk seem so meaningless. All the times Kirk’s heart had lifted because Spock had shared those tiny smiles with him, had welcomed his touch, had joked with him… It was as though something inside Kirk had died, the flame of it only able to be fanned back to life once the colonists had left the ship and Spock confessed his relief not to have to see Leila again. The plant spores had used Leila’s feelings against both of them, seeing a clear path toward controlling more and more people. The spores could make him believe what he’d felt was happiness, Spock explained, but it had only existed because the spores had needed it to exist.

The smile Kirk had seen on Spock’s face in sickbay a few hours ago— that had been real.

“I feel the same.” Spock’s words were quiet for how much weight they held.

“So,” Kirk said, his own voice softening in response, “what do we do now?”

“What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know. I know I don’t want to be without you. But as to what that means…”

“You mean to say that you do not feel attraction to me.” Spock said it so matter-of-factly, like he’d already accepted it as true.

“That’s… not what I was trying to say,” Kirk protested, though he wasn’t sure what he had been trying to say.

“But it is what you mean.”

“It isn’t,” he insisted. “Just because I haven’t— felt that before doesn’t mean I couldn’t with you.”

“Haven’t you?” Spock wore a familiarly inquisitive look. “Not with Captain Christopher, or Lieutenant Commander Mitchell?”

“What?” The word came out more like a gasp. “No, I… it wasn’t like that.”

“I understand you may not have recognised it at the time,” Spock said gently, “and perhaps you might look back on it differently, should you recognise some of what you feel for me as attraction. But in the event that my original statement is true, and you do not experience attraction to me, it would be best for you to leave for the time being.”

“Because you’re… experiencing attraction to me?”

“I have been for some time,” Spock said, “but my current state makes it somewhat more difficult to manage. I admit my physical and mental controls are not up to their usual standard.”

Kirk felt his lips part, his stomach drop. “You want me to touch you.”

“Very much.”

“But you don’t— need me to?” Kirk asked. Considering how long Spock had tried to hide the pon farr in the first place, he could only hope he’d answer honestly now.

“I would not wish for you to touch me only as a favour to me. I wish you would do so because you desire it. As I said, the fever is gone.”

“So… what would you do, then, if I were to leave?”

“Pleasure myself and think of you.”

“Good lord, Spock,” he said, his face flushing. “I think that might be the first time anyone’s ever said that to me.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you simply never asked at the exact opportune moment.”

Kirk couldn’t help laughing, both at the joke and at the oddity of Spock’s familiar gesture and tone in such an unfamiliar context. “Perhaps not.”

“Look at me, Jim,” Spock said.

“I am.”

“No,” Spock shook his head fractionally. “Look at me and tell me what you see.”

“All right,” Kirk said, folding his arms, feeling self-conscious, but he was willing to indulge whatever thought exercise this was. “Well, you’ve been lying down for a while, so your hair isn’t as neat as usual. You must have been on your right side, because it’s messier there, just above the tip of your ear. And I know you haven’t been sleeping well, so your eyes are a little tired. But I see you didn’t let that stop you from putting your eye makeup on this morning.” He smiled. “It still looks nice. No lip gloss today, though.”

The edges of Spock’s mouth turned upward slightly. “No.”

Kirk realised he was staring at his mouth, at the pointed bow of his upper lip, the fullness of the lower, and it made him instinctively lick his own lips. “You’ve got— high cheekbones. A strong jaw. And your facial hair grows in quickly— I’ve always noticed that if we have a long day, or we get stuck somewhere… you always need a shave sooner than I do.”

Spock nodded. “I have noticed that difference between us as well.” His arms moved, and Kirk sucked in his breath as he realised Spock was pulling his undershirt over his head. He dropped it beside him on the bed, resuming his position, only now his pectoral and shoulder muscles, the nipples partially hidden beneath the hair on his chest, the trail leading toward his navel, were all staring Kirk in the face.

“Your body hair and your head hair are exactly the same colour,” Kirk blurted out. “That’s not true for everyone. Sometimes it’s lighter, or darker… mine’s darker— I mean, I remove most of it, but—” He shook his head, embarrassed. “I’m supposed to be talking about you, not me.”

Spock stood and unfastened his trousers, letting them fall at his feet, where he stepped out of them and nudged them to one side. This time he didn’t sit back down, but he also didn’t move to either close the distance between them or remove his remaining article of clothing. And Kirk understood, then, that Spock wanted to remind him he was free to leave; that the only thing that would keep Kirk here would be Kirk himself. They were less than a metre apart.

“You, ah…” Kirk glanced down. He’d been invited to look, after all. He took in the sight of his thin legs and their coating of dark hair, the tightness of his black boxer briefs. If Spock was hard at this point, Kirk wasn’t able to tell just from looking. “I’m not doing very well at this, I’m afraid.”

“You are doing fine,” Spock said. “What do you see?”

“I see you standing there in your underwear,” he said plainly.

“And what do you feel?”

His heart pounded. “I feel— overdressed,” he joked softly, feeling as though he could shatter the air between them if he spoke too loudly. Spock only continued to look at him.

“Do you wish to touch me?” Spock said at last, his low voice seeming to reverberate through Kirk’s own throat, and he realised that this was what he’d been desperate to be asked; that he had needed to be asked this, directly, exactly this.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Why?”

Kirk blinked in surprise at the followup question. “Because I… I find you beautiful,” he said, understanding as he said it that it had been true for much longer than the time he’d spent standing there looking at him. He wanted to cry, suddenly. Spock was so beautiful. Why had Kirk hid that knowledge from himself? “I want to know what your form of beauty feels like.”

“Then,” Spock said, “I would like for you to touch me.”

“How?” Kirk breathed. “I’ve never…”

“However you desire.”

“What if you don’t like what I do?”

“Then I shall tell you,” Spock said simply. “But I’m certain I will enjoy it.”

Kirk took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He was sweating a little. It was probably not just from the warmth of Spock’s quarters. Reaching out, he watched his hand cup Spock’s cheek as if through someone else’s eyes, and Spock breathed out through his nose, closing his eyes as he leaned into it. His skin was cool and dry. Kirk rubbed his thumb against it, brushing the corner of his mouth. Spock’s lips parted, and his thumb moved automatically toward them, running the pad of it over the swell of his lower lip. He felt the heat of Spock’s breath, exhaled in a gasp against it, and a familiar feeling began to bloom within him.

“Oh, god,” he whispered, in both wonder and fear. “Oh, god, I want to kiss you.”

“Please,” Spock said against Kirk’s thumb.

Gently seizing his face with both hands, Kirk lowered Spock’s head toward him. The rest was easy.

He’d kissed plenty of women in his lifetime— not as many as people tended to think, but not a small number, either. Kissing Spock both was and was not like kissing them. Was, because Spock’s lips were still soft, and his mouth still opened to Kirk’s like a blossom, and the kiss still fed the bud of desire in his lower abdomen. Was not, because the scratch of his stubble rubbed fibrous against Kirk’s chin, and the flesh of his chest did not give as Kirk’s arms pulled them closer together, and the hands that clutched at Kirk’s back were strong and long-fingered and cold.

Was not, because he had never before felt as though by kissing someone, he was about to alter his entire reality.

And kissing Spock, he couldn’t help thinking of Gary, the only man who’d kissed him before. He knew then that Spock was right: Kirk had pushed Gary away not because he hadn’t wanted it, but because he had.

Gary had seen that want in him and Kirk had punished himself for it. Spock had seen that want in him and drawn it out of him like a song.

“Spock…” He held the name in his mouth as they parted for air, saying it for no reason other than the pleasure of saying it, for the pleasure of knowing it really was Spock whose body was pressed to his, Spock who was breathing his breath, Spock who’d taken off his clothes and dared Kirk to turn away from what he saw. “Lie down,” he said decisively, dragging his lips over the stubble of Spock’s jaw, taking in the strangeness and bite of the texture.

Spock did so, stretching himself out on his back and staring up at him. Kirk pulled his shirt over his head, more because he was too warm than for any other reason, laying it on the chair.

“Do you intend to join me?” Spock asked, when Kirk continued to stand looking at him from the foot of the bed.

He nodded. “I don’t imagine I can do much for you from here.”

“If you were to remove more of your clothing, that might cease to be true.” Spock’s fingers traced the waistband of his briefs, as though too impatient to wait to be touched more.

Kirk sucked in his breath and undid his pants, pushing them to the floor, feeling as exposed as he ever had in front of Spock even with his underwear still on. They’d seen each other actually naked before, but of course, context was everything. He thought of the first time they’d been nude together, one of the least sexual contexts possible: a decontamination procedure after they’d both been exposed to moderate radiation during an away mission. Kirk had been dizzy and sick from the exposure, and Spock, whose metabolism had him faring slightly better, steadied him with a hand on his shoulder while the chamber blasted them with the treatment that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to sting or tickle his skin. He’d noticed their anatomical differences then, of course; Spock hadn’t been shy about his body, but Kirk had been too preoccupied with trying to stay on his feet and not vomit on him to think overmuch about it.

Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned down and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Spock’s briefs. Spock lifted his hips to assist as he pulled them down. He got on his knees astride Spock’s thighs, finding Spock’s hands on his skin again almost immediately. Kirk pressed their lips together, harder and more roughly than before, and Spock made a short but needy-sounding hum against his mouth. Kirk was suddenly very conscious of the semi-erection pushing against the front of his own briefs. He ignored it, purposely holding himself a little away from Spock’s body. He kissed his way from his mouth to his neck, holding himself up with one arm as the other one rubbed the cool, smooth skin of Spock’s side, one of the few places he wasn’t hairy.

Lifting himself from kissing his neck and collarbone, he watched his fingers trace through Spock’s chest hair, around one small nipple, back down his abdomen. There were a seemingly endless number of ways to touch him, and Spock appeared to enjoy all of them, arching toward his hand, making small noises of approval.

“How do I, ah…” Kirk licked his lips, glancing down between their legs, painfully aware of his lack of knowledge about Vulcan anatomy. Spock, who’d let his eyes close, opened them again, locking their gaze as he pressed two of Kirk’s fingers between his legs.

“Oh—” Kirk gasped in surprise, and, he could admit, arousal. Spock guided his hand along the slit that would presumably eventually open for his cock to emerge— obviously he had one, since Kirk had felt it against his leg on Vulcan. Spock groaned in satisfaction at the movement of their fingers through the dampness there, coating the velvet skin of the sheath and the coarse hair surrounding it. “Oh god, Spock…”

“Yes,” he hissed, letting his hand fall back to Kirk’s thigh as Kirk felt his own fingers grow more assured, watching Spock’s responses to how he moved, occasionally letting his fingertips slip a few centimetres inside him, satisfied by the way Spock tensed, making sharp little moans as he did. Kirk himself was fully hard now, turned on in both mind and body. This— pleasing someone— was familiar enough to override his nervousness, so when the head of Spock’s erection began to push at his fingers, it felt only natural for him to hold out his palm to grasp it. It was a little smaller than his own, the skin tighter (he guessed Vulcans had no need for foreskins), the head slightly more conical than rounded, the two ridges separating it from the shaft less pronounced than the single one humans had. And most noticeably, it was practically dripping, coated in a slick natural lubricant. He stroked its length a few times, experimentally, gauging Spock’s reactions.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered.

“Yes. I want you,” Spock replied, sliding his hand up over Kirk’s hip. This reminded him that he still had his underwear on, which suddenly seemed an unforgivable oversight, the renewed awareness of his own body making his cock ache with need, leaking a wet spot at the front of his briefs. He stopped touching Spock long enough to awkwardly wriggle his way out of the offending garment, kicking it onto the floor.

Spock, with one strong arm around his back, turned them onto their sides. His fingers trailed down the centre line of Kirk’s torso, through his pubic hair, too slowly, too lightly. Kirk thrust forward almost involuntarily. He wanted Spock to touch him, desperately, yet he could not bring himself to ask for it. He leaned forward, which made the head of his cock brush the hair of Spock’s stomach as he once again captured Spock’s lips with his. They kissed as though they were trying to drink from each other, thirstily, messy with teeth and tongue, until at last Kirk felt the touch of Spock’s fingers against him, aligning their erections, holding them together.

“Oh…” The unfamiliarity of the sensation was overshadowed by how good it felt. Physically, yes, with Spock’s lukewarm slick sliding over them both, but also because Spock was surprisingly vocal with his own enjoyment of it, little sounds spilling out of his mouth, his breath and lips brushing Kirk’s neck and ear. Kirk knew he’d been granted a privilege in touching him. Though considering the state Spock had been in only hours earlier, would this be enough?

“Whatever you offer is enough,” Spock said, his voice punctuated by panting breaths as they moved together.

“You reading my mind?” Kirk teased. The well-worn tread of their banter— which, he could now see, had been flirting more often than it was not— put him oddly at ease in spite of the unique newness of their current situation.

“My shields…” Spock half-explained. “I am… highly aroused. I sensed the change in your emotions and— ah— extrapolated your query.”

“If you’re still using words like ‘extrapolated’,” Kirk said, slipping his own hand between them and wrapping it around Spock’s, “maybe I do need to work harder.” The sensation increased, and not only against his cock: there was a sparkling thread that seemed to join them together, something that spread from their fingers and up his arm, filling him with a fierce need as well as an unexpectedly deep comfort, like lying down on his bed at the end of a long day.

“Jim…” Spock’s voice was rough, uncollected. “My hands are…”

“I know,” Kirk said, even though he hadn’t, really, not until that moment.

“Please don’t stop,” Spock said, moving a little faster.

“I don’t want to.” Kirk kissed him again, nipping Spock’s bottom lip and marvelling at the low noise in the back of his throat as he did it. He wanted— no, needed— to make him come, to know that he could, to know that it was more to him than what was simply expected, more than just the end result of getting into bed together. With some dismay he realised his own orgasm was approaching rapidly, but Spock only tightened his grip around them.

“I will feel it, Jim,” he whispered, swallowing. “My controls are— your climax will be mine also.”

“Oh, god…” Kirk breathed, tightening his hand around Spock’s in return. “Oh, Spock, I can’t—”

“Yes,” Spock gasped. “Yes, Jim, please—”

He couldn’t hold back any longer, the crescendo within him reaching its peak, in disbelief that he’d been afraid of this, afraid of his own pleasure, his own happiness, of the physicality of everything he felt for Spock. As Spock had promised, they came together, with the pine-tar and juniper smell of Spock’s hair in Kirk’s nostrils, their combined release spilling messily over each other’s hands and abdomens, their gasps and cries greedily swallowed by each other’s mouths.

Kirk caught his breath as he felt Spock’s hand relax beneath his. He pressed his lips to Spock’s forehead, feeling the burn of tears behind his eyes, as though his very being were overflowing. One ran sideways across his nose, dropping with a nearly inaudible plop onto the pillow, and he found that he could not feel ashamed. Spock was as familiar and comfortable as his own uniform, as infinite and beautiful as the stars. Kirk wanted to feel him like the blood in his veins. Spock’s life was as dear to him as his own.

He pulled back a little now that his body had settled, so that he could see him better. Spock’s face had rarely looked so undone, except possibly following a mind meld. The idea thrilled him. The words I love you formed like a cloud over the ocean somewhere in his chest. He kept them to himself. Spock would either feel it or not, acknowledge it or not.

“Should I get us something to clean up?” he said aloud, instead. Not very romantic or sexy, but, well, they were both sticky.

Spock’s eyes fluttered open, and it seemed to take a moment of looking back at him for the question to register. He fumbled around with his foot, snagging it on his discarded undershirt, still improbably resting at the foot of the bed, bringing his knee up to pass it to himself in a surprisingly fluid motion. “No need,” he said in a gravelly voice, running the shirt over his hand and genitals carelessly. He folded it over and passed it to Kirk, who did the same, conscious of Spock’s eyes on him. His hand came to rest above Jim’s hip as he settled again beside him.

“Could we…” he ventured, voicing the thought that had been simmering in his mind. “Could we have done that… earlier? Instead of— beaming down to Vulcan, I mean?”

Spock made a noise of acknowledgement. “I expect it would have taken considerably more energy then.”

Kirk felt himself blush at the implication. “But you’re all right now?”

“I am perfectly satisfied for the time being.” Spock oozed closer to him, and Kirk sensed him hesitating to rearrange their positions, so he rolled onto his back to save him the trouble, letting him drape his limbs over his body. “Though my desire for you has not abated.”

Kirk chuckled. “I don’t blame you, that was a little clumsy compared to how I usually…” he stopped. “I mean, I generally try not to end things so quickly.”

“I found the timing to be appropriate.”

“You’re humouring me.”

“I am Vulcan. I would do no such thing.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Kirk agreed, amused, and was silent for a time. “Everything’s different now, isn’t it?”

Spock exhaled thoughtfully. “Some things are. Most are not.”

“Does sex always make you so philosophical?”

“No,” he said, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, Kirk couldn’t help but laugh again.

They were quiet then, and he wished he could just enjoy it, but his mind was racing. When should he go back to his room? What was their relationship now? How serious were Vulcans when it came to sex, monogamy, and the like? Not to mention they’d barely scratched the surface of acts that could be performed between them; what if Kirk turned out to be terrible at blowjobs, or couldn’t manage anal sex?

But the weight of Spock’s leg across his thigh was comforting, the arm against his chest lean and strong. He ran his fingers over the skin of Spock’s forearm, through the dark hair that covered it, and Spock hummed with pleasure into his neck.

“Will you stay?” Spock murmured.

In truth, Kirk wanted to run— but from himself. Not Spock. Spock he wanted to fuse to his soul, to keep safe bundled up inside him. “Yes, of course I’ll stay.”

They’d fallen asleep tangled formlessly together, and he’d woken to Spock gently thumbing over his nipple, nuzzling at his neck. Kirk had never expected him to be so affectionate, so free with his touch, and he was not too proud to admit that knowing Spock gave him that trust did a fair bit for him. Some part of his mind knew that they were expected to be on duty shortly, but that hadn’t stopped them from enjoying several minutes of kissing and fondling each other, Spock sliding Kirk’s erection between his thighs to rub against his sheath in a way that felt shockingly erotic. Too soon he pressed a hand to Kirk’s chest and reminded him of the time. “We have fourteen point four minutes to shower and perform other basic hygiene if we are also intending to eat breakfast.”

“How much time do we have if we skip breakfast?” Kirk murmured, tonguing at his neck and continuing the movement of his hips.

“Twenty-three point… one minutes,” Spock said breathlessly. He was wet, but not hard yet. Spock’s hand slid downward, but only to still their movements with a hand on Kirk’s hip— much to his disappointment. “But you, at least, cannot skip breakfast. Dr McCoy will notice.”

How annoying that he was right. “Why’d you start, then?” Kirk grumbled as he rolled away from him.

“To give us something to occupy our minds during what is certain to be an uneventful duty shift.” He raised an eyebrow as he got up from the bed.

“Mr Spock!” Kirk exclaimed, laughing. “You should know I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

They’d taken turns showering and fixing their hair in the bathroom, and Kirk tapped on the door to Spock’s side again once he was in uniform with his teeth brushed. “Enter,” Spock said from within. He was fastening the collar of his science blues. The dirty clothing that had been on the floor from the night before had been cleared away, presumably thrown down the laundry chute. It gave Kirk a bizarre thrill, something between arousal and embarrassment, to know that their sex-spoiled clothes were lying together in a utility room, waiting for their turn in the sonic washer.

Kirk stepped inside, getting a bit of déjà vu. Spock, finished with his uniform, let his hands rest at his sides. “Spock, I… I know we have only a few minutes. Maybe we should have talked more last night, before we… well. Not that I regret it. I just mean…” Why was he so tongue-tied?

Spock only stood patiently waiting for him to continue.

“I just— don’t think I’m ready for others to know,” Kirk managed. “Not just yet.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his heart aching over the cool acceptance in Spock’s reply. “I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of myself. Because I know what people think of me, the way they think I am about women. I don’t want the crew to believe— if it turns out I can’t do this— that I was using you, or manipulating you. You deserve better than that. Our friendship deserves better than that.”

“I will wait,” Spock said, “until you are certain.”

“Are you? Certain, I mean?” he asked, unsure if he was prepared to hear the answer.

“I am certain that my place is at your side,” he said. “That will be enough for me no matter what you decide.”

“Spock…” Kirk felt his face threaten to break as he went to him, placing a hand on his upper arm. It was unfair, he knew it— that he couldn’t go all in, yet neither could he walk away.

“Jim,” Spock replied gently, “you are not the only one who is… venturing into something unknown. I have sexual experience, but I know little of the emotions that contribute to human relationships. Perhaps you will find my kind of companionship to be unsatisfying.”

“Don’t say that.” Kirk slid his hand down his arm, touching the back of Spock’s hand with his fingers. “Whatever you offer is enough,” he said, repeating Spock’s own words back to him.

Spock gazed at him for a long moment. “We will be late,” he said finally.

“Yes,” Kirk said, letting his hand drop. “Yes, you’re right.”

Chapter Text

The morning following their night together, Spock and Jim arrived at the bridge separately, Jim having been waylaid talking to Dr McCoy after breakfast, something Spock suspected may have been at least partially intentional. It was not uncommon for captain and first officer to enter from the turbolift at the same time, but perhaps Jim too felt as though the change between them was so unavoidably spectacular that it could not help but show itself when they were together, etched over their skin, humming its song in the air around them. Uhura greeted him as usual, but upon seeing his face, did a double take and smiled.

“You’re looking much better, Mr Spock!” Her smile then faded slightly, perhaps uncertain if it was impolite to say. “I mean, I’m glad to see it, is all,” she continued, more softly.

“I am improved,” he said neutrally. She knew nothing of the realities of his prior condition; she only knew that he’d visited his homeworld while he’d been ailing. Her concern was natural.

She looked for a moment as though she intended to say something more, but pressed her lips together and smiled again, handing him a datacard. “Command’s sent the attendance orders and schedule for the ceremonies at Altair VI, sir.”

He took it with a nod. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Jim arrived a quarter of an hour later, looking fresh-faced and cheerful as he had at breakfast. He went to Uhura’s station and asked her for a status report.

Spock was not particularly bothered by the fact that he’d requested the nature of what had occurred between them be kept quiet for the time being. It was reasonable while neither of them were certain how their relationship might progress further. And it was not anyone’s business but theirs, so long as it did not affect the operations of the ship.

The lift doors opened again within the hour, ejecting a frowning McCoy onto the bridge. “Spock!” He leaned forward, his hands on the railing. Spock looked at him inquisitively and said nothing. “Didn’t I order you to take the day off?”

“You recommended it, and I agreed,” Spock corrected. “It was not a medical order.”

“Well, the last time I do you any goddamn favours! I’ll make it one if you don’t—”

“Spock,” Jim interrupted, “go with McCoy. Let him do another scan if he thinks it’s necessary.”

“Yes, sir,” Spock said, standing up. McCoy’s face relaxed into puzzlement.

“All right,” McCoy said skeptically, pressing the button for the turbolift as Spock walked over to join him. The doors hissed open. “Sickbay.” The doctor continued to regard him through narrowed eyes as they held the handles through their journey. Spock knew it was because he practically never went willingly to sickbay, and certainly he was entirely sick of the sight of it at this point; but he was sure McCoy would find nothing to keep him from his duties, or indeed, anything of concern at all.

“You wanna do this in private?” the doctor asked, when they reached the sickbay doors.

“That will not be necessary.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

“Am I to do your job for you, Doctor?” Spock felt no animosity toward him, but he hoped that by acting as he knew McCoy would expect, he might be asked fewer questions.

“Oh, for the love of— fine!” he spat, taking out his medical scanner, calibrating it and running it over various parts of his body. He frowned over the readings, eyes moving back and forth between the scanner and Spock. He put it away with a shake of his head. “Well, I don’t know what to say about that Vulcan constitution of yours. You seem to be in perfectly good health. And you do look a hell of a lot better.”

“Why, thank you, Doctor,” Spock said. He hopped down from the table. “If there’s nothing else—”

“Now just a minute!” He grabbed his arm, then let go. Spock faced him, folding his arms across his chest. McCoy hesitated, opening and closing his mouth. He sighed. “No, I suppose there isn’t. You’re, uh… cleared for duty.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” Spock said, sweeping out of the room to make his way back to the bridge.

McCoy was perhaps the most likely to suspect that a change had occurred between Jim and himself, but if he had suspicions at present, he had chosen not to voice them. At least, not to Spock. If he were to ask Jim— well, Jim could decide for himself what to tell his friend.

The remainder of the shift passed largely as usual, though Spock did find that his internal time seemed off-kilter: several times he found it was more than thirty minutes earlier than the time he’d expected. Humans often complained of time ‘dragging on’— Spock supposed this was what they meant. He also needed to check the progress of some experiments he’d left to the other science officers while his focus was affected by the pon farr, so he spent several hours in the lab working with his team. He then caught up on reading the backlog of reports while eating dinner in his quarters. By twenty-one thirty, he had to admit that his attention was wavering significantly.

He resisted the urge to pace his quarters, trying instead to channel his restless energy. Perhaps he had been too quick to accept that he was fully recovered— but no, the source of the restlessness was neither hormonal nor psionic. He simply felt the urge to be with Jim again. Spock bit his lip. They’d alluded to the possibility of continuing later after they’d cut their activities short that morning, but no real agreement had been made. Spock was certain he had felt love from Jim when they’d held each other the night before, when he’d not yet had the chance to try to restore some of his shielding. Given the day to think, had Jim decided the nature of that love was simply not enough for this?

The ping of an incoming message drew him out of his thoughts. Looking back at the screen, he saw it was from the Captain, but marked as personal rather than official. Spock swallowed and opened it. The body of the communication was empty. Attached was a medical file. He scanned its contents quickly, then stood up without realising he’d decided to do so, not even shutting down his console before making his way to the bathroom door to press it open. The door to Jim’s quarters slid aside before he’d had a chance to knock.

“I take it you got my message?” Jim smiled at him across the threshold. Spock nodded. “Since you’ve already been subjected to every test under every sun recently, I figured we may as well do this right, if— if we’re going to do it at all.”

“That is a very responsible attitude.”

“Well, I didn’t get to be captain by shirking duty,” he joked softly.

“You feel it is your duty to engage in unprotected sexual activity with me?” Spock asked, pretending to misunderstand.

“Some duties,” Jim said, smiling at Spock’s expression and pulling him into the room by his waist, “can be a pleasure.”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed. He wanted to kiss him, but felt the need to let Jim choose it without prompting.

Jim did.

Previously, Spock had enjoyed human kissing to some extent, but mainly he’d done it because his human partners largely expected it and found it pleasurable. Kissing Jim in comparison felt as though they were being blissfully subsumed by one another. He could not seem to get enough of his mouth, reluctant to part even for breath. Spock allowed himself the smallest relaxation of his shields, just enough to sense Jim’s emotions skating staccato-light over his mind, the feet of water-bugs on the river’s surface. Lust as Jim kissed his neck. Satisfaction as Spock’s fingers clawed their way under the hem of Jim’s shirt. Happiness. Excitement. Apprehension.

They divested themselves of their clothes at the edge of the bed, with much less finesse than they had the night before, flopping down together on the mattress. Jim was hard, pressing against his thigh as he rubbed and pinched at Spock’s nipple, making him gasp. Spock felt helplessly wanton beneath his hands. He wished Jim would never stop touching him.

Jim’s fingers soon drifted downward, gliding over the wet lips of his sheath. He slid his index finger inside, brushing the head of his partially-erect cock. Spock bucked upward with a groan. He felt the blade of Jim’s arousal in his mind as he did. Jim watched his fingers moving for a short while before looking up at Spock’s face, eyes clouded with desire.

“Does this… I mean— can I…” He was unusually hesitant, but Spock anticipated the end of his question.

“You can try,” he replied, “though I do not think you’ll be able to for long. Once I become erect there will not be space. You may prefer to penetrate me anally.”

“Would… you prefer it?”

“It is my general preference,” he said. “Though with you I believe there is little I would not enjoy.”

Jim smiled. “You flatter me, considering I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.” Spock found this slightly surprising. Anal sex was not an activity exclusive to two males, and Jim appeared to be otherwise fairly experienced.

“I can prepare myself while you watch, if you like.”

Jim sucked in his breath. “That sounds very efficient… but no,” he decided. “No, I— I want to.”

“My own lubricant will be adequate.” Jim nodded. His fingers were already slick. Spock bent his legs and Jim settled in a kneeling position between them, his fingers trailing down from his slit and over his perineum, gently rubbing the rim of his hole. “Yes,” he said, encouraging him, trying to relax his muscles. Jim’s first finger slid into him.

The night before, Spock had left the choice of activity up to Jim partially to keep him from feeling further uncertainty or even panic, but partially also because Spock had been so intensely desirous for him he would have let him do anything. He would have let Jim take him without preparation, would have let him fuck his mouth until his throat and jaw ached. He’d fantasized about these things and others during their journey to Vulcan, and though the biological need had disappeared with the blood fever, the ferocity of his want for Jim remained heightened until his hormonal and mental state had levelled off. As he and Jim had drifted off to sleep, he’d idly wondered how many times he might have needed to pleasure himself to reach the same balance he’d achieved from one orgasm at Jim’s hand.

“I think I like you like this,” Jim said softly, two of his fingers now inside him. Watching Spock’s erection dripping slick onto his stomach. “I never thought you’d be so…” His pride licked over Spock’s mind as he searched for the right term. “Uncontrolled. Wet. Desperate for me.”

“Only for you, Jim,” he said breathlessly. More of Jim’s pleasure kissed at his thoughts.

“Fuck…”

“Now, please,” Spock said, reaching for him. “Now.”

“You sure?” Jim frowned a little, uncertainty crowding back into his head.

“It would take a human longer,” Spock managed, “but I am ready.” He ran a hand over his own erection once, coating it so he could lubricate Jim, bending his knees further once Jim’s fingers retracted.

As he felt himself entered— a little more abruptly than could be called comfortable, though it was not painful— it occurred to Spock that he’d rarely fantasized about this particular act with Jim, not until the pon farr. It was as though his mind had held it deliberately away from him. And his pon farr fantasies had provided little more than a brief respite from his physical symptoms; his fingers inside himself as he stroked his painfully hard cock had brought no real happiness or satisfaction.

But Jim’s pleasure as they made love— for making love was how Jim thought of it— was the sweetest thing he had ever known.

Jim asked him things, questions about his comfort, the pace, the position. Spock was touched by this despite his own impatience, and to his delight Jim quickly grew more confident, reading Spock as effortlessly as he had done in entirely different contexts on missions past: in battle, in concerns that could not be spoken, in quick attempts at escape. The air between them grew humid with their breath and body heat as they moved together, and the questions he asked became less about guidance and more about making Spock share his enjoyment with him. You like that? You’re good at this, aren’t you? Do you wanna touch yourself? Do you want me to come in you?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Spock’s answer was always yes.

They reached climax nearly simultaneously, Spock’s controls shredded by physical pleasure and the deliciously overwhelming clutch of Jim’s emotions. Their soft groans and panting breaths were swallowed up by the steady hum of the ship around them.

“God, Spock… I had no idea it would be this good,” Jim said afterwards, lying on his back. Spock was on his side, his hand resting over Jim’s heart. Utterly wrung out, they’d cleaned themselves only half-heartedly; the hair on Spock’s stomach was stuck together as it started to dry, and he could feel a slick mess of come and lubricant slowly dribbling out of him. It didn’t bother him at the moment. However, it took several seconds for his pleasantly loosened mind to make sense of Jim’s statement.

“Are you referring to anal sex?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No. Though I enjoyed it, obviously.” He turned his neck to face him, his cheeks pink and strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “I meant being with you.”

At first, Spock was so thrilled by the novelty of their relationship, so powerfully bent to the will of his own lust, so excited by the ability to share with Jim all the things he’d wanted to share for so many long months, that he found the secret they shared equally as exciting.

He would work at his station on the bridge and sense Jim’s eyes on him, and wonder if he was allowing his thoughts to drift into memories of how he’d taken him from behind the night before. Or perhaps he might be thinking about the end of their shift, of how he could pull Spock to him in the turbolift and mouth at his neck until seconds before the door opened, with just enough time for them to straighten their shirts before exiting into the corridor amongst all the oblivious crewmen. He would eat across from Jim in the mess, talking as they had always done, only now another section of Spock’s brain would push thoughts at Jim while he listened, thoughts he knew Jim couldn’t feel without touch and a lowering of Spock’s shields. But he thought them anyway. I want you to kiss me. I want your mouth around my fingers. I want to taste you as you come. I want your mind. I want to tell you you are beautiful. I want to be yours always.

They engaged in sex often, more often than Spock had anticipated, and he was pleased by the way Jim’s desires paralleled his own. He conducted himself as usual when they were working or among others— his controls were quite up to the task— but when they were alone it was seemingly never long before their hands were on each other, removing cumbersome pieces of clothing as Jim’s hardness tightened the front of his trousers, as Spock’s sheath grew wet with the swelling of his cock within him. Many nights he would fall asleep in Jim’s bed, sated and curled up intertwined with him. And in the mornings he would wake early, taking a moment to appreciate the welcome sight of his lover’s sleeping face, his body that seemed at once soft and fragile, masculine and strong. He would then quietly retreat through the bathroom to his own quarters to prepare for the day.

Spock continued to suspect that McCoy knew more than he made mention of, but neither the doctor nor any other member of the crew broached the subject, for which Spock was grateful— he did not know how convincing he would be if he were to attempt to lie outright, and he understood that any avoidance of answering would itself be viewed as a form of answer. Jim made no outward sign of wanting to alter their arrangement even after several weeks, though the secrecy was becoming somewhat tedious.

Their exploration of Gamma Trianguli VI went from idyllic to fatal alarmingly quickly, with a security officer hit by a plant’s poisonous thorns after not even twenty minutes. Spock was reprimanded by Jim for his instinctual action in protecting him from the projectiles of another of the deadly plants later on. He had tried to make light of it, since aside from the nausea caused by McCoy’s stimulant and the dull sting in his chest from the thorns, he felt otherwise perfectly all right. Jim, however, was not amused.

He could have alerted him verbally, that was true. But that assumed that Jim would have had time and ability to both register the warning and get out of the way. Probable, but not guaranteed. In the split second between noticing the moving plant and leaping to push Jim out of its path, Spock had chosen to rely on his copper-based blood likely reacting differently to the poison. He was sorry to have alarmed the others— he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, so perhaps they’d thought him dead— but he could not be sorry for his choice of action. If the thorns had hit Jim, he, like the unfortunate Hendorff, would not have survived.

Spock’s feelings about the fact of his own death were similar to his feelings on command: he did not seek it, but nor did he fear it. He cherished life, and did not want to cause grief for others, but part of what made the precious gift of life so valuable was indeed the certainty of death. Therefore if in risking himself other lives might be preserved, Spock would see the logic in doing so, and have little to regret. The needs of the many.

In the village, Jim had teased Spock affectionately about the flower bracelet that had been tied about his wrist, perhaps knowing they were both keen to remove them but must wait to do so rather than risk offending the villagers. Considering Jim’s darkened mood following the deaths of Mallory and Kaplan, and Scott’s update on the ship, Spock would let him take his happiness where he could find it.

Soon after, as he and the Captain observed the people of Vaal ‘feeding’ the chamber housing the computer which controlled their environment, Dr McCoy had joined them. He wasted little time in making his objections known. “It would take a computerised Vulcan mind such as yours to make that kind of a statement.”

“Doctor, you insist on applying human standards to non-human cultures. I remind you that humans are only a tiny minority in this galaxy,” Spock replied, finding himself with little patience for McCoy’s contrarianism.

“There are certain absolutes, Mr Spock, and one of them is the right of humanoids to a free and unchained environment, the right to have conditions which permit growth,” the doctor said with a gruff sort of passion, though still taking care to keep his voice quieter than Spock knew he might under usual circumstances.

“Another is their right to choose a system which seems to work for them.”

“Jim, you're not just going to stand by and be blinded to what's going on here,” McCoy implored the Captain. “These are humanoids, intelligent. They need to advance and grow.” Jim gave them a portion of his attention, but said nothing. “Don't you understand what my readings indicate? There's been no progress here in at least ten thousand years. This isn't life! It's stagnation.”

“Doctor, these people are healthy and they are happy,” Spock said, a little snappishly. “Whatever you choose to call it, this system works, despite your emotional reaction to it.” He stared forward at the giant serpent’s head chamber again. The inhabitants of Gamma Trianguli VI may have been naïve, servile to the entity they called Vaal, and evidently forbidden from any sort of sexual or romantic activity, but they were not suffering. They were not even the slightest bit discontent.

When they’d first been brought to the village by Akuta, Jim’s pointed question about children, which the natives did not understand, had led Yeoman Landon to ask about love. Her chaste innuendo had made Spock want to roll his eyes— ‘love’ was hardly the main component in creating offspring. Chekov had moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her, gazing at her meaningfully as if to offer a demonstration of the phenomenon.

It was no secret that Spock’s young protegé and the yeoman were in the throes of a new relationship, one that was presumably also sexual in nature (he neither needed nor cared to confirm this information). In the past he might have found their behaviour while on mission mildly unprofessional at worst, amusingly human at best. But it had given Spock an almost jealous feeling to see them touch in that carefree manner, which was odd, considering he would not have wanted Jim to touch him in such ways publicly. But the fact that he could not even gently allude to it, could hardly even feel comfortable raising an eyebrow at Jim in reaction to such a display without arousing suspicion…

He tamped down his frustration. It was not right to fault Chekov and Landon’s comfort and ease with one another for his own feelings, and it was not right to take out his annoyance on McCoy, who was, in his way, expressing a perfectly understandable concern for the lack of advancement in this society. But there was still more to learn before drawing conclusions.

Scott’s update about the ship’s attempt to break free of the hold had not been promising. Landon was pacing the hut in distress while the others ate, and Spock observed as Jim tried to settle her by drawing her attention back to the natives of the planet, though he knew that Jim was equally concerned. She reluctantly took a piece of fruit and sat down, but did not eat it as she considered the Captain’s question.

“Yes… I suppose if someone were to fall off a cliff or something, that might upset the balance of the population. Then they would need a replacement,” she said.

“They’d need a replacement,” Jim repeated, turning to Spock with an unexpectedly triumphant look on his face. “Opinion, Mr Spock?”

“I see no alternative,” Spock agreed, wondering what point he was trying to make.

“But these people… I mean, if they don't know anything about…” Landon looked around the room, evidently suddenly conscious of the fact that she was in a room filled largely with men who were her superior officers. “What I mean is,” she continued a bit awkwardly, “they don't seem to have any natural… um… I mean, how is it… done?” She finished in almost a whisper, her eyes on Jim before looking back down at the table.

Jim turned to him again. “Mr Spock? ​​You're the science officer, why don't you explain it to the young lady.”

To Spock’s horror, he felt a blush threaten to rise in his cheeks as Landon, McCoy, and Jim all looked at him expectantly. The topic had made him think of that morning, when Jim had slipped into the shower with him, pressing him gently to the wall with his erection rubbing against Spock’s soaped-up behind, fingering his sheath roughly until his cock emerged. It had not taken long before Jim was spilling hot and sticky against his back, with Spock’s own orgasm spurting over Jim’s hand and the shower wall.

“Well, I… believe it’s safe—” His throat thickened, and he cleared it, hoping to clear his thoughts away with it. “Safe to assume that they would… receive the necessary… instructions.” His own voice lowered in volume much as the yeoman’s had done. His thoughts had diverted unhelpfully to the memory of the first time Jim had performed oral sex on him, asking Spock to tell him what he liked and did not like throughout. It had grown more and more difficult to articulate himself as Jim adapted quickly to his responses, performing more than adequately, even if his technical skill had initially been a little uncertain. He’d pulled off at the last moment, watching Spock come all over his own stomach.

“From a machine?” McCoy said. The question didn’t require an answer, and Spock merely stared at him. “That, I’d like to see.” His blue eyes shone with humour. Perhaps due to his own inappropriate line of thinking, Spock once again had the sense that the doctor was aware of more than he let on.

When they returned to the ship, Spock had his burns expertly healed by McCoy, which took some time due to the regeneration of skin that was needed. It was also going to be necessary to remain in orbit for the twelve to fourteen hours it would take to receive a subspace response from Command, in answer to their request that another ship or courier be sent in approximately six weeks’ time to pick up the team who’d be staying behind on the planet to assist as the inhabitants learned to care for themselves. Spock still did not entirely approve of the choice that had been made in ‘freeing’ the people from Vaal, but kaiidth— he’d made his opinions known to both the doctor and the Captain, and the decision could hardly be altered now.

He and Jim completed their reports and prepared for bed. Spock meditated. When he finished he considered sleeping in his own room for once, but he was weak, weak with desire for Jim’s touch, his body, the soft voice he used when they were alone. He removed his robe and hung it in the bathroom, making his way through the unlocked door to Jim’s quarters, where he crawled naked into bed next to the warm, dozing body of his Captain. Jim inhaled as the movement woke him, and he rolled onto his side, his hand finding Spock’s hand, his mouth finding Spock’s mouth in the dark. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he murmured, a little more alert.

“I should have allowed you to rest,” Spock said quietly.

“Mm… I got a little sleep while you were meditating,” he said. “I’ll take this over a full eight hours’ worth, anyway.” He kissed him again, pulling him closer.

The most troublesome aspect of their arrangement thus far was proving to be the fact that the bulkheads were not soundproof. Spock’s controls during sex were weak if he was experiencing sufficient stimulation, and with Jim, he always was. It was not uncommon to find Jim’s hand over his mouth when he was nearing climax. Sometimes Spock could distract himself by licking or sucking at his fingers. Not always.

“If you’re having trouble keeping quiet,” Jim said into his ear later that night, his breath sending a shiver through him, “maybe you want me to fill up that lovely mouth of yours instead.”

Spock bit his lip as Jim continued fucking into him. It was not clear if the statement was serious or not, but he did not need Jim to know how arousing it was to consider the degrading idea of having his mouth used after being penetrated. He contained himself to a whimper.

But of course, it was not entirely the failure of his controls and shields that resulted in his sounds of pleasure.

That was the interesting way of secrets: at times, it was like they did not wish to be kept. Jim’s behaviour on Gamma Trianguli VI had indicated that perhaps he, too, was finding this to be the case. Though Spock understood why it might occasionally be logical to withhold some portion of the facts which made up a complete truth, it was not always easy. And this particular secret had begun to feel to him as though it had a mass, a mass which grew each time they slept in one another’s bed, each time they kissed, each time they made love. It had grown until he felt full to bursting, as though the secret of Jim’s affection would come oozing through his skin or beaming like a phaser out of his chest.

He thus found he did not want to be quiet. He was so proud to be Jim’s lover, he wanted to be heard, wanted others to know it was he, Spock, who pleasured him and was pleasured by him, Spock whose touch settled his body and mind, Spock whom he let hold him in the night.

Nevertheless he buried his face in the pillow to muffle his cries as he came, and Jim followed him swiftly, thrusting hard and collapsing down over his back, kissing the nape of his neck.

“Computer, lights, five percent,” Jim said a few moments later, pulling out of him and fumbling with the storage drawer in the wall for towelettes to clean them up. Spock turned onto his side to allow Jim room to lie on his back, his preferred position for sleep, and Jim ordered the lights out again. They settled comfortably into silence with Jim’s hand resting over his.

“Jim?” Spock whispered after a time. He could tell through their touch that he was not yet asleep.

“Mm… what is it?”

“You are confident that you enjoy sex with me, correct?”

Jim laughed. “Is that a trick question? Of course I’m— what… what makes you ask that?”

“Nothing in particular,” he said. “It is only that I recall your uncertainty about it being a reason you wished to keep this private, for a time.”

“Right.” He sensed a low simmer of nervousness from Jim, tinged with anger and guilt. Spock was relieved it was dark enough that Jim could not see the look of sorrow that crossed his face then.

“Then…” He pressed on. “Perhaps at this point you might consider sharing the nature of our relationship with Dr McCoy, at least. It is my suspicion that he may have already worked some of it out for himself.”

Jim sighed through his nose. “You’re probably right about that. He’s— well, sometimes he knows us better than we like to think.”

“Indeed.”

“What about you?” Jim prompted. “I seem to remember you having your own reservations.”

“My own limitations do not need to be kept secret. The fact that I cannot provide the love for you that—”

“I never asked that of you,” he interrupted in a hiss, “so you don’t need to act like I’m making some huge sacrifice, like I’m secretly unhappy because you aren’t human enough. Maybe your self-pitying act works on other people, but it doesn’t work on me, Spock.”

Spock was silent as he briefly controlled his reaction. “Do you wish me to leave?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I just want— I need you to understand that… it’s always going to be different for me. I’m the captain. There are people who still don’t approve of me even as I am. There are certain… expectations.”

“I have never disputed that,” Spock said. He knew Jim referred not so much to his sexuality, but to the myriad of things that made up his carefully ordered self-image, his captain’s mask. “I am perhaps better equipped than most to understand it.”

“Then stop pushing me.”

“I merely suggested—”

“—suggested that I blow up everything I’ve worked for by sending out a memo that I’m fucking my first officer?”

Spock flinched. “That was not my implication.”

“I know. I know.” Jim sighed again. The darkness was still and full around them. “I’m sorry,” he went on eventually. “I understand if you’re angry.”

“I am not angry. I only thought that… having the freedom to speak of it with someone whom you trust…”

“Yes,” Jim said softly. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll tell Bones soon. I will.”

“It was a suggestion, not an ultimatum.”

“Still. He’s our friend, and if he’s guessed already I’m sure he wonders why I’ve been keeping him in the dark. It’s not like anything we’re doing is a crime.”

“I know of several we could easily commit, if you wish to have something more tangible to confess,” Spock said, to lighten the mood.

“I’ve got enough on my plate already, thank you,” he replied, elbowing him. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late.”

Spock didn’t bring up the matter again. Nor did Jim, so if he had shared the information with Dr McCoy in the weeks that followed, neither of them chose to discuss it with him. Spock found it more likely that Jim hadn’t done so, seeing as McCoy generally never passed up an opportunity for some new subject to bother Spock about.

Jim, however, did become somewhat less cautious around Spock publicly, and it was a relief to no longer waste energy worrying that they were standing too close together on the bridge, or that they ate dinner together too often, or other such things Spock had never thought twice about before they were together. They were at each other’s sides more often than not, and no crewman so much as batted an eye. During the incident with the Klingons and the tribbles on Starbase K-7, Jim had even gone so far as to draw him in for a kiss in the empty briefing room. “Give me a little something to lift my mood, Mr Spock,” he’d said. Spock didn’t know if he’d succeeded, considering the scale of the mishaps and Jim’s persistent headache, but he was glad to oblige regardless.

When they happened upon the remains of the Beagle, he understood that they must make arrangements to beam down to the planet to search for survivors. But Spock was sure to remind them all of the noninterference directive, hoping there would be no need for another situation as with the people of Vaal. His heart sank to learn of ‘Merikus’, the first citizen— the name and timing were simply too much of a coincidence. The odds that he and the Beagle’s former captain were the same person, he calculated, were over ninety-two percent.

Spock was quite disturbed when they learned of how Merik had doomed his crew to their fates in the gladiatorial battles. Jim, he knew, would rather die than take such action himself. My world, Proconsul, is my vessel, my oath, my crew. It was one of the things Spock admired most about him. And feared, equally. But he would not let it come to that. There had to be a way. He would not lose Jim, not now.

The words of Proconsul Claudius, said to Jim after he’d refused to cooperate, looped in Spock’s mind as he tried again to find a weak point in the cell door. Then you'd gladly accept whatever happens to you. He had prodded the lock, twisted and yanked at the carbon steel bars until he felt the skin of his palms start to blister, but even Vulcan strength was no match for them. He gripped the bars and shook them uselessly as he looked up to the ceiling, begging the universe for something, anything that would help them help Jim. These men did not believe in mercy.

Then you’d gladly accept whatever happens to you.

“Angry, Mr Spock? Or frustrated, perhaps?” said McCoy’s voice from behind him.

“Such emotions are foreign to me, Doctor,” he said automatically, distracted. “I’m merely testing the strength of the door.”

“For the fifteenth time.” The doctor’s voice softened, but Spock was hardly paying attention, running his hand down the cement wall, looking for any place it might be crumbling or cracked, for a bolt loose where it joined with the bars. He would gladly break his knuckles destroying the rock if it meant he could free himself and get to Jim. But as he sank to the floor to check the last join, he knew he was only confirming that it was hopeless.

Then you’d gladly accept whatever happens to you.

“Spock.” McCoy’s voice reeled him back, and he glanced in his direction as the doctor came to his side. Quickly he glanced away again, realising his expression had contorted in his despair, and continued to search fruitlessly for a potential method of escape. “Spock, uh… I know we’ve, uh, had our disagreements,” he began, but Spock did not feel especially compelled to listen to what was sure to be a pointless display of emotion that would not help Jim. “Uh, maybe they’re jokes, I don’t know… as Jim says, we’re often not sure ourselves sometimes—” he laughed nervously as he said this— “but uh… what I’m trying to say is—”

Spock found his patience had nearly reached its limit. “Doctor, I am seeking a means of escape; will you please be brief?” he said curtly.

“What I’m trying to say is you saved my life in the arena,” McCoy said at last, apparently called to action by Spock’s tone. He looked somewhat pleased with himself. Spock’s patience thinned further.

“Yes, that’s quite true.” McCoy had obviously been no match for Flavius, who’d resisted using his true strength as long as he dared. Spock had done the only logical thing in knocking out his own opponent— who’d refused to see reason— and subsequently nerve-pinching Flavius in order to end the reluctant gladiators’ misery. And Jim’s, as he was forced to watch. If Merik and Claudius wanted them dead, they could do the work themselves.

The doctor’s face fell, shifting into annoyance. “I’m trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!” The remark, strangely, made Spock feel more grounded. McCoy’s anger was easy, familiar. His gratitude was not.

Then you’d gladly accept whatever happens to you.

“Oh, yes, you humans have that emotional need to express gratitude,” he said, falling into the comfort of knowing he was riling the doctor up. “You’re welcome, I believe, is the correct response.” He moved back to the other side of the cell door, checking the opposite wall, though he’d done so already.

“However, Doctor, you must remember that I am entirely motivated by logic,” he continued, and for a moment he almost believed it was true. “The loss of our ship's surgeon, whatever I think of his skill, would mean a reduction in the efficiency of the Enterprise and therefore—”

“Do you know why you’re not afraid to die, Spock?” McCoy cut him off in a hissed whisper, at the same time seizing his shoulder and shoving it back toward the wall, forcing him to turn and face him where they crouched on the floor. “You’re more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip, and let your human half peek out.”

Spock looked away. His suspicions that McCoy knew about his relationship with Jim had reached a level of near-certainty. So then McCoy understood, on some level, what it was like for Spock. To examine his sentiments only within his own mind. To allow his affection for Jim to remain invisible to others. To be unable to show Jim the love that he certainly deserved. Did the doctor think him unworthy of all that Jim had to give?

“That’s it, isn’t it?” McCoy went on, a triumphant look crossing his face in Spock’s peripheral vision. “Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling.” But it didn’t feel like his usual type of taunt. It felt more like Spock was being issued a challenge. And suddenly it occurred to him that, if the doctor had simply deduced the news for himself, perhaps he thought Spock responsible for it being kept secret. It would explain some of his attitude on Gamma Trianguli VI. Spock found that he could no longer be upset with Jim about it. He instead felt only a tired sort of pity, for if McCoy truly wished to believe that Spock was incapable of feeling…

Spock turned back to face him, raising his eyebrows. “Really, Doctor?” For a moment they stared at one another, and McCoy looked somewhat abashed.

“I know,” he eventually conceded. “I’m worried about Jim, too.”

Then you’d gladly accept whatever happens to you.

Spock stared through the bars. “I fear we have no alternative but to wait,” he said in nearly a whisper.

“And hope, if it suits you,” McCoy said gently.

“I have never been able to abide by such things,” he said, getting up from his crouching position. “But I would be grateful for yours, Doctor.”

The doctor offered him a half-smile as they went to sit down. “Spock, uh… I know you probably have your own reasons for, uh… keeping things quiet, but you know you don’t have to keep it a secret from me,” he said. “I mean, I suppose it’s no use pretending I don’t know when I think you already know I do. And if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to, but… well, so long as the two of y’all are happy— or whatever Vulcans wanna call it rather than happiness— I’m happy, too.”

Spock nodded, unsure of the etiquette in this instance. “Thank you.”

They were left alone for hours. Spock’s attempts at meditation were unsuccessful. Then you’d gladly accept whatever happens to you. When he heard McCoy’s voice say Jim’s name, he looked up, and the rush he felt at the sight of the Captain was so powerful that even the horrible sound of the stolen weapon shooting open the lock on their cell door could not dampen the pulsing relief inside him. But Spock still ached over the fact that he’d failed to help him.

“What did they do to you, Captain?” he felt the need to ask, even though McCoy had already asked what happened. But there had not been time for Jim to explain.

“Captain?” Spock asked later, when they were in Jim’s quarters completing the remainder of the day’s paperwork.

“Mm.”

“You did not explain what happened after the proconsul separated you from us. This time was not detailed in your report.” They’d discussed Mr Scott’s rather brilliant decision to black out the power, of course, as well as the botched execution and poor Flavius who’d died as a hero— Spock hated the thought of him being shot by those crude, old-fashioned weapons— but what occurred before that had gone unmentioned. He couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Oh,” he said, and to Spock’s surprise, smiled. “He, uh, locked me in his quarters and sent his personal slave to me with food and wine. Some nonsense about wanting to let me die as a man.”

Spock felt his eyebrows raise. “Did you accept his offerings?”

Jim laughed. “Well, the food and the wine were excellent. As for the woman… she was very… persistent, so I… kissed her a few times and then told her she’d have to excuse me, because I was rather tired. She insisted on rubbing my back until I fell asleep. When I woke up she’d gone.”

Spock nodded. He found he was only relieved that Jim had not been hurt, physically or psychologically. “Should you… ever wish to— or perhaps, if it becomes unavoidable in the line of duty…” he began, not quite knowing how to finish.

Jim reached across the desk for his hand. “There might come another time when I do have to. Or… wish to. But not right now.” He squeezed Spock’s hand in his. “And hopefully then it’d at least be with someone who has a choice in the matter.”

Spock felt his face heat. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“No, I know you didn’t.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t make light of this mess.”

“I am simply pleased you were unharmed.”

“Well, it was no picnic having to watch you and Bones fight in that arena and pretend it meant nothing to me, I can tell you that.”

“But you did so successfully. For the good of the crew.”

“Yes… I’m just glad it didn’t cost me the people I care about.” He rubbed the back of Spock’s hand with his own, and then retracted it.

“Jim…” Spock began a moment later, deciding it was as good a time as any. “Why did you not tell Dr McCoy?”

The question was met with silence. Jim’s expression darkened, then softened again, but the furrow at his brow remained. He exhaled through his nose.

“I don’t know. The longer it went on the more I felt like you were right, and he already did know, and all I had to do was confirm it.” He stood up from the desk, starting to pace the small area beside it. “He didn’t seem to want to ask me about it. And I started… wishing he would, so that I could just say yes, without having to bring it up on my own. For some reason I just couldn’t seem to make that extra leap.”

Spock nodded. “I believe he may have assumed I was the one responsible for our secrecy. It’s likely he did not want to put you in the position of breaking your word to me by asking you directly.”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, Spock.” He stopped pacing, coming to Spock’s side and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You trusted me to do this, and I didn’t.”

“As I said, it was not an ultimatum.”

“Look, why don’t we both talk to him tomorrow?” Jim said, turning Spock’s body to face him, drawing his hands up and making Spock hold him at the waist. Spock obliged, wrapping his arms around him, placing his head against his chest, inhaling the scent of him.

“If you wish.”

Jim stroked the back of his hair. “Yes, I wish.”

Chapter Text

True to his word, Kirk visited McCoy in sickbay with Spock at his side the next morning, ostensibly to deliver a comprehensive list of all the races of delegates they would be transporting for the council convening at Babel— a normal precaution in case of a medical emergency. He could have just transferred it to McCoy’s console, but somehow, it felt easier to go there with a professional purpose and pretend the true purpose was merely an afterthought.

“I’ll take a look before the first pickup point,” McCoy said, nodding as he accepted the datacard from Spock. “Surely it didn’t take both of you to make sure I got this?”

“Correct, Doctor. The captain wished to speak to you about a personal matter, as well,” Spock said, and though they hadn’t discussed an approach, Kirk was glad of it. He’d really had no idea how to begin.

McCoy folded his arms, leaning back against his desk with a smile. “Finally ready to come clean, huh?”

Kirk smiled weakly back. “How long have you known?”

“Oh, long enough, I reckon,” he said lightly. “But I think you better tell me in your own words, just so I can be sure I got it right.”

Kirk’s fingers twitched anxiously at his side. McCoy understood him well enough to know that cornering him like this was a favour as much as it was an annoyance— he couldn’t avoid having to actually come right out and say it forever. Spock placed a hand on his shoulder. Kirk nodded, reflexively, looking at the desk beside McCoy rather than at him. After a moment he made himself meet his friend’s gaze, and saw nothing there but patience and compassion.

“You were right, Bones,” Kirk said at last. “I wasn’t ready to hear it, and who knows when I might’ve been, but— you were right. About Gary, about Spock, all of it.” He breathed deeply, and smiled a little ruefully. “Turns out sometimes it’s… easier to risk your life than it is to live it genuinely.”

McCoy huffed. “As someone who tends to be picking up the pieces every time one of you two gets it into your head to make those kinds of risks, you don’t have to remind me.”

Kirk glanced at Spock, who raised an eyebrow and appeared to be about to protest, but Kirk put his hand up to stop him. “What I wanted to say is— thank you, Bones.”

“Well, seeing as I’m a doctor, it is my job,” he began.

“Not that,” Kirk said, shaking his head. “I mean, yes, of course, that— but… thank you for being someone I— someone we can trust.”

McCoy nodded. “That goes both ways, you know.” He grinned suddenly, gesturing at Kirk with one hand. “Kind of like you.”

After a second or two of surprised silence, Kirk couldn’t help laughing. “I suppose that’s… one way of putting it.”

“So,” McCoy went on, “I guess you coming here to tell me this instead of me receiving some official Starfleet notice about the two of you means you’re not sharing this information with the rest of the crew just yet?”

“Not… not yet.”

He nodded. “And how do you feel about all this?” he asked Spock.

“‘Feel’, Doctor?” Spock’s raised eyebrow was practically audible. Kirk felt himself relaxing with the familiar exchange.

“Right, I forgot,” McCoy replied as he straightened from the desk. “There’s as much feeling in you as there is in this table.”

“To answer your rather vague question,” Spock went on, as if he hadn't spoken, “I see no need to inform Starfleet until the captain and I have come to a— more permanent arrangement.”

McCoy smirked at him. “D’you call him ‘captain’ in bed, too?”

“Bones!” Kirk interjected, lest Spock decide to answer.

“Oh, as if it’s my fault the two of you walk around these days with so much spring in your step you could join a gymnastics team,” he said. “It’s perfectly natural, there’s no need to be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not,” Kirk said, though he knew his cheeks were at least slightly pink. And truthfully, he was grateful to McCoy for treating this like any other interaction between them.

“Good,” he replied pointedly. “And as much as I’m thrilled for y’all, I’ve got Ensign Yee’s vision correction to perform in about twenty minutes, so if you don’t mind…”

“Yes, we are expected on the bridge as well, Captain.”

“Right, of course.”

“Jim,” McCoy called as they reached the door. Kirk turned back to where the doctor stood, slapping the orange datacard lightly against the palm of his left hand. “I’m glad you told me.”

A smile pulled at Kirk’s lips. “So am I.”

Kirk and Spock walked in relative quiet to the turbolift. “Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

Thank you, he wanted to say. Thank you for being so easy to love. “How long until the first pickup point?”

“I shall have to confirm with the helm, but I believe approximately twenty-seven hours.”

Kirk nodded. “So that means we’ll reach Vulcan in a little over four days,” he said, roughly doing the math. “You must be looking forward to a visit home under more, ah, pleasant circumstances.”

“As first officer, will my presence not be required for receiving delegates?”

“Well, yes, but I’m sure we can spare you for an hour or two. Isn’t there anyone you’d like to see there while we’re stopped? Your parents, or…?” Spock didn’t really talk much about his family, but Kirk was certain they lived on Vulcan.

“I expect I will see them if… if there is time.”

There had been more than enough to keep them busy on the journey between Vulcan and Babel, to put it mildly. Kirk therefore hadn’t really had the chance to be angry at Spock for not bothering, at any point beforehand, to mention the small matter of the Vulcan ambassador being his father. Kirk’s natural impulse would have been to lose his temper on the spot, but of course that would’ve been out of the question for him to do, first of all as captain in front of the delegates and aides, and secondly in front of a myriad of people including Spock’s parents who were unaware of the personal nature of their relationship. No, that would have been even more embarrassing and unprofessional than his no doubt shocked face at Spock’s news.

Still, Kirk was reasonably sure he’d made a good impression at least on the Lady Amanda— less so about Sarek. The ambassador slept or meditated much of the time they were in sickbay together. There’d been one meal hour where they’d both been awake with no one but a nurse around, and he’d asked Sarek if the food was to his taste. Sarek replied that it was adequate, and after several minutes of eating in silence, he spoke again. “You are a unique sort of captain, James Kirk.” Uncertain whether this was a compliment or a criticism, Kirk had smiled and responded with something about the Enterprise being a unique sort of ship. Sarek had only nodded, studying him for a moment before they both returned to their food.

Spock was freed from McCoy’s watchful eye first, needing only a night’s rest along with some intravenous fluids and supplements to help recover from the blood loss and the side effects of the drug. Kirk, meanwhile, was held nearly until their arrival at Babel, when the doctor begrudgingly told him he was healed enough to go, giving the tender scar tissue a last run with the dermal regenerator alongside a dry, “don’t go undoing any more of my hard work.” Kirk assumed this was his way of tastefully warning him not to get into any fights (as if he sought them on purpose) or have sex immediately.

The fact that he and Spock hadn’t had sex since before their stopover at Vulcan shouldn’t have been a big deal— it wasn’t even a week. But it seemed to only compound everything else that was weighing on Kirk’s mind about Spock, about the two of them together. The almost aloof neutrality of Sarek and his Vulcan aides had made Kirk realise that he wasn’t particularly good at reading Vulcans in general. Just Spock. But then he’d had to wonder about that; ought he to have picked up better on the change in Spock’s attitude before they’d reached Vulcan? He’d just assumed that Spock, like him, found this a somewhat boring and bothersome mission with all its disruption and added formalities. It was part of why Kirk had offered him the opportunity to beam down for a visit. Of course now the reason for his caginess about it was obvious, and the more Kirk had thought about it while listlessly recuperating in sickbay, the more irritated he’d become, both with Spock and with himself.

So it was not really a surprise that the first time they were alone together after their departure from Babel, Kirk had all but exploded.

“—then maybe I wouldn’t have ended up introducing you to your own goddamned parents in front of a full security team and half my senior staff!”

Spock had let Kirk get out a good section of ranting without so much as flinching, doing that thing where he faced forward with his chin held up, but looked about ten centimetres to the left of Kirk’s head rather than meet his eyes. It was as if he’d been expecting it, which made Kirk feel simultaneously guilty and defensive.

“After witnessing the relationship between my parents and myself,” Spock said finally, “do you not understand why I deliberated so long over how to tell you? And ultimately was unable to bring myself to do so until too late?”

“No, I don’t understand! How hard could it have been to give me a bit of warning? ‘By the way, Jim, my parents are coming on board, you see, the Vulcan ambassador to Earth is actually my father, and he didn’t agree with my life choices and my mother sided with him, so we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s probably going to be very uncomfortable for all of us, including you’?”

“Perhaps for a human it would have been that simple.”

Kirk scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s not that it’s simple for us, either, it’s just that it’s— it’s just something you do,” he said. “Don’t you get that not telling me was no better than if you’d lied? We can’t help each other if you keep me in the dark about the important things.”

Now Spock’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “It is not your duty to take on my issues as well as your own.”

Jim felt like he’d been slapped. “Who the hell said anything about duty?” He tried to keep his voice down, knowing the walls wouldn’t necessarily prevent them from being heard. “But while we’re on the subject, I think you know that in fact it was your duty as my first officer not to withhold information from me that would keep my ship and its mission running smoothly.”

“Yes,” Spock said, his eyes now pointed somewhere around Kirk’s chest rather than at the wall behind him.

“I’m glad,” he replied tartly. “Now perhaps you can understand that I wasn’t referring to our duties as officers just now.” Spock nodded. Kirk nodded back, calming himself a little before he continued, since Spock didn’t seem to want to say anything.

“I’ve never hidden from you. There were things I… admit I might not’ve shared easily, but I still trusted you with them. You know that Sam and I weren’t on the best of terms before he died. You know how much I carried around with me because of Kodos. You know how much it hurt when Edith…” He swallowed. “Why can’t you trust me?”

Spock looked up, almost sadly. “I trust you with my life, Jim.”

“But not the knowledge of who your parents are? Or whatever it is they did to you?” A thought pinged the front of his brain. “Spock, do they— do they know that you’re…” Could that have been part of the rift between Spock and his father? There wasn’t much about Vulcan cultural nuance that was public knowledge; perhaps his father considered his preferences illogical.

“Assuming you are referring to my homosexuality,” he said, “they are aware. But by the time I was mature enough to realise it for myself, it was no longer possible for them to arrange a more appropriate betrothal for me. I assured them it would not be an issue.”

Kirk felt his eyebrows furrow. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen, by Earth count.”

Kirk scoffed. “That’s outrageous. A fifteen-year-old can’t be expected to—”

“In my world,” Spock said, shaking his head, “yes, he can. Now you see why I did not wish to burden you with this.”

“Spock, it’s not a burden, that’s what I’ve been trying to say! I want you to tell me these things, even if you think they’ll upset me, even if you think you should be able to deal with it on your own, because that’s what people do when they—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to say it out loud for the first time like this. Spock was clearly not ready to hear it.

“Would you have wanted me to inform my parents about us, Jim?” he asked quietly.

Kirk’s lips parted. He had, in fact, been on edge the whole time, wondering how much they knew. Wondering what they would think of him if they did. If they’d judge him as a captain because of it. How much they thought he was influencing their son’s choices. If they’d ever have believed that Spock had invited him to bed that first time, and not the other way around. “Would you have wanted to?”

“‘Wanted’ is perhaps not the correct term,” he said, “but I would have been proud to do so, had you wished it.”

Kirk felt self-loathing and self-righteousness churning inside him. “I need to be alone to think for awhile.”

Spock nodded. “I… should meditate, as well.”

When the bathroom door closed behind him, the silence of the room felt deafening. Kirk sat down on the bed and pressed his fingers against his eye sockets.

In the morning, he and Spock seemed to have wordlessly established something of a truce— they’d be making planetfall later that afternoon and they couldn’t very well be arguing about personal matters on mission. But things remained tense. He didn’t see Spock in the mess, which probably meant he’d gotten up early to disappear into one of the labs. Possibly sensing something was off, McCoy was exceptionally cheerful over breakfast, which only made Kirk more irritable. On the bridge Uhura kept glancing at them out of the corner of her eye. He forced himself to ignore it. They were here to work.

Kirk was always loath to sacrifice an opportunity to walk on real ground, smell real fresh air, touch something green and growing. As Sulu prepared to take them into orbit, Kirk ran a hand over his chin in thought, remembering the misfortunes that had befallen them after he’d beamed down with the away team to Gamma Trianguli VI… but no, it wouldn’t be like that. He’d been here before. He knew this place, and it was a paradise. No poison dart plants or exploding rocks. Its people were peaceful, and managing to be so without a computer controlling their entire way of life. There was only one large predator to worry about, and they would do a quick scan of the sample location before heading down.

His mind made up, he transferred command to Scotty and went to the transporter room with Spock to meet McCoy. Spock recited his findings from his scans of the sample site on the way there. When they arrived, Kirk had the engineer open the locker and issue them all phasers, despite the raised eyebrows he got from Spock and McCoy. They couldn’t use them in front of the inhabitants, of course, but they would take them anyway, just in case it became absolutely necessary. The people of the planet would have no evidence of outside technology— the body of the predator would simply disappear, if hit with a phaser at the right setting.

How could Kirk have known he’d been worried about the entirely wrong thing?

They were running, nearly back to McCoy at the beam-up point. Spock was a metre or two behind him. The hollow explosion of another shot behind them made Kirk turn back instinctively to look. He paused, making sure he wasn’t about to be (and hadn’t already been) shot himself, but then his insides turned to stone at the sight of Spock’s limp form, face-down on the ground, a green stain spreading over the bright blue of his uniform. No…

He ran to him, kneeling in the dirt to turn him over, holding him in his lap. “Spock,” Kirk breathed with relief. Spock was conscious, blinking dazedly. “Your phaser—” He patted the area of Spock’s belt where it was missing; they couldn’t leave it behind, and anyway the villagers were coming. He’d tell Command where to stuff it if he caught flack for using the stun setting on villagers who were shooting to kill, and who by all accounts should not have progressed past bows and arrows. Spock managed to prop himself up as Kirk crawled over to retrieve the phaser, but as Kirk raised it, Spock laid a hand over his.

“No, Captain,” he said, and Kirk’s heart seized to hear the weakness in his voice. “I can travel.” Kirk helped him up, supporting him with both arms as they ran back to where McCoy was anxiously waiting, and he leaned more and more heavily on him as they moved. By the time the transporter beam grabbed them, Spock couldn’t even hold up his head, and Kirk could feel wetness against his sleeve as the blood soaked through Spock’s uniform and onto his. Please, god, no. He and McCoy half-dragged him to where the med team was ready with the stretcher. Jim stepped out of the way automatically once they’d heaved Spock onto it, but couldn’t stop watching. He heard the voices of McCoy and M’Benga and the nurses in a detached sort of way, like they were characters in a movie he was only sort of paying attention to. He watched them cut Spock’s bloody shirt away, inject him with something, place something over the wound— why was there so much blood— Kirk was no stranger to injury, and was hardly squeamish, but he wanted to be sick.

“Bones, can you save him?” he said quietly, realising he was still holding Spock’s phaser at attention, rubbing back and forth over its smooth metal casing repetitively with his thumb. The doctors ignored him. The red alert sounded, and Kirk sprang to action as if the sound had physically pushed him, returning the phasers to the transporter engineer and answering Uhura’s comm. Klingons? God damn them all. He called Scotty after him, but couldn’t help pausing at the door, looking back at the doctor, who was looking down at Spock. “Bones?”

“I don’t know yet, Jim,” he said, gently but firmly, without looking up. Kirk felt his jaw working before he forced himself to turn away. Scotty, thankfully, didn’t speak in the turbolift.

The alarm blared on the bridge, and Chekov didn’t waste a second of time in filling him in once the lift doors opened. As soon as they were able to downgrade to yellow alert, Kirk sank into his chair and pressed the comm to call sickbay, even though Scotty hadn’t quite finished talking.

“McCoy here. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. Sickbay out.”

Kirk dejectedly punched the comm off, annoyed at his own impatience, annoyed at the kindness in McCoy’s tone, annoyed that there was no explanation for the fact that the peaceful planet he’d once known had grown so suddenly violent. And now Spock, himself a man of peace, was also paying the price…

He stood up, pacing, thinking aloud. As his bridge officers tried to helpfully offer ideas— that the Klingons might also be doing their own research, that the inhabitants might have advanced much faster than the people of Earth— Kirk felt his temper flare. “I did not invite a debate,” he said firmly, drowning out the chatter. They all went quiet, Scotty and Uhura looking chastened and Chekov turning back to his station, and Kirk immediately regretted it. They were only doing their jobs.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more quietly, resetting himself in parade rest and staring unseeing at the viewscreen. “I’m worried about Spock—” of course he was, and so were they all, too, no doubt— “and concerned about… what’s happened to something I once knew down there.” They didn’t need him here like this. “You have the conn, Scotty, I’ll be in sickbay.”

Kirk hovered awkwardly just out of the way of where the doctors and nurses buzzed around Spock’s supine form, taking scans and reciting readouts to each other that Kirk couldn’t make sense of. The glimpses he caught of Spock’s face showed that he no longer looked pained; he almost could have been asleep, except that he was pale as paper. When M’Benga and two of the support nurses stepped away and McCoy and Chapel began to pull the sheet up over Spock, Kirk felt his heart jump into his mouth, but they stopped at his chin and he let his breath out again. M’Benga returned, speaking quietly to the other two, who nodded. Chapel turned the sterilite off.

McCoy came to Kirk’s side. “He’ll live or die now, Jim. I don’t know which.”

In the time Kirk had been captain, Spock had thus far not had an injury serious enough that he’d needed to enter a healing trance, and McCoy was never one to mince words. Kirk couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from Spock’s unmoving features, watching as M’Benga ran another hand scan over the area of the exit wound. Catching Kirk’s eye, McCoy nodded toward the other doctor. “Dr M’Benga interned in a Vulcan ward,” he reminded him, with an encouraging smile. “He couldn’t be in better hands.”

Kirk smiled weakly back. Bones was right; he wasn’t doing anyone any good haunting sickbay like some malcontented spectre. He had to get out of here. He had to find out why this had happened, what the hell those Klingons were up to. They were going to have to make contact with Tyree. “Then you and I are beaming down, Bones.”

Kirk’s relief, later, when Spock had been the one to answer his comm back to the ship, had left him temporarily at a loss for words. McCoy had stepped in, showing his happiness in his own way, and Kirk let them get a few barbs in while he swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat and regained the power of speech. But there was little time for much of a reunion after they’d beamed aboard, seeing as Kirk and McCoy had had to explain to Spock and Scotty about the whole flintlock situation, and then the two of them had set to work programming the replicators.

McCoy, of course, had made Kirk come with him to sickbay to be checked over, muttering darkly the whole time about witch doctors and so on, but eventually he said he was free to go, provided he get some sleep. Kirk made him promise to do the same. Though he knew McCoy would almost certainly be in his office reading M’Benga’s notes about Spock’s recovery the second he left, he was too tired to be bothered about it. After a quick turn in the sonic, he collapsed naked into bed, waking not quite two hours later to the whistle of the intercom, Scotty needing some clarification or other. Feeling too awake to try to go back to sleep again, he pulled on a pair of briefs and a t-shirt, figuring he could complete his mission report and read through McCoy’s, and M’Benga’s injury report. He was just finishing up when the door chimed.

“You don’t have to ring the bell, you know,” Kirk said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Spock remained in parade rest in the doorway. “Well, come all the way in, then, if you’re coming in.”

Kirk shut the console down as Spock stepped closer to the desk. “I read Dr McCoy’s report,” Spock said, in that way he had of making a statement come off like a question.

“Yes, I assumed you would have.”

“And am I to assume you’ve read Dr M’Benga’s?”

He nodded, staring past him, but then looked up and gave him a wry smile. “Did you really order Nurse Chapel to slap you? She must have hated that.”

“She did a rather inadequate job of it,” he said, nodding and returning the smile somewhat. “Even if Mr Scott hadn’t attempted to stop her, I believe Dr. M’Benga would have taken over. Though I do find it odd that she thought it so objectionable to hit me even as I demanded it, but did not think it inappropriate to hold my hand while she believed I was unconscious.”

“Well, I think we can put that down to a, ah… cultural misunderstanding,” Kirk said, though he suspected the poor woman still carried a bit of a torch for Spock. “A human would’ve found it fairly comforting, I think.”

“Had it been you who’d done so, I might have as well,” he said. “As it was, I found it merely… disruptive.”

“Spock, I’m sorry,” Kirk said, standing up and taking him by the arms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

Spock shook his head. “Your presence was necessary on the planet.”

“I know. But— we could have lost you, and Scotty wouldn’t have even been able to—”

“Your life was also endangered,” Spock interrupted.

“Yes, and my survival ended up costing my friend his wife,” he said quietly, letting go of Spock. Whatever he thought of Nona, whatever she’d done to Tyree, they’d still spent years together. Did the fact that a spell had brought him to her initially make his love for her less real? Would his grief be any less potent?

“The universe does not trade one life for another,” Spock said. “As far as the reports indicate, the woman’s death was a result of greed, malice, and misfortune.”

Kirk sighed, pressing his hands to his eyes again. He was still so tired.

“Jim,” Spock continued gently, “it was not your fault.”

“She made me kiss her,” he said. “Rather, she made me want to kiss her. I couldn’t bring myself to put that in my report— that for a moment I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t let her go, it was like she was the only thing my mind had room for…”

“She had drugged you.” Kirk nodded; the fact that she’d drugged him, knocked him out, and taken his phaser was in the reports. But he hadn’t told even McCoy what had happened before that. Spock waited patiently for him to speak again, and Kirk’s guilt returned. He’d snapped at the crew on the bridge, he’d let his guard down and gotten himself injured and drugged, he hadn’t even been able to give Spock the comfort of touching his hand as he lay in sickbay.

He went to the bed and sat down. Spock followed him in, but remained standing. “You should rest,” Spock said, when Kirk remained silent.

“I should,” he agreed.

“May I assist?”

Kirk looked up and smiled tiredly. “Yes, please stay.”

“I will,” he said, “but what I mean to suggest is… would you permit me to help clear your mind so you might rest more easily?”

Curious, Kirk felt his eyebrows lift. “Like the mind meld?”

“It is not so invasive. But if you would not want me to—” Spock started to say.

“Please do,” Kirk interrupted. “That— that sounds perfect. But get undressed first, will you? I don’t want to feel like you’re the healer and I’m the patient.”

Spock nodded, and began taking off his boots and uniform. Kirk pulled back the covers and laid down on his back. Down to his socks, briefs, and undershirt, Spock knelt somewhat gingerly on the bed at his side. “You should focus on the memories of today, and anything else that troubles you currently. When we have quieted your thoughts sufficiently, I will stimulate your mind to guide you into sleep.”

The suggestive phrasing made him grin. “Oh, yeah? Planning to make me come without touching me?”

Spock’s lip twitched. “No.”

“But you could, couldn’t you?”

“Yes.” His lips twitched further.

Kirk felt the pull of arousal in his lower abdomen, but he ignored it, understanding they were exploring something different for the moment. “You sure you’re up for this? I mean, you did have quite a serious injury earlier… maybe I should be the one looking after you.”

“You read the doctor’s report for yourself, so you can be assured I am in perfect health,” he said. The humour drifted out of his brown eyes, leaving in its place a soft but composed focus. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Kirk said, closing his eyes and trying to gather his thoughts. “Yes.”

Spock’s index and middle finger touched his jaw, trailing slowly and gently up over his cheek, landing at his temple with gentle pressure. Already Kirk could feel the energy of him: calm and unhurried, yet vibrant, colourful, sweet. It poured into him, cool and quenching as water. He gasped aloud, and felt Spock’s mind questioning; Kirk was quick to push back at him that it was good, it was beautiful, wonderful. It flowed around his memories of the day, which were at first solid like river stones, but then they spread out like sand, and then they drifted along its gentle current like silt, so that he could no longer discern the individual thoughts. He wondered vaguely if he’d ever be able to sort them out again, but it didn’t seem terribly important at the moment. Nevertheless Spock’s mind assured him he would be able to retrieve them when he needed or wanted to, later.

There was a slight shift, the river of Spock’s energy slowing as though its path had widened, reaching toward the sea, and Kirk was a little bereft at the idea that soon he’d no longer be able to feel him, but the thought was soothed and dismissed. He was so relaxed. Spock was so beautiful, so full of wonder and life. He wished it could always be like this.

Distantly he registered the brush of lips against his, the wiry weight of Spock lying down beside him in the bed. The fingers fell away from his temple, and sleep took him.

As Spock and McCoy argued, Kirk felt completely detached from his body. He was running on about nine hours’ sleep in the last forty-eight. It seemed impossible that only a few hours ago they’d been coasting their exhausted crew and ship toward Starbase 6, and he’d been dearly looking forward to a nice long nap in his quarters upon their arrival, and after that, plenty of alone time with Spock while everyone was enjoying leave. McCoy’s stimulants could only do so much for whatever was affecting them, and tempers had been shorter than usual already. And now he was listening to the two people he cared about most in the universe fight over which of them was going to man a suicide mission that might not even save them.

“Gentlemen, I am not taking volunteers,” he said at last, as he sensed both men about to lose what little remained of their patience.

“You don’t think you’re going?” McCoy squawked.

“I’m better qualified as a command pilot than you are,” Kirk pointed out.

“Which makes you indispensable, Captain,” Spock cut in. “Further, you are not a science specialist.”

“Jim, that organism contains chemical processes we've never seen before and may never see again.” McCoy whirled around to Jim’s other side as he pleaded his case. “We could learn more in one day—”

“We don’t have one day, Doctor. We have precisely one hour and thirty-five minutes of power left.” Kirk’s head ached. He wished they’d talk more quietly.

“Jim—”

“Captain, I—

“Gentlemen,” he interrupted, softly enough that it was nearly a whisper, but they stopped short regardless. “I’ll decide.”

He sent them back to their stations and went to his quarters. Pacing, he started a log. It was often easier to examine his thoughts when he could hear them out loud. There was nothing easy about this.

When he felt he’d explored all the potentials, he stopped the log. The recorded time was four minutes and eighteen seconds. His stomach roiled. Four minutes hardly seemed like an appropriate amount of time spent deliberating over which man to condemn to death, but he also knew that they now had only an hour and twenty-eight minutes, if things remained unchanged. He paged Spock and McCoy to his quarters, and then answered Scotty’s comm, and told him to prepare the shuttlecraft as McCoy specified. Overhearing the end of the conversation as they entered, the doctor gave Spock a smug look.

His heart felt like it was made of lead as he straightened and stood in front of the two of them. At least now he knew: he could do it. When he had to, he could do it. No one could ever say that Kirk was the type of captain who’d allow himself to become emotionally compromised. And he thought again of Gary, and of how horrified he’d been by Spock’s suggestion that they simply kill him. It felt so much longer ago than the fourteen months it had been, Kirk so much younger and greener. As if marooning Gary there alone would’ve been any kinder! And it had been pointless to try, anyway— he should have seen it coming. Spock hated to kill, but he would have done so had Kirk ordered it, because he’d known it was logical. But Kirk had hesitated, and then he’d had to be the one to watch as the life went out of his friend’s eyes. Gary, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“I’m sorry, Mr Spock,” he began. McCoy, who’d been practically bouncing on the spot, broke into a smile.

“Right. I’ll, uh, get a few things I need, Jim.” He turned to go.

“Not you, Bones,” Kirk said quickly, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr Spock,” he said again. “You’re best qualified to go.”

That was what he had concluded, in those four minutes and eighteen seconds. McCoy was cool in a crisis, of course, adapting quickly to whatever medical or biological conundrum was thrown at him, and his relevant knowledge and skill were no doubt well-suited to the mission. But Spock’s Vulcan physiology made it somewhat less likely that he’d become injured or otherwise incapacitated before they’d accomplished what they needed. And he was a good scientist, as well as a better pilot than McCoy. Plus, his memory retained practically everything he’d ever learned. McCoy could give him pointers for as long as they had contact.

Spock’s only reaction was a slight lift of his chin, a breath of air into his chest. There was silence for a moment before Kirk spoke again.

“Dr McCoy will go down to help you and Scotty equip the shuttle.” He looked away from Spock’s carefully expressionless face. “Bones, anything you can do, anything you can give him that’ll make it… less risky—” he paused to compose himself, “do it.”

“Yes, Captain,” McCoy said, and licked his lips, looking from him to Spock and back again. “Do, uh… the two of you want a minute first?” Kirk did, deeply; he wanted to take Spock into his arms and kiss his forehead and look into his sweet dark eyes and tell him it was all going to be all right, even if that was a lie. But he knew that would be more for his own benefit than Spock’s. Spock needed to focus.

“We don’t have another minute,” he said, looking at Spock.

“I agree, Captain,” Spock said, and the two made for the door. But Jim felt his stomach clench, and he started after them, catching Spock’s hand before the door slid open. I love you, he thought desperately as he clutched it tightly in his. I love you, I love you, I love you. “Jim…” Spock turned to meet his gaze, but whatever he meant to say, there was no more time.

Kirk exhaled, and let his hand fall. “Go.”

He was grateful to McCoy for staying at his side on the bridge— for his knowledge, yes, but his presence itself was comforting. Scotty’s updates on their remaining time and power became more and more dire. Sixty minutes… forty five… he was so very tired. He’d been pumped full of enough stimulants that his heart felt like a rabbit’s, but he couldn’t remember ever being so tired. He only hoped that he and Spock had come to the same conclusion about how to destroy the organism, and that it was the correct one.

Was there a captain in the fleet who would’ve left Spock’s shuttle behind rather than risk the power drain of the tractor beam? Maybe. But there was certainly no one on the bridge who’d disagreed with Kirk’s decision, he was certain of that much— even if McCoy was the only one who’d said so out loud.

McCoy’s relief that the shuttle had made it had exploded out of him in his usual grousing at Spock. Kirk’s had come in the form of laughter.

As soon as the hangar deck pressurized, he ordered the helm to proceed to Starbase 6 at warp five. No need to make them all wait for their rest any longer than necessary. “Scotty, you have the conn,” he said, and Bones was at his heels as he made for the turbolift. “Hangar bay two.”

Spock was talking to one of the engineers when they arrived. “Doctor,” he said, spotting McCoy and holding out two datacards. “I believe you’ll find the data I was able to collect on the organism to be enlightening.”

“Well, now, don’t go getting too pleased with yourself,” the doctor said, taking them. Spock’s arms fell into parade rest behind his back as the two of them bickered companionably over Spock’s apparent lack of skill in biological testing, and McCoy’s comparatively weak physical stamina.

Kirk couldn’t stop smiling. “Welcome home, Spock.”

“Thank you, Captain. Although the assumed risk for the Enterprise and its crew in the rescue of my craft was… somewhat illogical, I must admit I find myself rather in appreciation.”

Over time Kirk had learned Spock had two distinct ways of attempting to hide when he was feeling strong emotions: one, a quiet, closed-off neutrality, and the other, a distracting verbosity.

“Risk is our business,” Kirk said, still smiling as he stepped closer. “Besides… who would I be without you as my first officer?”

“You would remain… Captain James Kirk,” Spock said quietly, relaxing his arms at his sides. “Though I will be pleased to continue at your side for some time longer.”

“Spock…” Kirk reached for his arm, suddenly overcome. His tiredness was making it difficult to hold back his own emotions, and he had to touch him, had to feel the solid, living assurance of his body. “Kiss me,” he whispered. “Kiss me the way your people do. If— if you want to.”

“They will see,” Spock said, eyeing the engineers unloading and repairing the shuttle.

“Let them.” It didn’t matter— why should it? Would he have acted any differently on that bridge had Spock not been sleeping in his bed for the past several months? If he had never learned what Spock’s mouth tasted like?

Spock’s expression softened, and he held up his hand, his first two fingers extended. Kirk followed suit, and Spock touched the tips of them together. The thread of shared energy he felt whenever they touched hands— well, whenever they did it intentionally, at least— began its sparkling journey between them, spreading from his fingertips through his palm, into his wrist and forearm. Their eyes were locked together as Spock’s fingers moved up and down the lengths of Kirk’s, around the outside of his index, into the web between the middle and ring finger, back up to the tips again, and the feeling intensified, travelling through Kirk’s arm and into his core and mind. I am here, it seemed to tell him. I am well, and I am yours.

Kirk’s eyes threatened to water. He nodded minutely at Spock, to show he understood, and Spock nodded back. They gently let their hands drop.

“Captain, please allow me to relieve Mr Scott so you can rest,” Spock said as they made their way out of the hangar. “Dr McCoy’s stimulants will wear off soon, which will only compound the effects of your lack of sleep.”

Kirk knew he could order Spock to go rest himself, considering the ordeal he’d been through, but he also knew Spock would fight him on it. And seeing as the very mission he’d just undertaken had been largely because of his significant Vulcan stamina, Kirk didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. Instead he gave him a grateful smile. “Call me before we dock at the base, will you?”

“Understood, Captain.”

Too exhausted to undress properly once he arrived at his quarters, Kirk pulled off his boots and laid down in his sweaty clothes, folding his hands over his chest as he dimmed the lights. He didn’t have any brainpower left to consider how either of them felt about what they’d just done, but his tired thoughts refused to stop.

Spock continually claimed he wasn’t capable of returning what Kirk felt for him, but the way he acted implied otherwise, and Kirk didn’t know if this was because he truly believed it, or because the Vulcan part of him needed to believe it. He hadn’t seemed to like keeping their relationship a secret, yet there was so much of himself he was still reluctant to share with Kirk.

The day after they’d done that thing— which certainly seemed like a mind meld, despite what Spock said— that had helped guide him to sleep, Kirk had told him he’d enjoyed the experience and slept extremely well afterwards. Spock replied that he was glad he’d found it beneficial, but when Kirk suggested they might like to try something like it again more recreationally, Spock had been strangely noncommittal. It confused him. Spock always seemed to immensely enjoy the telepathic effects when they touched, both sexually and otherwise; why would he shy away from this? He’d witnessed Spock perform mind melds for the purposes of duty, so why not for himself?

He could feel himself starting to crash from the stimulants, and he lost his train of thought, drifting into half-remembered dreams.

Chapter Text

The news of Spock and the Captain sharing an ozh’esta in the shuttlebay did not travel as quickly as Spock had expected. He put this down to three factors.

1. That although witnesses may have found it surprising for the two of them to touch in such a way, they were not aware of its significance for Vulcans.
2. That the witnesses were Dr McCoy— who was already well aware of their relationship— and a handful of engineers, and Spock had found that in general, engineers tended to be less interested in the personal goings-on of their colleagues than other crew members.
3. That because it had happened only hours before the shore leave on Starbase 6, the crew members then became spread throughout the base and ship, which negated some of the usual opportunities that facilitated the sharing of information— mealtimes in the mess hall, shift changeovers, group laboratory work, and so forth.

It made little difference to him one way or another. He’d only been pleased to be back with Jim.

Scott had met with the base engineer who was overseeing their repairs, while Spock created a skeleton crew rotation for base function of the ship throughout so that the Captain could then issue the leave schedule. This task completed, Spock had returned to his quarters, and as he showered he at last allowed his physiology to acknowledge the fact that he had not slept in more than three days. Deciding he was too tired for meditation, he curled up naked in bed and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he felt the weight and presence of Jim next to him, the quiet energy of his sleeping mind. Spock thought immediately and longingly of the ephemeral minutes he’d spent caressing Jim’s thoughts to ease him into sleep, more than a week ago now. He’d done exactly as he’d said he would, and no more, though he had felt the call of Jim’s mind from inside. Come, it beckoned. Touch me. Stay with me.

Carefully, Spock turned over to face him— Jim was a light sleeper. Evidently, he was sufficiently worn out, because he did not wake, and Spock noticed that the dark circles under his eyes had begun to fade somewhat, the lines on his forehead relaxed. His lips were parted slightly. He looked so beautiful, Spock almost could not resist touching him. But it was not logical to disrupt his sleep simply for affection. Instead, he watched him breathing peacefully, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids, and considered how, if not for a matter of a few seconds, he would have never seen Jim’s precious face again.

Do you know why you’re not afraid to die, Spock? You’re more afraid of living.

Employ one of your own superstitions. Wish me luck.

Wish me luck, he’d said to McCoy in the turbolift, leaving the poor doctor so surprised he hadn’t even been able to do so. And Spock had exited that turbolift and boxed his every bothersome, illogical emotion away in his mind, to be dealt with later. Or perhaps never. He’d of course already calculated the likelihood of his safe return to the Enterprise, but for once knowing the odds had not brought him any comfort. The Captain had made the correct and logical choice— the only choice, they could both agree— Spock could acknowledge when death was necessary. He was not so un-Vulcan as that. Only now there was something in him that could not help but fight it, a part of him that screamed and writhed like an injured animal as it clung to the fragile fabric of its own existence. And that something, he knew, belonged to Jim.

The riptide of feeling Jim had pushed at him through that brief clasp of hands before he’d left the ship had pulsed like a heartbeat in the back of his mind the whole time he’d been on the shuttle. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Jim inhaled deeply, rolling onto his side. Shortly he opened his eyes to discover Spock watching him, and he smiled. “Watching me sleep?”

“I did not wish to disturb you.”

“You were right out yourself, when I came in last night.”

Spock nodded. “I have rested sufficiently.”

“Mm… so if I’m sufficiently rested, and you’re sufficiently rested, and we have nowhere else to be at the moment… whatever shall we do in this bed of yours?” He stretched innocently, but he made sure that as he did so, the tip of his erection bumped against Spock’s hip.

“I can think of… several possibilities.” His own cock gave a twitch, swelling inside his sheath.

“Yeah?” Jim said, tracing the outline of Spock’s ear with his finger. “Like what?”

“Like putting your erect penis in my mouth and stimulating it until you reach orgasm.”

“Oh, god, I love it when you talk dirty,” he said, pressing against him more obviously.

“As I mentioned, I believe there are better uses for my mouth at present.” He propped himself up and rolled Jim onto his back again, moving the sheets out of the way. Jim hummed as Spock’s mouth closed around him, his fingers drifting idly into Spock’s hair. Sleepy, pleasant waves of Jim’s emotions washed over him through their touch, and soon Spock became equally hard and wet as he sucked him, but as he reached for himself with his available hand, Jim patted his shoulder, prompting him to stop. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, just— turn around so I can do you, too.” He shifted down the bed slightly, turning onto his side, and Spock somewhat awkwardly rearranged himself beside him, his feet at the head of the bed. Jim pulled him closer with his palm spread against his behind, then let his hand guide Spock’s erection into the sweet warmth of his mouth. Spock moaned as he enveloped him again. It was slightly more difficult to establish a rhythm lying on his side, but worthwhile for the way it filled his nose with Jim’s clean musky scent, the reflection of their shared pleasure in his mind and body. The way their sounds were muffled was oddly alluring, and as he gripped the curve of Jim’s rear, eager to feel as much of him as possible, he felt a sharp spike in Jim’s state of arousal.

Understanding, Spock lifted Jim’s leg to bend it at the knee. He then slipped his finger into his mouth alongside Jim’s cock, wetting it before gently stroking it down his testicles and over his perineum, slowly enough that Jim could express a wish for him to stop, if he wanted. But he knew Jim didn’t want him to. As his finger touched the sensitive rim of his hole, they both moaned, and Jim thrust himself into his mouth. Satisfied, Spock continued, soon feeling the flesh give enough to enter him, his own sensitive index finger enclosed hot and tight on all sides. He groaned, feeling his sheath dribble over his leg as he sought Jim’s prostate, knowing instantly when he’d located it due to the flood of surprised pleasure that filled his mind, the choked-off sound he heard and felt as Jim sucked him harder.

The world around them gradually began to disappear, and when Spock came in his lover’s mouth, Jim was only moments behind, gripping his hip as he spilled down his throat, contracting around Spock’s finger. Spock slid out of him and Jim pulled away, panting as he rolled onto his back.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, as Spock weightily turned himself back around the right way, flopping down at his side. “That was so good, Spock…” He exhaled, catching his breath for a moment, wiping his face with his hand. “That… position usually hasn’t worked very well for me in the past— you’ve got to be close to the same height or else it just gets uncomfortable. And since your height’s mostly in your legs, when we’re lying down like that…”

“Mm.” Spock felt too spent to bother wiping the saliva off of his own face. “And I believe you also enjoyed having your prostate stimulated?” he murmured.

Jim laughed. “Well, I wasn’t certain I would, but yes, I did. Maybe not as much as you enjoy it, though,” he teased.

“That would be difficult to achieve,” Spock agreed, making Jim laugh again as he kissed his forehead.

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep again, but evidently he had, because he woke alone in bed to the smell of coffee. Jim was sitting in the chair nearby with a PADD on his naked lap and a cup in his hand. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, as Spock began to sit up. “Seems you weren’t sufficiently rested after all.”

“So it would appear.”

“Well, Mr Spock,” he said, taking a long sip of his coffee, “what shall we do with our first day of leave? I hear the base has a wonderful art collection in its archives. And the biology lab, I’m told, is doing some fascinating research on gene splicing with the Argellian ficus, which you might be interested in. And, if I recall correctly, there’s a lovely little lounge that has sort of a tropical theme…”

“I see,” Spock said, trying not to sound disappointed. It wasn’t that he was disinterested in these things, but based on the hints Jim had been dropping before the mission, none were the leave activities he thought they’d both been most looking forward to— namely, spending a lot of time in Jim’s quarters engaged in sex.

But there was a gleam in Jim’s eye, and he grinned. “Or… we can stay here, and fuck each other senseless all day until we get hungry enough to beam down for something to eat. If you’d prefer.”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I believe I would prefer that.”

Jim’s smile remained as he set his cup and PADD down on the ledge, getting up to return to the bed.

They indeed spent the rest of the day alternating between sex in Spock’s bed, sex in the shower, sex in Jim’s bed, and lounging naked together in between. As the ship was mostly empty, they did not take any particular care to be quiet. Jim even encouraged him at times. “Yeah, you like that?” he’d said at one point, fucking hard into him from behind. “You want everyone to know how good you’re getting it, don’t you?”

At no point did they discuss their previous mission.

When the growling of Jim’s stomach finally necessitated they get dressed to beam down for dinner, Spock, while applying his makeup, didn’t bother to cover the yellow-green bruises that had been sucked into his neck. He wasn’t sure if it was his primal Vulcan nature that wanted to showcase how he belonged to Jim, or something base and human, but he found he was unconcerned. On his way to the transporter room to meet Jim, the corridors were largely quiet, but he caught a snatch of conversation as he passed a junction.

“—telling you, Bowles saw them in the shuttlebay, and their hands were—”

He thought little of it, but on the starbase, as they passed a café with tables along the main promenade, he heard a similar comment. “—like the Vulcan Ambassador and his wife, I don’t know what it means but it obviously means something if—”

And as he was walking up the corridor near the bar after washing his hands in the lounge’s bathroom: “—sitting right over there, I swear to god the commander has a fucking hickey on his neck.”

“Please, it’s probably just a bruise from getting thrown around in that shuttle, he’s too— oh shit, shh!”

Spock gave no indication that he’d heard, but the two ensigns pointedly pretended to be interested in something on the other side of the room as he passed. Amused, he returned to their table where Jim sat, apparently oblivious, swirling the ice in his glass of liquor with a relaxed expression on his face.

By the time shore leave ended and the Enterprise was ready to leave Starbase 6, Spock estimated, based on remarks from officers who had foolishly forgotten from how much further away a Vulcan could overhear a conversation, that there were very few members of the crew who had not formulated some opinion or other about his relationship with the Captain.

“—polishing the floors in the corridor outside the captain’s quarters, and he said whatever they were doing in there, it sure didn’t sound like it involved any mission reports, if you catch my—”

“—supposed to be very intimate for Vulcans, Lieutenant Uhura told me that’s why they don’t like to shake hands—”

“—telling me they just started doing it now? No fucking way, I know that smug look people get when they’re getting laid, and the captain’s had it for at least the past—”

“—think it’s sweet, actually, they’re both so committed to the ship it’s probably the only thing that makes sense for—”

“—don’t blame the captain for not wanting Starfleet to know right away, I mean, you wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork Barry and I had to do after we applied for shared quarters, and—”

In these findings Spock was pleased to note that none of the crew seemed given to any of the concerns Jim had had initially about revealing their relationship. No one was convinced Spock was influenced by anything other than his own will, no one seemed worried that their skill as a command team would be negatively affected, and no one seemed bothered by the fact that they were a human and a Vulcan. Of course, this last had been Spock’s concern, not the captain’s, and one that still sank its burdensome weight down in his thoughts at times. Particularly when he thought of how those few moments inside of Jim’s mind had felt.

As a child, when he’d been old enough to understand bonding— how it differed between parent and child, sibling and sibling, husband and wife— he had asked his mother about it. His father had explained that her human mind was the reason Spock could not feel his mother’s presence in his own thoughts unless he was touching her. Curious, he’d asked her how it felt to be bonded to his father. She’d smiled and told him that it had not been easy at first. The human mind was not accustomed to telepathy, she said, so it would naturally try to resist intrusion even when consent was given freely.

“Was it painful?” his child-self had asked. She’d tilted her head in thought, making an odd expression.

“Not exactly,” she said. “Uncomfortable, yes. I think it could have been painful, if a Vulcan was less careful than your father. We had to meld at the surface level several times before it felt familiar enough that we could fully join minds. You’ll learn how to control that when you do it, if you want to learn to perform the mind meld. Not all Vulcans do.” Spock was quiet then, containing the indignant feeling that rose in him. Of course he was going to learn it.

“Our bond was somewhat… overwhelming, when the time came. It took some work for me to get used to it, but now I can’t imagine being without it. There’s nothing like it, not for humans.” She’d smiled again, lost in thought for a moment. “But of course you don’t need to worry about all that, Spock,” she continued lightly, kissing the top of his head. “When it’s time for you to bond, well, she’ll be a Vulcan, won’t she?”

The familial bond between himself and Sarek had been closed to him since the day he’d left for the Academy. The familial bond between himself and Sybok had been severed when Sybok had been declared v’tosh ka’tur. And the betrothal link with T’Pring had been nothing more than a tight, icy thread in the back of his mind that fizzed distastefully on the rare occasions he’d ventured to touch it, so he had stopped. And of course even that too was gone now. He had been alone in his mind for years.

The inviting sensation he’d felt, then, had most certainly been of his own imagining, his own desire. Not Jim’s. Jim was human, untrained, vulnerable to the power of Spock’s telepathy. How could Jim’s mind want him like that?

The incident with the Kelvans had left them weeks off course, in an area of space never explored by Earth ships. The Kelvans themselves were turned over to the Enterprise’s xenocultural and communications team during the journey, and proved amenable to further education on Federation ethics and operations. The biology team had also been permitted to further their understanding of the Kelvans’ natural morphology through a series of non-invasive tests.

Meanwhile, as the Enterprise proceeded toward Deep Space Three, the nearest Federation outpost where they’d be able to transfer their hijackers-cum-asylum-seekers, the ship dropped out of warp occasionally in order to take advantage of the opportunity to confirm and adjust readings or star-charts that had thus far only been obtained by probes. During one such endeavour, Spock was disrupted from his scans by a noise of surprise from Uhura. He looked over at her station, which was lit up across the board. “Lieutenant?”

“I— I think it’s a distress call, but there’s no…” She frowned over the controls, flipping switches with one hand while pressing her earpiece harder into her ear with the other.

“My readings are off, too,” Sulu said.

“Mr Spock?” the Captain said, as Spock adjusted his scanner’s parameters, attempting to extract any information on whatever was disrupting them, but found only a strangely elusive form of energy. He fiddled with his settings further.

“The reading’s growing stronger, Captain,” Sulu said. “Coming from a star system dead ahead.”

When the voice of the one who called himself ‘Sargon’ filled the bridge, it wasn’t immediately clear whether the voice was occurring sonically, or being projected through their minds. Spock was able to determine it was somewhere between the two, making use of all of their combined kash-tepul so that the understanding was collective and tangible enough to be perceived as happening physically. He found himself awed by this Sargon’s abilities as he continued to receive new and ever more unlikely readings on his scanner, and Jim recorded a log that would not be heard by Starfleet Command for weeks. They would receive no outside guidance in this matter.

Despite the unexpected addition of Dr. Anne Mulhall to the landing party, Spock remained pleased that Sargon had wished for him to come along. He felt as though he were vibrating with scientific— and, to some extent, personal— curiosity when they beamed down to the chamber.

Sargon spoke of things that his scientific mind wanted to believe were impossible, but his telepathic instincts wanted to trust him. At first he seemed content to communicate with them as he had on the bridge of the ship, and directed his explanations largely to the Captain, but Spock watched in terrified fascination as the essence of what was Jim disappeared from his face, replaced with something entirely different. Jim spoke in an amalgam of his own voice and Sargon’s voice, moving with maladroit rigidity, like a mechanical device that had been left to rust.

Shortly after Sargon had shown them the receptacles of Henoch and Thalassa and explained their proposal, Jim’s consciousness was returned to his own form. He’d seemed unharmed despite the feverish strain on his body. They all listened as Jim described his experience of the energy transfer.

“Spock… I remember,” he said. “When Sargon and I exchanged, as we passed each other, for an instant, we were one.” He spoke with almost a reverence, moving back toward Sargon’s glowing receptacle. “I know him now. I know what he is and what he wants, and I don’t fear him.”

McCoy and Mulhall did not hesitate to share their concerns. Spock said nothing. Something hard and bitterly jealous was forming in the pit of his stomach. He made himself focus on his breathing. This was a unique scientific opportunity, perhaps a humanitarian mission as well, which ought to be approached with the appropriate levels of ethical consideration and professional curiosity.

During the transfer with Henoch, Spock experienced the unity and knowledge that Jim had spoken of in the chamber. It had been similar to a mind meld in that time had seemed to melt away as the two beings shared consciousness, Spock feeling the ache of half a million years of isolation, the years of struggle before, the empty, lonely resentment at intelligence and skills trapped and wasted. Except Spock’s understanding of Henoch had not come with inherent trust and mutual respect. Henoch had learned of Spock, too; but there was little empathy in his understanding. In fact there had been almost a quality of laughter.

He felt a flicker of fear. But he was fascinated, too. His mind was safely housed inside the vessel, removed from time and space; yet some part of him, a shadow-like tether of his connection with Henoch, remained aware of all that was around him, though he could take no action. He watched, or rather, he perceived, as his body propped itself up and shamelessly eyed Nurse Chapel’s breasts, then her face, smiling. If Spock’s consciousness could have rolled its eyes, it would have. Leave her alone! he thought, as Henoch watched her finger coyly trace at her neck in response to his compliment. Henoch laughed and sat up.

Spock felt increasingly uneasy. When they’d passed through one another Henoch would have learned his feelings of pity and annoyance over her girlish crush, so his actions now felt like a cruel joke at both Spock’s and Chapel’s expense. But possibly Henoch was merely pleased to wake up to the sight of a woman after so long isolated and formless in that chamber. It was very odd to witness his own body carried with such casual ease and exuberance. Clearly in his living form Henoch had been quite a different person from Spock.

As Henoch and Chapel left for the lab, Spock learned that his ethereal self was able to retain his awareness of the area surrounding his receptacle as well as sense some of what was happening around Henoch, even once he’d gone out of the room. He was somewhat anxious for the Captain and Mulhall, their human bodies unable to handle the intrusion with the help of the metabolic reduction formula, but they were safe for now. He allowed himself to enjoy the scientific opportunity of witnessing Henoch preparing the injection for all three host bodies, with Chapel’s capable and professional assistance.

But soon Spock’s anxiousness returned as Henoch filled the third hypo with a diluted version of the formula, certainly not enough to keep the Captain’s body functional for long once it held Sargon again. And when Chapel sensibly questioned it, Spock’s consciousness recoiled in horror as a smiling Henoch pressed his own fingers to her face to alter her memory.

He meant to kill the Captain and Sargon and keep Spock’s body for himself. And with Spock’s Vulcan abilities available to him in addition to his own, and no ethical code about how they were used, he would surely succeed.

The feeling of a scream rose up in him, but it had nowhere to go. It persisted as Henoch and Chapel returned to sickbay and administered the injections with the approval of Dr McCoy. Restrain my body! he thought desperately, reaching nothing and no one. Put him in the brig! He cannot be trusted! Sargon! You must stop him! But soon the receptacles were left alone in sickbay. And in any case, Sargon and Thalassa had come and gone only of their own free will— Spock knew of no way to force Henoch out of the body he’d stolen.

“As planned, the construction of android bodies is underway. All is proceeding as expected…” McCoy dictated into his log, several hours later, “and as promised. I can find no reason for concern, but yet I am filled with… foreboding.” He stopped the recording, slowly pacing the sickbay with his hands behind his back, watching the receptacles in concern for a few moments. If only Spock could somehow indicate to McCoy that his instincts were correct!

Later, poor Chapel prepared the hypos and stood puzzling as her real memories tried and failed to break through the alteration. She woodenly spoke the lies Henoch had fed her to a rather wary McCoy, who offered to administer the injections himself. Yes! Spock thought. Check the formulas, Doctor! But Chapel recovered and swept away with the tray before he could say anything further. Spock could not remember the last time he felt so frustrated and helpless.

He was helpless as Henoch poisoned Thalassa’s mind into wishing to keep Mulhall’s body for herself. He was helpless as the Captain’s lifeless form was brought to sickbay, creating a wild flurry of emotions that Spock had no way of expressing. If he’d been in his body, perhaps he might have sobbed as he’d done alone in the turbolift after his pon farr, on the way to sickbay to resign his commission. He could do nothing other than bear witness.

McCoy placed Jim’s body on life support, and Spock experienced a small sense of relief. If Jim’s mind was still in its receptacle, perhaps hope was not lost… but how could he be returned to his body without Sargon?

The answer came in the form of Thalassa, first attempting to bargain with McCoy— Mulhall’s body in exchange for Kirk’s mind— then causing him pain when he resisted. But she stopped, horrified by what she’d done. The voice of Sargon echoed through them then. He’d merged with the ship when he had had to leave Jim’s body behind, and as he spoke to them, he also spoke separately to Spock’s consciousness, in a way he knew none of the others could hear.

Spock. I know what your captain is to you. Sargon allowed Spock to feel the extent of the love he felt for Thalassa, a love strong enough to have persisted once their bodies had gone, over hundreds of thousands of years. A hundred years, a thousand, a million… it would never be enough for those like you or me, he continued wistfully. But it is much too soon for you to be parted. If we are to stop Henoch and save Captain Kirk, you must trust me.

I do, Sargon. I do.

Henoch knows your mind. This will require skilled deception of Kirk and your friends.

They will understand. But as Sargon projected his plan to him, he felt something akin to a wince— it would be awful for Jim to believe he must again sentence Spock to death. And then there was the other problem. Must it be Miss Chapel, Sargon? She and I—

That is precisely why, Spock. Henoch knows your feelings, and already has her under some of his control. He would be suspicious of Captain Kirk or even Dr McCoy. But he will never suspect her.

I suppose that is logical. But will she not be harmed? If humans generally resisted even a mind meld, how could one house his entire consciousness, unprepared?

I and Thalassa will assist her. I expect she will not take to it easily otherwise.

Their consciousnesses remained separate for the most part, thanks to the blocks provided by Sargon and Thalassa. They made their way to the bridge, Chapel moving almost robotically as Sargon kept the forefront of her mind as clear as possible for when Henoch would undoubtedly read it. The whole procedure happened very quickly indeed, and once Henoch was gone and Spock’s body lay limp on the floor, Sargon, true to his word, did not make them wait long.

I could not allow your sacrifice of one so close to you. They all heard it, but it was obviously meant for the Captain.

And the joy Spock felt to return to his own body at last! He stood, placing his hands behind his back to keep himself from reaching out to touch Jim, who seemed himself frozen in his surprise and confusion over the fact Spock was alive; Spock could feel the relief radiating out of him like an emotional furnace. As Chapel explained what had happened, Jim’s relief and happiness were tinged with something hurt and possessive, but it faded.

Spock looked resolutely at the floor out of politeness, not jealousy, when Sargon and Thalassa kissed and held each other one last time in the Captain and Mulhall’s bodies. Beloved, he called her in Jim’s voice. Beloved.

McCoy insisted on scans for Spock, Jim, and Chapel afterwards. “I’m fine, Doctor,” she said irritably, trying to shrug him off.

“Well, excuse me for thinking that a human mind is only built for a single consciousness at a time,” he muttered. “But I have to admit it seems Sargon knew what he was doing. Go on.” She left. Jim hovered nearby, rubbing his right knuckles against his left palm as McCoy ran the scanner over Spock. “Looks like you’re in the clear, Spock.”

“Is this really necessary, Bones? Surely if anything were wrong, we’d have already—”

“It’s necessary for my peace of mind,” he grumbled, scanning Jim as Spock stood in parade rest, waiting. “You were clinically dead not one hour ago, at least let me make sure your blood and guts are all where they’re supposed to be.”

When the doctor was satisfied, Spock followed Jim out of the sickbay, knowing they were making their way to the captain’s quarters. As soon as the door slid shut behind them, Jim held him close and tight, laying his head against Spock’s shoulder, his breath against his neck. They stayed this way for long, wordless minutes before Jim drew back and spoke, an odd smile appearing on his face.

“Quite an ingenious plan, hiding your mind inside of another living person.”

“Sargon believed Miss Chapel to be the one Henoch was least likely to suspect.” Having already specified this on the bridge, Spock didn’t know why he was repeating it.

Jim was nodding somewhat absently, no longer looking at him, beginning to pace the living area slowly. “And did she… I mean, she said you shared consciousness together…”

“Literally so,” Spock said. “But Sargon and Thalassa assisted in keeping our most private selves largely separate.”

As he’d predicted, Chapel’s mind had struggled under the strain, and there was some bleedthrough despite Sargon and Thalassa’s efforts, which, although not desirable, they had no choice but to accept.

I am sorry, Miss Chapel, he’d expressed to her as he felt her distress. If there had been another way…

You can’t even call me Christine when you’re inside my head, she’d replied, with rueful understanding. I’m the one who should be sorry. The way I’ve acted…

Feelings… sometimes cannot be helped.

You love him, don’t you? Spock didn’t respond. I know what love feels like, Mr Spock. Maybe I haven’t felt it in myself in some time, but I feel it in you. I’m— I’m very glad for you.

“I see,” Jim said tonelessly. “So you’ll join minds with another person only if it’s absolutely necessary, is that it?”

Spock frowned, surprised by the sudden anger. “Jim?”

He sighed, resting his hands on the ledge of the dividing wall. “I’m sorry. I told myself it’s… your choice. Obviously you know more about it than I do.”

“I do not understand.”

“Can’t you see how it is for me, Spock?” He looked up from where he’d been looking down at his hands. “To know that you’d trust a stranger with your thoughts more easily than you trust me?”

As realisation dawned, Spock’s expression fell slightly. “You believe we have not merged our minds because I do not desire it. You are mistaken. I desire it… very much.”

“But you still won’t let me in,” he said flatly.

“Jim, the force of my desire—” He broke off, embarrassed. But Jim deserved an explanation. “I do not trust myself. The human mind is…” He swallowed. “I could harm you.”

Jim shook his head. “No. I don’t believe that. From everything I’ve seen, you’ve never hurt anyone else when you’ve done it. Perhaps in theory, you could. But you won’t.”

Spock felt a splinter of frustration. “You cannot know that.”

“Yes, I can,” Jim said. “You won’t hurt me, because you don’t want to.”

“How can that be enough?” he nearly whispered. For the first time in years, he felt some sympathy for his father.

Jim’s face softened as he stepped toward him again.

“I don’t suppose,” he said thoughtfully after a moment, “that Vulcans have a word for what we on Earth used to call a ‘supermoon’?”

“That would be illogical,” Spock agreed, though puzzled by the turn in the conversation, “as Vulcan has no moon.”

“Of course. But you’re familiar with the concept.”

Spock stared at him. Obviously he was familiar with the concept. “The term was coined not by a scientist,” he began haughtily, “but by an astrologer named Richard Nolle, so its definition is somewhat vague astronomically. But the phenomenon occurs when a new or full moon is nearly coincidental with the perigee of its orbit, making the satellite appear larger as viewed from Earth.”

“Appear larger,” Jim repeated. “The moon itself is always the same size.”

“Obviously. And the difference, in most instances, is so minute that it could go unnoticed by most casual stargazers.”

“Exactly, Spock, exactly,” Jim said excitedly. Spock, knowing he was following some particular train of thought, waited for him to continue. “It’s the same no matter the position of the orbit. No matter the phase of the lunar cycle. It’s only our perspective that changes things.”

Spock raised his eyebrow. “I assume you now also speak in a metaphorical sense.”

“It’s never been hard for me to love you. It was only hard for me to accept in myself… what that was.” He nodded as he spoke. “I only mean… maybe we just needed each other’s help to know that this— what was between us wasn’t so huge and terrible a thing after all.”

At last Spock understood. In their orbit of each other, it had never mattered to Jim whether what Spock felt for him was love, or something else— it was enough that he felt it. All he’d wanted was to be trusted enough that Spock would welcome him into it. Jim had let go of the last of his fears that day in the shuttlebay, but Spock had clung fast to his own, unable to open their cage and let himself be known. He could not bear the thought of them being without one another. And yet, when Jim had held his tender heart in his hands and presented it to him, Spock had turned away in shame.

You’re more afraid of living.

“On the planet, when you spoke of Sargon’s consciousness touching yours, I experienced… jealousy,” he admitted softly.

Jim took hold of his arm, rubbing it with his thumb. “It’s still your decision. But if you want that… I want it, too.”

Still, Spock hesitated. “It may not be as you expect. The presence of another mind in yours will be foreign to you, perhaps uncomfortable.”

He half-smiled. “If I were afraid of the unknown, Mr Spock, do you think I would’ve become a starship captain?”

Spock felt himself relent, nearly overcome with fondness. “Perhaps we should move to the bed.”

Kicking off their boots, they lay down face to face, for a moment just looking at one another, Jim’s hand searching for his between them. He brought Spock’s fingers to his mouth and kissed them one by one before resting Spock’s palm against his cheek. “Do I… need to do anything?”

Spock shook his head. “You may wish to close your eyes. It can be disorienting otherwise.”

Jim did so, and Spock spread his fingers to reach his qui’lari. He did not need to speak the words of focus; as soon as his intention was set he was falling, drifting, caught by the windswept waves of Jim’s thoughts. A sound formed in his throat, and Jim’s fingers grasped at his shirt, but he could feel that Jim was all right, yes; he was only struck by the unfamiliar sensation, but he was welcoming him, and Spock felt his heart speed up as the warmth of Jim’s essential self began to envelop his consciousness. It would be so easy to lose himself here…

Focus, he reminded himself, and gradually the swirling kash-tepul began to settle. The elements of Jim’s thoughts became more distinct. Spock’s heart rate slowed.

I can feel you. The awe Jim projected to him was palpable.

That is the general idea, Spock agreed, and Jim’s amusement tasted like music.

No, I know, but last time… there wasn’t so much of you.

That was more similar to a guided meditation technique than a meld, Spock explained. Only a superficial touching of my mental energy to ease the intensity of the specific thoughts you presented.

I like this, Jim said, after an endless moment of allowing their innermost thoughts to brush and rub against each other, a frothy exchange of memory and self. Feels like… mm. Feels like when it rains after a long dry spell, you know? When at first the ground is so dusty and parched it just runs over the surface, but gradually it starts to get absorbed…

I see, Spock said, a little taken aback, but he did not disagree. Being in Jim’s mind felt like arriving at an oasis after crossing The Forge, blissfully comfortable and safe. He could not believe he had feared something so wonderful.

Yes, Jim said. It is wonderful. It feels so good. Spock noticed the somewhat sexual charge to this thought of Jim’s, a sensation that only increased with Spock’s amused surprise. Oh, god, is that what it feels like for you? When you laugh inside your mind? Do it again.

I cannot do it on command, Spock said, even though Jim’s remark had already produced the feeling in him again, and Jim’s obvious pleasure at it was even more pronounced. He was aroused. And knowing this was true for Jim made the light arousal Spock had already felt over their merging more acute, no longer possible to ignore.

It’s not so surprising, is it? That I like having you inside me?

Spock’s lips parted as he drew breath. Jim’s mind had not resisted this, not for a moment. Though he couldn’t understand it before experiencing it, he had hungered for this just as Spock had. And Spock could not be ashamed of how much of himself he had shared with Jim, even when not all of it was flattering; he knew Jim wanted to know it, because Jim had shared those parts of himself with Spock.

It is the utmost privilege in my life simply to know you, Jim. To be permitted to do so in this… most intimate of ways is a treasured gift.

For both of us, Jim insisted. You’ve given me that same gift.

Jim… he began, not quite understanding what he meant to express, but Jim felt it anyway.

I know, Spock. I’m afraid, too. Every day out here is another day we could… lose each other. But that’s why things like this matter so much. I want to love everything about you, for as long as I can. I want to see that beautiful mind of yours at work and watch you raise your eyebrow and argue with McCoy… I want to kiss you and tell you you’re beautiful and make love to you every goddamned day of my life.

A juicy rush of emotion rose up in Spock at this, spilling itself into Jim, who gasped out loud, his mind pushing back at him for more. It is perhaps not advisable to deepen our connection at this time.

You mean there is more?

Yes, Spock explained, a little shyly. But it is not something I have attempted before. It would likely create a lasting link between our minds.

Mm… that doesn’t sound so bad to me. Jim’s response was flirtatious, but it was clear he also understood and would not push further.

Then I shall not rule out the possibility for the future, Spock replied, with the same playful air. He shared his intention to exit the meld, and felt Jim’s slightly disappointed acceptance. Gently, he began untangling their kash-tepul, feeling some sense of disappointment himself.

We can do this again, though, right?

If you wish, he replied, though he knew Jim could sense how much the idea thrilled him. He reached the surface of the link and withdrew. As his awareness slid like an eel back into his body, he realised he was breathing heavily and partially erect, warm in his lower abdomen and across his face.

“Just… so I understand,” Jim said breathlessly, after a moment had passed, “this whole time you’ve been doing that in the line of duty?”

Still panting, Spock managed to open his eyes. “While I admit the mind meld is often emotional, and at times even… sensual, this particular experience was a novel one for us both.”

Jim leaned forward and kissed him, one arm wrapping around his back to pull them together. Spock could feel his erection. Still fuzzy, unshielded from the meld, the potent arousal that seeped into him was overpoweringly delicious, and he moaned into Jim’s mouth.

“Take your pants off,” Jim said, the low softness of his voice making Spock’s sheath and cock throb. His erection was almost fully out of him, the crotch of his underwear damp. Rolling onto his back, he quickly undid his trousers to shift them down along with his briefs as Jim repositioned himself, propping himself up slightly and grinding against Spock’s right leg, so Spock was only able to free the left one completely, the clothing bundled and caught around his right ankle. It was unimportant.

Spock’s mouth was captured in another forceful kiss that left his nerves tingling. Clumsily, Jim’s free hand fiddled with the fastenings of his own pants, trying to lower them enough to free his cock without breaking their contact. Spock moved to assist, pushing them down to mid-thigh. The need that bled into him through their touch was growing more desperate, and Jim didn’t bother taking the clothing off the rest of the way, already groaning with pleasure as he rubbed the head of his cock over Spock’s wet sheath and burgeoning erection.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Spock hissed in reply, the thick honey of Jim’s desire pouring into him. He bent his left leg, sliding his hand beneath it a bit awkwardly to gather his lubricant over two of his fingers and begin preparing himself, enjoying the friction of Jim’s cock against his, Jim’s lips and teeth at his ear, his neck, his mouth. If Jim had wanted to devour him whole, Spock felt he could have invited it just then. It was not possible to be close enough, to touch him enough, be touched enough.

Jim was pushing Spock’s shirts up toward his chest, spreading his thighs to fit himself between them, gently taking hold of his wrist to still his hand.

“Now?” he asked. Spock nodded quickly, removing his fingers. Jim’s cock was already slick with Spock’s fluids. He entered him easily with his hands at the back of Spock’s thighs, and they both groaned with pleasure.

The beauty of Jim’s being shrouded him, lingering in his mind the way the scent of his soap lingered in the bathroom after he’d showered, the green-spice of moss and sandalwood. As Jim moved inside him, he was awash in all the things they’d learned through their joined minds, things that had created each of them as individuals and drawn them to each other. The lives they had built for themselves apart and the one they had begun to build together. They’d started building it even before together was something they’d known they were. But they had already become inextricable from one another, because they’d wanted it to be so.

And the Vulcan-human hybrid of Spock’s self was not a thing of shame or compromise, not something that was half-right and half-wrong, half-proud and half-apology. Jim loved him for both, wanted him to be both— and always had, because that was what made him Spock. The love he felt for Jim, no longer a thing to be feared or distrusted or hidden, could not be contained within himself; it overflowed from his katra and into Jim, threaded itself through and around them both as Jim thrust into him, Spock clutching at him with one hand as the other wrapped itself around his erection.

“Ah—” he gasped at the intense pleasure of it in his mind, a circular energy of his own sensations, and Jim’s as he fucked him, Jim’s enjoyment of watching him.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Jim said, his breaths shallowing as he neared orgasm. “Don’t stop… I’m close…”

Spock was beyond words, as stripped open and undone by shared feeling as he had been following his pon farr. And as they had that first time, they reached climax almost simultaneously, and they cried out together, Spock’s eyes squeezed shut to close off one sense as his others became overwhelmed.

Jim let go of his legs and collapsed over him, resting their foreheads together as he softened and began to slip out of him, and for a long time they were silent, breathing each other’s breath. Eventually, Jim lifted himself to kiss Spock’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his mouth. Spock hummed.

Groaning as he got back to his knees, Jim peeled off his shirt and used it to clean them off. “Wasn’t planning to wear this one again, anyway,” he said, tossing it to the floor and gracelessly moving to one side to take his half-removed pants the rest of the way off. Spock knew his own shirt was certainly a mess, but he still could not bring himself to move. Jim laid back down next to him and kissed his neck.

Even as he lazily began to reestablish some of his shielding and controls, Spock could still feel the drowsy, quiet happiness in Jim, the gears turning beneath it. “Something is on your mind.”

“Mm,” he replied, pausing before he continued. “Just… how lucky we are, that’s all.”

“In what way?”

“Well, when you think about all the stars that had to align just right for us to make it here— like, what if you’d never joined Starfleet? Or one of us might’ve ended up on another ship, or court martialed, or— or worse— before we got to experience any of this.” He sighed through his nose, brushing a wayward strand of Spock’s hair back into place with his fingers. “That maybe we’re the only ones truly equipped to understand the other, and we were fortunate enough to find that out for ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” Spock said, “that understanding was not simply waiting for us to discover it, but rather something we created through our own desire to do so.”

“A master of one’s own destiny, Spock?” Jim smiled. “Though you’re right… from the day we met I wanted to discover what made you tick, how your mind worked. What brought you to where you are. But something told me if I pushed too hard, I’d never get the opportunity to find out.”

Spock nodded. “Your instincts have always been… impressive,” he admitted. His solitude had been a shield. It had been Jim who’d eventually made him realise that it had also been a prison. And Jim had been much the same. They’d rescued one another without knowing they had been in need of saving. “There must have been some luck involved, after all.”

“I knew I’d find some romance in you if I looked hard enough, Mr Spock,” he teased.

“Mm. Likely there was some transference during our mind meld. Sometimes such things cannot be avoided.”

Jim laughed into Spock’s shoulder, rubbing his chest affectionately, and Spock let the corners of his mouth turn up, pleased. “All right, Lord Byron,” Jim said, still chuckling. “Let’s get you out of these dirty clothes so we can take a shower before you fall asleep.”

“I am not in danger of falling asleep,” he said, though he made no move to get up.

“No? Well, I am.” He slapped him lightly on the thigh. “Come on.”

Spock dragged his reluctant body upright and began to undo the collar of his shirt to remove it. Jim started toward the bathroom. “How long until that next star-system you wanted to expand charts for?”

“Seventeen point six-one hours,” Spock said. “And from there, another three point four-eight days to Deep Space Station Three.”

Jim continued talking as he started the shower. Spock listened as he threw his shirt down the laundry chute, feeling more at ease than he could remember. He thought again of Sargon and Thalassa, preserved together within the fabric of the universe. He couldn’t know what, precisely, they’d found in that love they’d kept alive for all those endless years. And it may have been a romantic notion, but he could not help believing it must have been— at least in part— the same thing he and Jim had found in their own.

Freedom.