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Make me forget everyone else.
It was a thoughtless statement not to be taken literally. Jim had said it in the throes of passion; of course, he didn't mean it literally. Yet, as Spock held his dozing lover, he let himself admit to the temptation of such a statement.
Jim's head lay pillowed on Spock's chest. His breaths tickled Spock's skin. The beat of his heart was steady. Spock gently brushed back the hair covering Jim's eyes, feeling the spark when he momentarily contacted his psi-points.
Spock tightened his grip around Jim and allowed himself to imagine what it would be like: having Jim forget his former lovers.
Putting aside the moral implications of such an action, Spock felt an almost perverse delight at the thought. None of those people had loved Jim. Not the way he deserved or needed. Not the way Spock did. With those memories gone, Jim would have his one and only great love.
Spock smiled ever so slightly and began tracing the planes of Jim's back. Fields of golden skin with scatterings of freckles. And scars. Scars scattered his beloved's back more densely than freckles. White and pink. In lines and smudges. They were a permanent part of Jim, and, though they told of past pain, Jim could not be Jim without his scars.
Spock kissed the top of Jim's head. He could never be Jim's only love; however, he would have to be content in being the last and best.