Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Neither cadet nor professor, Spock recognized himself as an outsider immediately upon entering the crowded lecture hall. Though it was not an unfamiliar feeling.

The buzz and chatter of waiting cadets quieted only a little when the heavy door closed behind him, and a few individuals turned their heads. Judging by their wide eyes, they seemed to recognize him. Spock was moderately famous for his service on the Enterprise, and accustomed to Starfleet enlistees staring. But soon the cadets looked away, went back to their conversations, and allowed Spock the freedom to begin his search for an empty seat.

This was the last advanced botany class of the semester, the last lecture that visiting professor Dr. James Kirk would be giving. Thankfully, Spock was not the only Starfleet officer present, or he would have stood out much more than he already did. A thin man in medical blues sat a few rows from the front, a golden-shirted commander not too far away, and other brightly colored uniforms sat speckled among the seats between cadets. But Spock didn't fail to notice that the only empty seats remaining happened to be in the front row. 

A brave cadet seated nearby met Spock’s eyes. They cleared their throat and said quietly, “Commander Spock. Word of advice? If you sit in the front row, Dr. Kirk is going to call on you.”

“Thank you, cadet,” Spock said, and they turned back to their friend who was looking at them like they had just done something dangerous and stupid. They had not. Spock was not nearly as cold as his reputation would suggest, and he was genuinely grateful for the cadet’s advice. As he was not a student, he had no desire to answer questions in a class he had not even attended. 

A moment of indecision passed, and Spock nearly elected to stand in the back of the room for the duration of the lecture. But as he stood in the middle of the staircase leading down to the front, a door to the side of the hall opened up. 

All voices hushed when Dr. Kirk strode in. At least, Spock could only assume this was Dr. Kirk: Renowned botanist, scientific prodigy, expert in identifying crops to be used in the colonization of inhospitable planets, and, currently, Spock’s best hope to solve a crop problem of his own. 

Kirk wore a bright smile as he made his way to the podium at the front of the lecture hall, setting down a dataPADD before making his way closer to the front. He had a casual, confident air about him, a warm swoop of light brown hair, pink cheeks and nose. Boyish, Spock might call him. Gentle. Plush, even. Rounded at his edges. Something about him put Spock at ease at once, and from a glance around the room he could tell that he wasn’t the only one who felt comfortable in Kirk’s presence. Cadets were smiling, waving at Dr. Kirk. One even had the courage to say loudly “Good morning, Dr. Kirk!” while her friends shushed her, laughing. 

Absorbed as he was in regarding the visiting professor, Spock realized quite suddenly that he was still standing in the middle of the staircase, open and exposed, so it was no wonder Kirk’s eyes fell to him immediately.

“Hello everyone,” Kirk said brightly, clapping his hands once as if to draw attention, though all eyes were on him all the same — Spock’s especially. “I’m excited to be here for our last lecture together. Please take your seats.” 

The comment could only have been meant for Spock, the last person standing. Reluctantly, he made his way toward the empty front row, and settled in a seat far too open for his liking. Kirk’s eyes remained fixed on him for all of a second before his attention spread to the class at large. 

“I was thinking how best to wrap this course up,” Kirk said genially. He leaned back against the podium with comfortable and confident ease. “We’ve covered everything from history to chemistry, from agriculture to sociology, so I’ve already gone a little rogue with this class.” A few chuckles dotted the room. Maybe this was a common joke. 

“But each of those subjects is integral to understanding botany, how it impacts food, how that food impacts culture, how that culture impacts every day of our lives. If you get anything out of our few months together, I hope it's that nothing grows in a vacuum, that ecosystems are built on more than just the right plant in the right soil. That everything is connected — from the arid deserts to the lush rainforests, and especially to the stars themselves where you all are headed, each containing the building blocks of life itself.” He swept a hand over the room, over the cadets each working toward their own assignments on their own ships. 

They all remained silent as Kirk spoke, and Spock understood why. Kirk commanded the room. Each word was carefully considered and entirely natural all at once.

Spock thought suddenly and illogically that he could listen to Kirk talk forever.

“So,” Jim continued. “I don't have a lecture for you today. Beyond that one, anyway. Instead, I want you all to tell me — what did you learn here? A new fact, a new skill, an ideology, a belief? Next week, ten years from now, what will you remember about this class?” 

He paused, waited, seemingly unfazed by the asserting silence. It stretched long enough to feel awkward, Spock staring out the corner of his eye at the shapes of others in their seats. And finally one cadet, the brave one who had spoken to Spock, raised their hand. Kirk nodded kindly at them.

“I, uh. I learned about the history of some medicinal plants and — I, uh, I’m studying the medical sciences so…” 

They trailed off, and Jim smiled wider. “Excellent, thank you. I’m glad you got something out of this class related to your future career. Anyone else?” 

The brave cadet had been the first of a floodgate. As comfort built, nearly every cadet in the room of a hundred raised their hands, shared an insight Kirk had helped them come to. One thanked him for his work hybridizing plants to contain more nutrients, so even in famine no one would truly starve. Another, shyly, said that he wanted to be a Starfleet professor himself someday, and Kirk gave him an example to look up to. The doctor in the room scoffed at that, and only then did Spock recognize him as a professor of the medical sciences that he had seen around the academy before. Spock could tell at first glance that this man wasn’t half the professor Dr. Kirk was. 

Spock paid attention to the room around him at first, but with nowhere to look without craning his head to the cadets throughout the room, he could only rest his eyes on Kirk. Comfortable, peaceful, poised, and proud. 

Spock had attended many lectures, and given a fair few himself, but he could not recall seeing a professor (visiting or not) seem so effortlessly content at the front of the room while conversing with students. Spock examined Kirk as the hour went on, and noticed Kirk’s eyes drifting to Spock now and again too. Spock felt strange being the only one this close to Kirk, standing out in an otherwise empty row. But each time he caught Kirk’s gaze, he somehow became more comfortable. Illogical.

It was in this warring state of exposure and intimacy that Spock waited for the “lecture” to end, for Kirk to thank his students, share that he had learned so much from them, too, and raise his hands in a round of applause for them. 

After joining Kirk in his clapping, cadets and officers alike largely stood from their seats and began chattering once again, excited and sad and empowered to be leaving Kirk’s class. Spock, however, stayed right where he was, watching as students approached Kirk, shook his hand, smiled and ducked their heads and blushed and left, and Kirk gave each his full attention. 

By the time the last student had turned from Kirk to leave, only a few people remained in the yawning room — the doctor who had scoffed, and a smattering of cadets speaking to each other as they gathered their things. Spock spotted his opportunity and stood. 

Kirk, slipping his abandoned dataPADD into a messenger bag, looked up as Spock approached, and the man’s smile turned softer. Spock felt himself stumbling over what he had come to ask of the professor, caught off guard by the casual way Kirk held up the ta’al. 

“Commander,” Kirk said with a respectful nod of his head. He wasn't in Starfleet himself, and didn't need to address Spock by title. But Spock appreciated the respect all the same.

“Professor Kirk,” Spock greeted, and Kirk laughed something soft and bright. 

“As of ten minutes ago, I am no longer a professor. That was my last class.” 

“Doctor Kirk, then,” Spock adjusted. 

“Jim,” he corrected, humbly but firmly.

“Spock.” 

Jim nodded, folded his bag closed and held Spock’s eyes. “What brought you to my class today, Mister Spock? Interest in botany?”

Noncommittally, Spock nodded. “As a science officer, the general sciences are usually areas of interest, though I have a recent particular interest in botany.”

Jim laughed almost shyly. “Do you now? Why, Mister Spock, you should have attended my class sooner.”

Something in Jim’s tone caused Spock to straighten, wrongfooted. “I have been on assignment,” he clarified.

Jim leaned an elbow on the podium, tilting his head so the charming curl over his forehead bounced. “Shame. What brings you here today, then?”

Spock did not understand whatever undercurrent flowed beneath this conversation, but he did understand that it was making Spock…. feel . 

And he felt out of his element, to an extent he hadn’t when he had first come into the room. 

“The Enterprise,” Spock said, “the ship on which I serve, is in spacedock. I am now on leave.” 

Why did he feel the need to explain this to Jim? The room had slowly emptied further around them, and Spock was usually quite conscious of wasting others’ time. However, he found himself loath to get to the point of this meeting. Not with Jim’s smile wide like a blooming flower, more beautiful the more Spock looked at it. Full of life.

“Well-deserved, I’m sure. You must be very interested in botany, then, to come to a lecture when you should be relaxing on a beach somewhere.”

Relaxing was not something Spock did. This was his first leave in nearly three years. If it weren’t for his predicament, he would not have needed the time off from his duties. “In fact, I am here for you.” Only when Jim’s cheeks flushed a deeper red did Spock understand how that statement may be taken without further clarification. 

“Oh?” Jim asked. “Well, you’ve got me, Mister Spock.” He winked. Spock nearly choked. Spock now recognized the tone of Jim’s voice. It was… flirtatious . 

Spock’s heart pounded harder, and he decided to barrel ahead to the point lest he forget entirely why he was here and, Surak forbid, reciprocate the flirtation. He couldn’t afford to, with so much at stake.

“In-- indeed. I understand you are the most accomplished modern botanist in adapting nutrient-rich crops to difficult climates.”

“Flatterer,” Jim said with a wink.

“It is not flattery to state the truth.”

“Wow,” Jim laughed. “That’s something an experienced flatterer would say.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. It seemed Jim was convinced that Spock was, in fact, flattering him. This could not have been farther from Spock’s intention. But whatever his intention, Jim’s reaction remained the same. Smiling, eyes soft, looking so charming. He was like a venus flytrap. 

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’ll stop teasing,” Jim said when Spock merely blinked at him in bewilderment. “I assume you have a difficult climate for me, then?” 

Grateful for the change of subject, Spock nodded. “And unfortunately no crop. For some months now, I have been involved in the development of a new Vulcan colony, called Shan'hal'lak. I have attempted to assist the residents in their agricultural efforts.”

“Admirable of you, Spock. I'm sure they've been grateful for the support.” 

“Perhaps so. However all attempts to create a sustainable agricultural system on the planet have been unsuccessful. The planet’s desert is biologically far different from that of Vulcan, so our native plants cannot survive.”

Jim nodded contemplatively, tapping his chin. “I see. How are the colonists faring? Has anyone gone hungry?” 

“They survive on supplies provided by Starfleet, which is unsustainable. If the people cannot grow their own food, they cannot colonize.”

“And I’m sure they all uprooted their lives to start again on a new planet. That’s not easy to walk away from.”

Spock nodded. 

Jim seemed to consider the situation for a long, silent moment. Eventually: “Well —” 

“Jim.” A voice came from a few rows into the seats, and Spock turned to see the doctor still sitting there, seemingly observing their conversation. “You forget you got a shuttle to catch?” 

Jim’s eyes widened, and he looked at the chrono at the back of the wall. “Oh,” he said, a note of regret in his voice when he looked back at Spock. Spock’s stomach clenched, understanding that this might be the last he would see of Jim Kirk, and that his problem had not come close to being solved.

“I thank you for your time,” Spock said formally, but before he could formulate an appropriate farewell, Jim waved a hand at him to get him to stop. It was a silly gesture, but it made Spock’s heart jump.

“I do have to go,” Jim said quickly, “but come to my farm in Iowa tomorrow? I mean, if you'd like to, that is? I can send you the coordinates, and you can send me any soil sample data you have. I’ll think about your crop problem on the shuttle.” 

“I — yes, thank you for the invitation. Yes, that would be sufficient.” Spock nearly blanched. He had never fumbled his words so severely before, but he was taken off-guard by the invitation. All he could do was agree to it.

“Sufficient, excellent. Wonderful.” Jim said, just as clumsily, and he gripped the strap of his bag as his smile spread again. “Uh, may I borrow your communicator?” 

Without thinking, Spock handed it over, and watched Jim’s hands — rough with callouses and stained at his fingernails with green chlorophyll — type coordinates into the device. Then, he handed the communicator back to Spock, and Spock resisted the sudden and insatiable urge to brush their fingers together. 

Jim, as if peering through a window into Spock’s mind, looked almost shy, a warm light in his eyes. “See you tomorrow, then?” 

“Certainly,” Spock swallowed over the word.

He watched Jim turn, retreat, moving to join the doctor at the far door. As they exited, Spock stood still, as if recovering from the force of a gale of wind. 

With Jim’s communication information in his own device, Spock recovered himself a moment longer before making his way up the stairs between the lecture hall seats. He would send Jim all the information he had on the properties of the planet and its failed agricultural attempts, and make arrangements to depart to Iowa tomorrow. 

Spock would need to request a leave extension from Captain Pike (one day to meet with Kirk, and a few more days to spend at the colony before the Enterprise left spacedock for its next mission) and he nearly grimaced as he exited the hall. Captain Pike could be quite smug about Spock’s personal projects, as if he knew Spock cared more about them than he ever let on. And Spock predicted that the moment he mentioned Dr. Kirk’s name, Pike would see right through him and understand that his interest was only partially professional this time.

Resigned, he held his head high and moved forward.

It was nice of Bones to escort Jim to his shuttle station, to see him off like he always did when Jim came to visit San Francisco. But Jim could definitely do without his best friend’s teasing.

“What a damn display,” Bones was saying, apparently both frustrated and delighted. “Jim, I thought you knew how to flirt!” 

“I do!” Jim protested as they made their way toward the shuttle platforms. This was the civilian shuttle station, the only one with shuttles to someplace as rural as Riverside, Iowa. Bones stood out from the crowd in his shiny Starfleet uniform. Passersby glanced over as they walked, and Jim kept his voice low. He was embarrassed in spite of himself. “I just kind of… forgot how for a second there.”

“Apparently,” Bones joked. 

“I mean, you saw him, right? He was gorgeous.” Jim recognized his voice sounded a little dreamy, but he didn’t bother hiding it. He and Bones had been friends for about 20 years, and Bones knew what he was like. “Even if he’s not interested I can’t help myself.”

“Not interested?” Bones laughed, boisterous and loud. “He was just as hard to watch as you were. It’s like neither of you knew how to string two words together. God Almighty.”

Jim’s eyes flicked to his friend. “He was into me? You’re sure?”

Bones shook his head and sighed at the tail-end of his laughter. “Can anyone be sure when it comes to Vulcans? It looked like it. Maybe he’s just awkward. Bet you can’t wait to spend the day with him tomorrow.” It sounded sarcastic, but Jim was entirely sincere when he replied. 

“Yeah, maybe we can get to know each other a little better.”

Giving Jim the side-eye, Bones seemed to suddenly see something in Jim that Jim hadn’t meant to express. “You look giddy. Why are you giddy?” 

Jim tossed his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I just felt something. A connection. It’s silly, he’s in Starfleet and I’m heading back home. It felt nice, that’s all. It’s not as if I’d actually pursue anything. Work to do, colonies to feed.” 

Bones nodded, deciding not to tease Jim anymore as they approached Jim’s shuttle. “Alright, alright. Let me know how it goes.”

They hugged briefly, Bones giving Jim a hearty pat on the back. When they parted, Bones was still looking at him carefully. “What?” Jim asked.

“Nothin’. Just thinking how you’ve been putting others first since you were a kid. If it turns out you like him, and turns out he likes you, maybe it doesn’t matter that he’s in Starfleet and you’ve got ‘work to do.’ You should think about your own damn self for once.”

Unable to help his smile, Jim squeezed Bones’ shoulder. “I’ll think about it.” 

And he would. In fact, he found himself unable to stop thinking about it as he boarded his shuttle and found his seat. 

It was true. He had been putting others first since he was a kid, at the very least since Bones had met him. The young medical student had been among the team dispatched to Tarsus IV to treat the injured and the starving in the aftermath of Kodos’ massacre. Jim had been malnourished, having offered what few edible plants he could scrounge up to the other children in hiding. He had clung to Bones like a child far younger than his 13 years out of pure relief, and they had become fast friends. 

There had been Vulcans in that rescue party, too. 

Earlier, when Jim caught a glimpse of Spock standing there in the center of the lecture hall, he couldn't help the instinctive comfort he felt. A team of Vulcans had actually been the first to find Jim and his friends, huddled outside their colony’s walls, terrified and hungry — having only eaten the native plants Jim had found to keep them alive. He had taken such comfort from the Vulcans’ calm and collected demeanors, their poise and elegance, their praise of his understanding of the local flora, their steadiness when Jim’s whole world had just been turned upside down. Since then, not only had he been encouraged to follow his current career path, he had also been somewhat predisposed to like Vulcans, just as he was predisposed to like Bones. 

Though he couldn't pretend Spock’s Vulcan heritage was the only reason Jim felt a connection to him immediately. It turned out he was also predisposed to like handsome men with an interest in his work. Jim flushed anew at the thought, and all the more when his communicator pinged with a message from the Vulcan himself: The data Jim had requested. 

Instant attraction wasn't unheard of in Jim’s life. Sometimes he wondered if it would be easier to name the people he wasn't attracted to than to run down a list of who he was. But instant connection was new. Instant understanding was new. He felt something in Spock’s eyes and his easy stance and the way Spock had looked at him that felt… different. And exciting. And for once, Jim had been selfish for just a moment, inviting Spock to see him tomorrow.

But he also understood that Spock had a mission, a vested interest in the success of the colony, Shan'hal'lak. And if he thought Jim could help, Jim would help. 

So as the shuttle sped out of the station and up into the sky, Jim settled back in his seat, sent the data to his PADD, and set to work. 

The driverless transport swished to a halt, and Spock took a moment to observe his surroundings as he stepped out from the vehicle. It was the tail-end of springtime in Iowa, and the grass beneath his feet shone verdant and healthy. He had come to a stop at the end of the dirt road that led to a small farmhouse. A sparse forest stood off in the distance to one side, and rolling fields of wheat, and other crops off to the other. Fencing on either side of the house contained rows of what appeared to be tomatoes and peppers, dark and rich soil peeking out beneath the plants. The house itself was old, but well-maintained, a fresh coat of blue paint on the fence, the window shutters, and the front door. 

That was where Spock noticed a square of white standing out against the blue, and approached among the sound of buzzing insects to inspect it. 

It was a note taped to the door, likely from Jim.

Spock, 

Come on in, I’m out back through the french doors. 

• J

Spock cautiously opened the door, eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight outside to the sight of a wood-floored hallway, walls painted a deep sage green, tables with trinkets and bookshelves lining the path to an open living room and a set of french doors beyond. 

Moving forward, Spock noticed portraits hung along the wall, recognizing them immediately. George Washington Carver, Barbara McClintok, Ingo Potrykus — prominent Earth botanists — alongside T’hva, Biv Ch'roven, and other botanists from other planets within and without the Federation.

In spite of himself, Spock felt his lips twitching into a smile so small a human may not even notice. Jim must have decorated his home with those who inspired him, like a hall of fame of his heroes. It was … sweet. And it gave Spock a better picture of the professor he had seen yesterday, gushing about history and agriculture in the lecture hall. Everything was connected indeed.

Without dallying, eager to see Jim again if he could admit it to himself, Spock approached the french doors, and creaked one open. He was greeted with a quaint back porch, shaded from the sun, leading down to a long stretch of grass and rows upon rows of neat, square garden beds.

And then he saw him.

Jim had his back turned, crouching at one of the beds, illuminated by the sun. Shirtless, he gleamed with sweat, his hair less voluminous than it had been in the San Francisco humidity, his shoulders red and freckled. His pants, barely fastened by a worn brown belt, hung low to reveal twin dimples on his plush lower back, a strong set of muscles shifting as he seemingly dug into the earth in front of himself. Spock’s breath caught in his chest, eyes tracing a gleaming bead of sweat as it meandered slowly from Jim’s hairline to his spine, rode the bumps of his vertebrae, and finally disappeared beneath the waistband of Jim’s pants, where the very top of a cleft was visible over his belt. 

Surrounding Jim, green and bright, life flourished everywhere. But nothing seemed more alive than the man himself. 

Spock stilled, watching the tableau, thinking vaguely of the great pastoral artists of Earth, and how this moment should be immortalized in oil paintings and hung in museums.

Recognizing that as a deeply romantic thought, and shamefully so, Spock forced himself to breathe through his nose once, twice, and three times, before finally calling out to Jim.

“Greetings,” Spock said, and Jim startled. He fell onto his rear in an attempt to stand, his untied gardening boots slipping on the dewy grass. Though in short order he managed to struggle to his feet and turn around.

“Spock,” Jim greeted gladly, tossing a trowel into a basket, along with his gardening gloves. “Thank you for coming.”

The light of his smile rivaled that of the sun, and Spock’s eyes were drawn this way and that to the smudge of soil on his cheek, the grass stains on his knees, the plane of his chest and the softness of his belly, and most of all his hazel eyes squinting in a grin against the glare of the sun. His softness belied what Spock could now see were practical muscles, built not from targeted exercise but hard work in his garden and fields. Freckles speckled his skin; a tiny mole stood out beside his bellybutton.

He was perfect.

Refusing to be arrested by the sight of a shirtless man (how many men had he seen shirtless? Had any affected him in this way?) Spock swallowed his attraction and stepped forward into the sun. He was still wearing his Starfleet uniform, as if he could pretend he was here on official business, and he grew uncomfortably hot in his thermal. It was wholly illogical. The temperature of an Iowa mid-morning paled in comparison to the heat of Vulcan.

“Jim, I appreciate your invitation. I hope I have not disturbed you?”

Jim laughed. “No no, just planting a few things, some hybrids I’ve been working on. This time of year is perfect for them, but a few hours won’t make a difference.” He shot Spock a boyish wink as he approached an old-fashioned water spout sticking out from the ground. Absently, he used it to rinse his hands, splash cool water on his face, pat his neck — ostensibly to cool himself off. If Spock had suffered a momentary crisis at the sight of Jim sweating, the water now dripping from his face and neck along the divots of his chest and shoulders stirred something deep inside Spock that hadn’t been stirred for quite some time.

“Nevertheless, your time is valuable,” he choked out, too late to be socially acceptable. Jim retrieved a rag from his basket, used it to wipe down his face, then tossed it casually onto one of his shoulders. He looked like Earth felt. Like green and life and blue skies. In comparison, Spock himself could only be a desert. The desert of Shan'hal'lak, in fact, where life refused to bloom.

“Hardly,” Jim said, and he beckoned for Spock to follow him as he began to walk toward one side of his massive yard. “I haven’t started anything new lately, since I’ve been teaching. Honestly, you did me a favor giving me a project to work on. Plus, I live alone, so having company is a nice change of pace.”

As Spock followed and, eventually, drew up beside Jim, he forced his eyes to wander anywhere but across Jim’s body. It was only then he noticed that they were heading toward a large, brown barn behind the property. 

Seemingly unaffected by Spock’s lack of response, Jim rambled on. “I have a few employees, of course,” he said. “And my brother Sam watches the place when I’m gone. I can’t run the farm on my own, especially with how much I travel, but I spend most of my time here in the lab anyway. What do you think, by the way? Of the farm?”

Jim cast a glance Spock’s way, looking proud. It was an endearing expression, one that Spock wanted to keep on Jim’s face for as long as possible.

“It is aesthetically pleasing, scientifically interesting, and very … comfortable.”

Jim beamed, looking away as they approached the barn doors and Jim yanked them open. “I’m glad you think so, Spock. If it’s comfortable for a Vulcan, it’s comfortable for anyone.” He chuckled, and led Spock inside. 

Whatever Spock expected to find in the barn, this was not it. Or, rather, this was much more than it. There were crates and barrels stored in precise order around the cavernous room, surrounding endless tables of computers, vials and beakers, shelves bursting with packets of seeds labeled in alphabetical order, and equipment to which Spock didn’t even have access on the Enterprise, the most advanced ship in Starfleet. In Spock’s imagination, a barn should have dirt floors and piles of hay, but this one was gleaming clean, white and polished, likely for sterility. None of the equipment looked like it had been used recently, however. Computers remained off, beakers empty, chairs pushed into their desks. Jim must have been staying in San Francisco during the semester, unable to work in his personal lab. 

However, the sprouts under growing lights and the lush plants in pots around the large room had been well taken care of in Jim’s absence. They lent life to the lab, as comfortable as the garden outside. 

Spock felt a twinge of guilt once again for wasting Jim’s time. With all this at Jim’s disposal, the man was likely anxious to return to his research. But Jim seemed unbothered as he approached a few barrels that were set against the far wall. 

“Now,” Jim said, “I can’t promise this is going to work.” He waited for Spock to join him, standing on opposite sides of a massive brown barrel. “But I think I came up with a solution to your crop problem.” 

Startled, Spock raised an eyebrow. “In less than 24 hours?” 

Jim grinned; Spock’s heart stuttered. “I’m pretty good at what I do.” 

“Evidently.”

Proudly, Jim lifted the lid of the barrel, revealing a veritable mountain of fat, white beans. Jim dipped his hands into them, emerged with a handful that he let drip one-by-one back into their mound. “White tepary beans,” he said simply. Spock was unfamiliar with their breed, and only met Jim’s eyes to wait for an explanation. 

“High in protein and soluble fiber,” Jim explained. “They come from the Sonoran Desert here on Earth. Indigenous people have been cultivating these beans for thousands of years — they’re a cornerstone of countless cultures and their cuisine! Because they’re so versatile, even if nothing else will grow in your desert, these can sustain a whole population. No one will have to starve.” His eyes took on a faraway hue for a brief and intangible moment, before they shifted back into a look of pride.

“You are confident these will grow?” Spock asked, but confidence was written all over Jim’s face. 

“The soil samples you gave me were similar to the Sonoran Desert, where people still grow these beans. I’d bet my favorite ficus on it.”

Spock restrained a smile, and Jim opened his hand to offer Spock a bean. Plucking it gently from Jim’s palm, he examined it carefully, its smooth surface and snow-white coloring. 

It was simple and beautiful, much like Jim himself. The thought came to him unbidden, and refused to leave him even as he attempted to distract himself with the bean.

“I’ll arrange for a shipment of these to Shan'hal'lak,” Jim said, and he pulled the lid back over the barrel. “But you can keep that one. A memento, maybe?” 

Though there was a smile on Jim’s face, Spock allowed himself a sudden sense of loss. He had only just arrived, and this would likely be the end of their short association unless Spock could think of some logical reason to stay. He could think of many illogical reasons, but would not dare give them voice.

“The thing,” Jim said quickly to fill the silence, “about the tepary beans.” He paused, looking flustered. “I mean, if you want to hear it?”

“I do,” Spock replied just as fast. He slipped the bean into his pocket.

“Well, it’s neat, actually. There are so many stories about these beans from all the cultures that used them. Some Tohono O’odham and Bawĭ people say that the stars are white tepary beans scattered across the sky by Coyote the trickster, or by a boy who brought them back to Earth to feed his grandfather.”

Spock watched Jim lean against the barrel, the movement bringing him just inches closer to Spock. And Spock found he couldn’t speak, and had nothing to say anyway. He wanted Jim to keep talking, even though Jim seemed to be waiting for him. Thankfully, Jim was apparently not a patient man.

After a few moments of silence, Jim’s smile returned, and he patted the top of the barrel. “I think that’s why this was my first thought — the beans — to solve your problem. Those stories make me think of the stars, and how we’re all connected by them. How the tepary beans are like this… link. Between the universe out there and the Earth down here. Between an inhospitable desert and life — blooming , sustaining. Between the past and the present, between cultures. I was glad. That these were the beans that would help your colony” He paused, shook his head. “It probably sounds silly.”

“It does not,” Spock said, something stuck in his throat. “It sounds … somewhat overly romantic.” 

Jim’s grin returned in earnest, and he straightened, faced Spock head-on, closer now once again. “I guess it is.” 

They regarded each other for a moment, something like tension stretching between them, but softer, more certain. In the silence, Jim laid his hand on the barrel, drew his eyes up and down Spock’s frame. Spock didn’t mind the scrutiny. He usually minded. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you my whole life?” Jim asked suddenly, quiet and contemplative.

Spock felt the same. He didn’t know how to answer Jim’s question, but he tried. “Overly romantic or otherwise, perhaps we are connected by the stars. And —” 

“And something else?”

Spock forced himself to breathe again, fully aware that his physiology was suited to thin air and little oxygen, but this was a kind of breathlessness entirely new to him. He could see in Jim’s eyes a feeling that Spock himself shared. And it was terrifying and exhilarating all in one.

“I cannot deny a sense of attraction,” Spock said with forced calm. Jim’s bare chest rose and fell with a breath of relief.

“Me neither. I mean, me too. I —” Jim took a small step forward, hesitant but undoubtedly dropping his gaze to Spock’s lips. “I know this is probably too fast, and you can absolutely tell me ‘no’ and I’ll understand, but do you —”

Without a single, logical thought in Spock’s head, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Jim’s. Jim let out a peep of surprise that was so cute, Spock could hardly believe he had been the one to inspire it. Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around Spock’s neck and shoulders, held him there, and Jim pulled himself forward to meet Spock’s body with his own. 

Spock sighed into Jim’s mouth, opened his lips, met Jim’s tongue and deepened their kiss hungrily, insatiable. It was not Spock’s first human kiss, but it made his fingers tingle numbly, made his body sway in sudden weakness, made the clutch of his hands on Jim’s hips too hard if Jim’s sudden gasp was anything to go by. 

Contrite, he ran his hands up Jim’s back, sticky with drying sweat, squeezed and dimpled the skin with his fingers, explored boldly and desperately as Jim began to wind his fingers into Spock’s hair, grab at his shoulder, pant into his mouth.

When Jim broke the kiss, Spock thought with no small disappointment that he had perhaps gone too far, but the feeling lasted only a moment before Jim moved his lips to Spock’s ear, nipped at his lobe, licked behind and under it, blew a soft breath into it, and Spock shuddered from his head to his toes. 

The urge to reciprocate driving him, he dove into Jim’s neck, licked the salt from his skin, bit hard until he left a trail of red marks up to the juncture of his jaw. Jim let out a small, bitten off moan, and Spock lost his sense of self. He raised his head, dumbfounded and struck with an unfamiliar surge of delight.

In that moment of surprise, Jim walked Spock backwards, and Spock bumped hard against the edge of a table that had been home to a few delicate glass tubes and vials. They shattered as they fell to the floor, as Jim slotted himself between Spock’s legs and ground against him. Their erections were obvious now, with Spock holding himself up against the table and parting his legs. He found Jim’s lips again numbly, parting from their kiss only when Jim tore the shirt over Spock’s head, then returning. Jim’s hands found Spock’s chest at once, climbed it, spread his fingers through the thick hair, brushed Spock’s nipples with his palms. Spock shuddered, a shiver of anticipation wracking his frame. 

“Spock,” Jim whispered, as Spock returned to his neck, the other side this time, licking off his sweat and savoring its salt. “Spock, I’m probably disgusting. If you want me to shower first —”

“No,” Spock growled, one hand drifting to Jim’s ass to hold him close. “You are beautiful.” The breath carrying that word was too tender, but Spock could not bring himself to care. 

Jim nodded frantically, saying something like ‘okay’ that Spock couldn't even process, and he helped Spock up onto the table. Spock had barely settled before Jim tore Spock’s slacks open and sank to his own knees. Spock’s chest grew tight as Jim, without fanfare, pulled Spock’s erection from the part of his slacks. It was too big for Jim to take, Spock thought briefly and erroneously, before Jim fit his lips around the head and sank down to the hilt. 

He choked, and the movement of his throat caused Spock to throw his head back and suck in a quick breath. Undeterred, Jim lifted Spock’s leg to put it over his own shoulder, then began to bob his head quickly and mercilessly. He didn't gag again. Spock’s hands clenched, squeaking on the once spotlessly clean table. “Your lab,” he choked out, suddenly aware of the carefully sterilized space and how very dirty he and Jim already were, and how much dirtier they would become soon. 

Jim didn’t even lift his head, breathing heavily through his nose as he continued his assault on Spock’s cock. Spock could only assume Jim didn’t care about his lab at this moment, and frankly Spock was grateful. He didn’t care either. It was getting difficult to care about anything, really, except Jim’s mouth and tongue. 

Finally, Spock gave himself to the feeling, closed his eyes, allowed Jim to swallow around him once, again, dragging his lips and tongue over Spock’s shaft as if sprinting toward a finish line that was already approaching far too fast. When Jim tongued Spock’s ridges and used his hand to jerk what he wasn’t sucking, Spock’s jaw trembled over a moan. 

He had never heard himself make such a sound before. It startled and aroused him in equal measure, and made it clear to him how close he was to completion. “Jim,” he warned, his thighs clenching. Spock hadn’t actually been asking Jim to stop , but Jim pulled off, taking in a deep breath, and lifted his eyes to Spock’s. Jim’s red, wet lips curled in a wicked smile; Spock was suddenly grateful that this encounter wasn’t over just yet. 

“Will you fuck me?” Jim asked, dropping a kiss to Spock’s thigh. Even though Spock was still wearing his slacks, he could feel that kiss as hot and tangible as if it had been pressed to his bare skin. Spock swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he said on a thin breath. “Here?”

“Yes,” Jim echoed. “I’ve been thinking about this since we met.” He stood suddenly, pushed Spock backwards on the table, and began to strip out of his own pants. He kicked off his untied boots, shoved the belt down his thighs, and Spock nearly came at the sight of Jim’s tanline, his upper body darker and redder than his lower, with the exception of his cock — hard and flushed between his legs. Before Spock could really take in the sight, however, Jim took a few steps away, opened a cabinet and seemed to search for something. 

“Jim,” Spock said, somewhat desperately. “What are you—”

“One of these should work,” Jim replied, and he plucked a vial from a shelf in the cabinet. “This one. I didn’t want to — to use any of the rare oils,” he said. Suddenly, sweetly embarrassed, Jim returned to Spock, and handed him the oil. Its label indicated it was a simple coconut oil, indeed not one of Jim’s rarer stock. 

Eager to put it to use, Spock prepared to suggest a switch in location, or position, or anything, before Jim — done waiting, it seemed — climbed onto the table and straddled Spock’s lap.

They kissed again, heat rebuilding, Jim’s hands on either side of Spock’s jaw holding him in place as Jim delved into his mouth with his tongue. Nearly forgetting the oil, Spock lost himself in breathing Jim’s breath, only remembering his role in these proceedings when Jim rolled down against him. Spock’s cock slipped between Jim’s asscheeks, and Spock made a strangled kind of noise. Jim laughed heartily into his mouth. 

“C’mon,” he whispered, rolling his hips, alternating between brushing his erection against Spock’s abdomen and brushing his ass against Spock’s erection. Spock did not need to be told twice. He leaned back to pop the lid off the vial, then in his haste spilled almost half its contents onto his fingers. Jim bit his lip as if attempting to hold back a smile, though it didn’t work.

To distract Jim from Spock’s clumsiness, Spock pulled Jim into another kiss, deep and wet and with too much teeth, and brought his slicked fingers to Jim’s hole. 

“Mmmph!” Jim whined, muffled into Spock’s mouth, as the first finger sunk into him. He shoved himself back onto it, impatient. Spock could hardly hold back, himself, and began to fuck Jim with his finger, barely giving Jim a moment to adjust before a second joined the first. Jim nodded, wordless but encouraging, and laid a kiss on Spock’s cheek, his chin, his jaw, his ear once more. 

Spock ran his clean hand up Jim’s back to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, to keep Jim’s mouth on him, to have something to hold onto while his cock throbbed in anticipation between his legs. Before sliding a third finger along the first two, Spock carelessly dumped the rest of the oil onto Jim’s lower back just above the cleft of his ass, and waited until he felt it dripping against his fingers. Jim groaned. Spock tossed the vial aside carelessly, and it bounced on the floor without shattering like the rest of the glass.

“Spock,” he whispered tightly. “Yeah.” Spock began to finger Jim in earnest now, stretching his hole to make room for an instrument as large as Spock’s. He could wait only long enough to ensure he wouldn’t hurt Jim, not a moment more.

Before long, Jim was whispering again, a nonsense stream of “Yes, yeah, please, Spock, yes.” And with that wild and pleasure-soaked consent, Spock finally did what he had been aching to do since he first locked eyes with Dr. James Kirk. He pulled his fingers out, slicked his cock in the excess oil between Jim’s cheeks, and told Jim: “Breathe.”

Jim did, and Spock guided himself into Jim’s entrance. Jim’s jaw fell open, his head tilting back, his thighs trembling as he lowered himself on Spock’s cock. The ridges bullied themselves past Jim’s entrance, and then Jim sank down in one rough movement. Their hips joined, Jim’s cock leaking onto Spock’s abdomen, and their eyes met. 

Jim’s eyes glazed over with wanting. “Feels like you were made for me,” he said. Spock would have echoed the sentiment if he were capable of speaking past his pleasure. He blinked rapidly to clear the gauze from his eyes, and attempted to adjust to the tightness around him. Jim was hot. Wet. Open for him. And Spock realized only in that moment that it had been less than 24 standard hours since they had first met, and now he was buried to the hilt inside this relative stranger. 

Except it didn’t feel strange.

It felt right, like the emotional connection they had shared immediately upon meeting had been leading to this physical connection all along, and now Spock couldn’t take his eyes off Jim's face, couldn’t move his body to bring Jim to greater pleasure, because he was stunned still by how deeply he longed for this. 

Jim kissed him, raised his hips, dropped again into Spock’s lap, and set up a rhythm that Spock could only endure with teeth clenched to hold back his near-feral grunts and groans. Jim fucked down onto Spock’s cock over and over again, faster, then slower, then clenching around Spock as if trying to suck Spock deeper inside him. Jim was letting out punched-out moans in tandem with his rolling hips, his half-lidded eyes taking in the sight of Spock below him.

And Spock was arrested by the sight of Jim. Jim was sweating again, gleaming — though this time under the artificial lights of his lab, all the better to see every single contour of his body. Spock brought his hands to the dimples he had seen on Jim’s lower back just minutes earlier, thumbs finding them and pressing down hard to shift Jim’s angle. Jim gasped, leaned heavier over Spock to shove him farther down toward the table. “There,” he breathed. “Fuck, there.”

In this disadvantageous position, Spock had little control over “where.” But he set one of his feet against the edge of the table to gain leverage, just enough to thrust messily into Jim at the angle Jim had indicated. Jim grabbed Spock’s shoulders, his pace increasing, his eyes rolling back. 

So, Spock did it again, and again, and soon they were meeting each other halfway on every thrust, their skin slapping, Jim’s weight and Spock’s rhythm causing Jim to shudder over Spock. Spock’s stomach was now wet and shining with Jim’s pre, and he couldn’t help but watch Jim’s cock bob helplessly between their bodies, untouched and still hard. And because Spock had been holding himself back from the edge all this time, he knew he needed to bring Jim over it quickly. 

Shifting so he could hold himself up on the table with one hand, he reached between them to grasp Jim’s neglected cock. Jim met Spock’s eyes then, chest heaving. “I want to come all over you,” Jim blurted mindlessly, encouraging Spock to move his fist — tight and unyielding. “Fuck, Spock, I want you to come inside me.”

Spock nearly passed out, but valiantly kept his composure — as much as he could with his tongue down Jim’s throat now, and his hand fisting over Jim’s cock between them.

They matched rhythm as well as they could, each seeking friction everywhere they touched, each hurtling closer to completion. It was fast, needly, like they were trying to hold onto something that was barely in their grasp in the first place. It was worth it.

Spock reached his climax first. He thrust up into Jim, and Jim slammed down, and Spock suddenly fell back against the table. His hands came to Jim’s hips to hold him down, and Jim made a thick, guttural sound as Spock emptied himself into Jim’s hole. Jim towered above him, shining, full of life, and Spock’s hips clenched to shove himself as deep as he could go. Jim didn’t seem to mind, settling his full weight on Spock’s hips, pressing a hand to his own belly, gasping. 

Spock hadn’t even begun to come down from his high — his heart still pounding, cock twitching with aftershocks — before he grabbed Jim’s erection once again and yanked it with his tight fist. 

Slack with pleasure, moaning softly, Jim closed his eyes, let Spock take care of him. And within moments he doubled over, coming messily over Spock’s body with a shout. 

As Jim slumped over Spock’s chest, Spock pulled out only to replace his cock with his fingers, shoving his come back into Jim and keeping it there. Jim mumbled something unintelligible against Spock’s sternum, and he shuddered beautifully.

For a while after that, Jim dragged his hands up and down Spock’s chest, matting Spock’s chest hair with the wet of him. They kissed sloppy and overwhelmed, and Spock didn’t think about anything at all except Jim’s lips and his body, and his heartbeat against Spock’s chest. 

“Wow,” Jim said after many long, sensuous minutes. Spock did not bother repressing his small smile. 

Eventually, when the hard table began to hurt Spock’s back, and when Jim’s trembling thighs practically gave up holding him, they detangled themselves. Jim retrieved some clean towels from a cabinet, and set about the wordless work of wiping them up.

Though neither of them spoke, Spock felt closer to Jim in this moment than he had yet. There was such tenderness in the way Jim ran the towel over Spock’s abdomen; such light in his smiling eyes each time they met Spock’s. And when they both eventually pulled on the clothes they had been wearing before their brief bout of madness, Spock illogically longed for time to stop right here. He should have made this last longer, he thought ruefully. If only he had not been so desperate for Jim’s touch, so empowered by the look in Jim’s eyes, so greedy in his exploration of Jim’s greedy body. But it was over. And it had to be. And that was alright. 

They made their way out of the barn, swallowed once again by the golden light of Earth’s sun, surrounded once again by the greenery of Jim’s garden. 

“Spock—”

“Jim —” 

They both stopped, having spoken at the same time. Jim laughed awkwardly. Spock, who had no idea what he should say in this moment, gestured for Jim to go first.

“Uh,” Jim began, “I was going to cook. Something. You could stay for lunch. And dinner. Stay the night. We could do that a few hundred more times.”

Spock wanted to. His mouth nearly formed the word “yes” before he remembered why he was here in the first place, why he had met Jim, who he was and where he was headed: Five years past the frontier of outer space. And with his shuttle leaving for the colony later today, he had much work to do. Spock glanced at Jim as they both slowed to a stop near the farmhouse back porch. And finally they faced each other.

“I cannot,” Spock said, regret in each syllable. He could only hope Jim heard it under Spock’s Vulcan calm. “I have already made arrangements to depart the planet this evening. A shuttle will take me to Shan'hal'lak so I may prepare them to receive the tepary beans.”

Jim’s face fell, though he seemed to be trying to hold it up. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”

“Though…” Spock paused, but chose to say what he wanted to say in this moment, rather than what he should say. “You could come with me. To see the colony.”

Jim blinked. 

Spock recognized how pathetic he must have sounded. To ask Jim to leave the farm to which he had just returned, to ask this man so full of life to accompany Spock on a starship in the black vacuum of space, to visit a desert planet only fit to grow a single species of bean. Such an arrangement could only be temporary, but it was still presumptuous and selfish to ask. 

“I —” Jim scratched his head, looked away. “I can’t. I just got back, and—”

“I understand.”

“But,” Jim said with a note of hope in his voice. “Next time you’re on Earth…”

“It may be many years before the Enterprise returns to this planet.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other, recognizing the futility of it all. They could never work as a couple. Jim was rooted in place like the fruit trees now framed behind his disappointed face. Spock was sand and dust, dead soil where nothing could grow. For a moment, in Jim’s company, he had felt like something in him was capable of blooming in the desert — like a tepary bean, even. It was far too optimistic a comparison. 

“Thank you,” Spock said suddenly. “I am gratified to know that I was not the only one of us to sense some… connection.”

“Everything’s connected,” Jim replied. He lifted his head, a smile touching his lips and a subtle gleam returning to his eye. “I’ll be thinking of you when I look at those big beans in the sky. And this isn’t goodbye. I’ll be in touch about the shipment. And I’ll keep thinking of other ways to diversify the colony’s crops. We’ll get them fed, Spock.” 

It would be masochistic to stay, even a moment longer, so Spock and Jim turned in unison to make their way back through the house, to the front yard where Spock’s transport waited. 

Jim seemed to hesitate as Spock opened the door of his vehicle, and their eyes met for one solid, unending second. “See you,” Jim said.

“Live long and prosper, Jim,” Spock replied. He climbed inside, and the door slid shut.

Moments later, he tortured himself with watching Jim’s figure recede in the distance, waving goodbye, shining in the sunlight, and Spock held back a growing sense of sadness — as if trying to dam a river with his hands alone. It was illogical. No one could fall in love in less than a day, let alone a Vulcan. Whatever he felt for Jim was simply wishful thinking, and it was unbecoming of him.

In silence, he rode away.

Jim made his way back inside, sluggish and despondent. 

It didn’t make sense. He didn’t know why he felt absolutely shattered. He couldn’t justify how desperately he had wanted to hop in that transport with Spock and drive away. 

His body still bore the imprints of Spock’s fingertips, the ache of his entrance, the smell of their sex. He went through the motions of a reluctant shower, and emerged feeling no better than he had when he went in.

Dejectedly, he looked around his house, the echoing emptiness of its corridors. Thinking the sunlight would help, he wandered back outside, but the motivation to plant his hybrids had left him. Without much intention, he made his way back to his lab in the barn, but the sight of the shattered glass just reminded him how good this had been, and how fast. 

And then his eyes fell on the barrel of tepary beans, to be shipped to Shan'hal'lak, to be planted and grown lightyears away from this little farm on this little blue dot. For a moment, Jim envied the beans.

But self-pity was far from a productive state of mind, and Jim never wallowed in it long. He had made a choice to stay, and he had to live with that choice. 

Or. He could make a different one. 

Bones’ words returned to him in that moment. That he had been putting others first since he was a kid. Even now, he was putting his work before himself. Because he knew his work would help people. It had helped people. Thousands who may have gone hungry, like Jim had, now lived in symbiotic harmony with nutrient-rich flora he had developed and identified. All the countless hours haunched over his equipment, all that time reading and experimenting, all the lectures and research papers. He loved his career. And he was tired of prioritizing it. Both of these things were true.

He had helped so many people. Wasn’t it time he helped himself?

“What am I doing?” he asked himself, the words loud in his empty lab. No answer proved forthcoming.

Jim didn’t find Spock at the shuttle station in Riverside. His shuttle had already left, apparently, and Jim paced around and waited impatiently almost ten minutes for his own shuttle to depart. Spock could only be going to San Francisco, and from there to Starfleet’s shuttle station, and from there a shuttle, and from there a starship that would take him to his colony. All Jim could do was chase after him, and hope he was fast enough to make up for the time he had lost pitying himself. 

When he arrived in the city, he searched for Spock at the civilian shuttle station, hoping he may have loitered for even a second. Unsuccessful, Jim then ran out the door, followed a bustling sidewalk toward the spires of Starfleet Academy, and sprinted in the direction of the fleet’s shuttle bay. 

He had sent Spock a message, a simple “wait.” But Spock had yet to see it, let alone to reply. So Jim ran until his lungs felt like cheesecloth and kept running, clutching a little plastic bag of beans in his sweaty palm and making his way too slowly but as fast as he could.

It was bustling with activity, Starfleet personnel of all races and ranks shifting like a kalidescope in Jim’s vision. His eyes flickered from blue uniform to blue uniform, hoping to find Spock among the throngs. But he didn’t have to rely on his eyes alone. Determined, Jim followed a thread, an intangible and unknowable breadcrumb trail of instinct, or maybe hope, to the platforms where shuttle after shuttle rose into the sky, jetting off into the blue nothing above. He hoped he wasn’t too late. Somehow, he knew he wasn’t too late.

And it was at that thought that another blue uniform caught his eye. But considering he had spent the past two days since they’d met thinking about a certain Vulcan in and out of that uniform, he immediately recognized the way it stretched over Spock’s shoulders and chest. And he recognized those hands, one now raised in front of Spock’s face with a tiny white bean pinched between his fingers. And he recognized that face, the deep brown of Spock’s eyes, the sharp attractiveness of his features. 

Jim took a breath that felt like his first since he’d left Iowa. 

“Spock!” he shouted as loud as he could over the din of people passing through. Spock heard him, somehow, his head turning and his eyes meeting Jim’s. Jim must have surprised him, because for a moment he could read the emotions on Spock’s face as easily as if they were written on his forehead in Standard. 

Hope. Joy. Bewilderment.

Spock slipped the bean back into his pocket, as if trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring at it, and strode toward him as Jim wove around people to make his way to Spock, too. 

When they met in the middle of the bustling crowd, Jim grinned. “Hi,” he said. He was still out of breath, whether from the long run here or from nerves, he couldn’t say.

“Jim,” Spock greeted cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I had this terrible plan,” Jim laughed, and he shrugged. “I was going to give you these,” he lifted the bag of tepary beans he’d been carrying, “and pretend I came all the way here so you’d have more beans to take to the colony. But that doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Spock regarded him, and suddenly all other emotions were replaced with concern on his handsome features. “Accurate. A few more beans will make little difference as we wait for a shipment, which should only be two to three standard days.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, “that’s why it doesn’t make sense. And I think the real reason I’m here won’t make sense either, but I’m going to say it anyway.” He had steeled himself already on the shuttle to San Francisco, gathered his courage, and he was as prepared as he could be for the words that came out of his mouth next. “I want to see where this goes. This connection. I want to go with you.” 

Spock stared at him. That was not the reaction Jim had been hoping for, though he also didn’t expect Spock to smile and scoop Jim into his arms in delight. “Jim, we — we lead very different lives,” Spock protested, though it was weak. 

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “And I’d like to learn more about yours. If you’ll let me.”

The silence Spock gave Jim in response was maddening, especially as Jim watched Spock school his features into something more neutral as if by force. “You deserve richer soil than I can provide. You deserve to bloom, Jim. I could not take you from your work. Your… life.” 

The way he said the word seemed delicate, as if it meant more than it meant. As if Jim couldn’t live that life with Spock by his side. 

“My life? Spock,” he laughed. “My life hasn’t even started. I’ve spent 32 years living for other people. And I don't regret it, but I can't do it forever. My farm will still be there when I get back — my brother already agreed to watch over things for me. And, Spock, you deserve to bloom, too. It may be selfish, but I want to see it. I want to grow with you.”

Spock, still staring at Jim as if he were some miracle or aberration, may have looked entirely composed to the outside world. But Jim noticed the bob of his throat as he swallowed, and the part of his lips as if he were about to speak.

But in the end, all he could do was nod in acceptance. Jim glowed, his heart thumping in his chest, Spock suddenly shining like a beacon in Jim’s vision, something to lead him forward. Jim raised a hand to reach out, but pulled it back just as quickly.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Jim admitted. A barely there flush of green rose to Spock’s cheeks. 

“Vulcans do not indulge in… public displays of affection.” 

“I know,” Jim said on a chuckle. An idea hitting him, he rested his hand on Spock’s arm, a touch that could have looked friendly or professional; it was entirely different from how he wanted to touch him. “That’s why I’m not doing it.”

Spock’s lips twitched. Slowly, his hand rose to Jim’s cheek, and he cupped it to keep Jim’s eyes on him — as if Jim planned to look anywhere else for the foreseeable future. 

“In this case,” Spock breathed. “I do not care to wait for privacy.” 

Jim didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He flung himself into Spock’s arms, pressed their lips together, kissed Spock as if it had been years, not hours, since their last embrace. He held Spock close against him, held Spock’s hand between their bodies, and realized how difficult it would be to keep kissing Spock if he couldn’t stop smiling. 

Around them, there were whispers, giggles, and Jim remembered somewhere in his hazy and besotted brain that Spock was kind of famous around Starfleet, and this would definitely get people talking.

But if Spock didn’t care, Jim didn’t care. When they parted, what felt like an eternity later, Jim pressed their foreheads together. The PA system blared announcements of shuttles leaving, shuttles delayed. Jim barely noticed.

“Jim,” Spock said softly, and Jim pulled back to look at him. “Where are your travel bags?” 

Jim glanced at the bag of beans in his own hand, and lifted it for Spock's inspection. “This is all I brought. I wasn't really thinking.” Spock’s thumb caressed Jim’s cheek, and he met Spock’s eyes. “Oops.” 

A smile glinted under Spock’s still surface.

“Whatever is mine is yours,” Spock said. “You do not need to bring anything where we are going.” 

Jim held Spock’s hand against his face, head reeling with unbridled and life-changing joy.

And though he knew the answer, he asked all the same: “And where are we going, Mister Spock?”

Spock dropped a chaste kiss to Jim’s lips. Against them, Spock whispered low and deep.

“To the stars.”