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"This is a terrible idea, dammit."
Jim rolled his eyes. "We'll be fine, Bones. The Lalians have an excellent history with the Federation. They've never been anything but friendly."
Leonard looked to Spock for help. "Spock, you agree with me, surely. It doesn't seem fishy to you that they specifically requested only yourself and the Captain?"
"Their request, though unusual, does not worry me. As the Captain stated, their history is peaceful," Spock disagreed, raising his eyebrow when Dr. McCoy's face darkened in frustration.
"Fine, but when they blow you up or eat your entrails or experiment on your brains, don't come running to me," he said huffily, spinning and leaving Jim and Spock alone with the Ensign manning the transporter.
"Right, so there's that…" Jim said, and turned to Spock, his usual smile growing more strained. It was a year into their mission and the two men were able to work cohesively together, but a tense sort of almost-animosity still lingered. Off duty, they spoke to one another as little as possible, and Jim had long ago decided that the 'great friendship' the elder Spock had spoken of just wasn't in the cards this time around.
But it wasn’t bad, really. They worked well together, and they did balance one another out when it came to dealing with universe. It was just that theirs was a purely professional relationship, and Jim couldn't see—nor did he want—it being anything more.
He wordlessly stepped onto the transport pad and Spock followed suit. With a gesture to the Ensign letting him know they were ready, the man's fingers flew and the command team of the Enterprise dissolved into molecules.
With the gentle thrum that accompanied transportation, Jim and Spock rematerialized on the planet's surface. They were greeted by a serious-looking Lalian male, who bowed to them and requested they follow him.
They did, and to Jim's discomfort, they headed into the cavern-like structure they used as their city. Previously, all negotiations with this race had been in the open rolling pastures that made up the majority of the Lali countryside, purely for the representatives of the Federation's comfort. Apparently this time things were going to be different.
Jim glanced at Spock, who appeared unruffled (as always) about the change in venue. But Jim suddenly felt a knot growing in his stomach. Not fear, precisely, but more a feeling of foreboding. He wished the Lalians had been willing to let a security detachment beam down with them. But there was no turning back now, not if they didn’t want to offend their hosts.
The Lalians were an insect-like culture who tunneled their habitations into the walls of cliffs. They were significantly shorter than humans, and so as Jim and Spock were led into the city, they found themselves crouching slightly as they entered into a maze of tunnels. Jim found himself being reminded of termite tunnels, and tried to force the image from his mind. A glance at Spock's face showed that he wasn't particularly enjoying himself either—evident only by the slight tensing in his mouth. It was just about the only expression Jim knew how to read on Spock’s face (he saw it a lot).
Finally though, after passing countless turnoffs and walking for what seemed like kilometers, they emerged in a larger cavern and Jim and Spock were able to straighten up. Their guide bowed again and left, leaving the two men alone.
“Well,” Jim mumbled, “this is different.”
“Indeed,” Spock agreed. “Though it is unlikely these altered behaviors have any true significance, perhaps it would be prudent to remain alert.”
“Yea.” Jim glanced around the room and let the silence descend for a few moments. “You could take ‘em, though, right?”
Spock gave him what Jim assumed was a scathing look. “As they neglected to appropriate our phasers, I am not particularly concerned.”
Jim nodded and wandered a short distance away to inspect a mural on one of the walls. Spock remained where he was, hands clasped stoically behind his back.
A minute or two later, a door in the side of the cavern opened and the dignitary that had contacted the Enterprise emerged, followed closely by a gaggle of beings that Jim vaguely recognized from previous Starfleet dealings. Jim glanced at Spock—impassive as usual—and then stepped forward, greeting the Ambassador.
"L'iatian Cha, I am pleased you requested the presence of my First officer and myself. How may we serve the Lalian people?" He placed his hands on the small being’s shoulders, leaning in and letting him run his antennae over his face. L’iatian seemed immeasurably pleased that Jim greeted him in traditional Lalian fashion, and tittered to his entourage happily. Even Spock looked mildly impressed.
"We wished to participate in negotiations with the Federation regarding the usage of our deposits of Syrlium D," the Ambassador squeaked. Jim grinned at him and felt the apprehension in his chest disappear. There was no reason to be nervous of these people—they loved the Federation. They’d never do anything to jeopardize their treaties. He didn’t know what he’d been so worried about.
"We would be honored to negotiate with you, Cha." Spock responded, using the man's formal title. The Ambassador buzzed happily, and asked them to follow him—a feast had apparently been prepared for their pleasure. They bowed to him and followed, again needing to bend over to navigate the low ceilings, but without an unknown reason for the visit hanging over their heads, Jim felt like the trip was much less unpleasant.
When they emerged into the meeting hall, they were seated in positions of honor and after a few lengthy (and rather boring, but Jim would never admit that, especially to Spock) speeches, most of the less-important people left—the Lalian’s social structure demanding that only dignitaries would dine together. Everyone else would have another banquet in another hall, but for now Jim and Spock were left with a dozen or so politicians. They would eat and discuss the terms of an agreement.
Food was finally served (and Bones was going to kill Jim for eating as much as he was, but it was delicious). It started with delicate pastries and succulent soups, then moved on to baked native birds and roasted vegetables, then changed gears to a pasta-type dish (that Jim had thirds of) and finally ended on (what ended up being Jim’s personal favorite) a sort of sweet and tart fruit dish.
The fruit was eaten with much laughter and joking by the delegates, but Jim and Spock had no idea what was so funny. Still, it was wonderful, and even Spock didn’t turn down a second serving.
Finally though, the plates were cleared away and their pleasant hosts began to discuss business. After a good two hours of give and take, the Lalians began drinking a local wine (and who was Jim to refuse—he certainly didn’t want to offend, though Spock exercised his Vulcan traditions and abstained) and the negotiations were slowly devolving into more laughter than serious conversation.
An hour or so into what had clearly become the after-negotiation jovialities, Jim noticed Spock shift uncomfortably. While he still was being perfectly polite and professional (ever the epitome of Vulcan decorum) his skin was beginning to pale even more than usual, and with shock, Jim noticed a slight green flush spreading on his First's cheeks. Surely Spock wasn’t getting drunk? But no, he hadn’t touched the wine… and when Spock raised a hand to palm briefly at his forehead, Jim began to really worry.
He leaned over, meaning to ask Spock just what was wrong, but his sudden movement left him feeling dizzy and with a start, Jim realized that he too was having an odd physical reaction to something. His heartbeat felt elevated, and his skin seemed hypersensitive. He blinked and wriggled slightly in his seat, suddenly feeling like the room, which had seemed so pleasant before, was now much too warm.
“Spock,” he said, his voice low so as to not attract undue attention. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yes,” Spock grated out, and Jim locked eyes with him in time to see pain flashing in their depths before sudden agony in his own body made him gasp out a sharp noise that caught the attention of every other being in the room.
Jim and Spock let out near identical moans of distress and both doubled over in pain—it was clearly shooting through every nerve in both of their bodies, making it unable to think. Jim grabbed at his chest, feeling like something was trying to rip his heart out through his ribs, while Spock grabbed at his side, his usually calm brown eyes wide and unguarded.
Jim shot a betrayed and confused look at the delegates, who had frozen in their places around the table and seemed shocked. "What…?" Jim forced out, before yet another stab of pain rattled his body.
He vaguely realized that Spock had pulled out his communicator and was trying to reach the Enterprise. But he was having little luck—they were deep within a mountain, meaning communication was impossible, let alone transportation. And anyway, Spock’s words were interspersed with grunts of pain, made near unintelligible.
Jim may have blacked out for a moment after a particularly nasty stab of what felt like an icepick in his brain. And when he resurfaced, the scene in front of him seemed to make even less sense than before. The Lalians were running around in what looked like a panic, yelling at one another in their high-pitched buzzing voices, and Jim vaguely saw a dawning realization settle onto one or two of their faces. He fuzzily thought that they were either very good actors or they really had no idea what they had done to cause his and Spock's problems.
Through the haze, he realized one of them (a younger female he’d been half-flirting with earlier in the night) was pulling on his arm, insisting he move, and Jim let himself be pulled, too dazed to argue. He had about half a second to realize that she was dragging him toward Spock and then they were crashing together hard enough to rattle his teeth. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and for some reason, the pain lessened—at least enough that coherent thought was possible.
After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Jim realized that he was pressing his forehead against Spock’s neck. Startled by the close contact, Jim sat up, losing contact with Spock, and the pain immediately redoubled. He gasped and instinctively wrapped his arms around Spock's head, catching a flash of mingled annoyance and relief before Spock hastily erected mental shields against emotional transference. Again, the pain faded.
"Just what the hell is going on?" Jim snapped, demanding an answer in no uncertain terms. For the moment he ignored that fact that his fury was made somewhat impotent by the fact that he was practically sitting in his First's lap on the ground.
L'iatian Cha stepped forward, wringing four of his six pinchers in nervousness. Behind him, the rest of the delegates were watching with wide eyes and semi-terrified expressions, and he glanced over his shoulder at them before taking a very deep breath and stammering, "We apologize. We believe… some of our food… has negatively affected your internal systems."
"How?" Spock asked, even as another tremor shot through the two of them and he tightened his hold around Jim's waist. His voice was calm, but the tightness with which he was digging his fingers into Jim’s arm betrayed just how epically furious he was. Jim hissed softly and flexed his arm. Spock immediately loosened his hold, and Jim turned to glare at L’iatian.
The unfortunate alien shifted nervously and adjusted his robe. "Ah. The pat'iv'i fruit—the dessert course—was once seen as an aphrodisiac for our people. However, it no longer produces any real effects in our physiology. Historically, it was said that ingesting the fruit forced partners to come into physical contact with one another, helping the mating process. But it is slightly more than a fable… it no longer has any effect on us…" he looked miserable. "We had no idea it would produce such a reaction with you. Apparently we have merely become immune to its effects."
"How do we stop it?" Jim grated out, ignoring the implication that he and Spock were supposed to be mating partners even as he felt Spock shift to put as much distance between them as possible without subjecting them both to another round of pain.
L'iatian's face crumpled even further and his accent thickened to the point where the universal translator had to pause before providing them with a correct translation of his words. "Historically speaking, there… is no reversal. It supposedly fades from your system over a course of several months."
"Pain was a motivator to get your people to have sex?” Jim snapped, then shook his head. “I apologize, I’m pretty distressed, here.” He took a breath and could practically feel Spock’s brain whirring next to him. “Can we do anything about it?" Jim asked after a moment of silence, during which he and Spock both undoubtedly considered what it would be like to be attached to one another for several months.
"We do not take offense, of course,” L’iatian assured them hurriedly. “The pain was supposed to motivate the couple to remain together. Skin on skin contact lessens it…" L'iatian grimaced slightly at their facial expressions, (despair on Jim’s and a severe tightening of the lips for Spock) but soldiered on. "Sexual intercourse provides a reprieve from it for a short time. It was originally used when chosen couples proved incompatible to one another. Our ancestors used to practice arranged marriages, choosing partners more for physically desirable characteristics rather than mental compatibility, and occasionally the chosen couples would not desire the other…" he finished miserably.
"Right." Jim forced out, his brain spinning. "I am sure you understand that we need to return immediately to our ship and consult our doctor. We will be unable to continue negotiations at this time…" The Lalians all nodded quickly, and helped the men to their feet.
There was another second of shooting pain when they rose, but Spock quickly grabbed Jim's hands and rested their foreheads together. "My apologies, Captain," he murmured. "But given the circumstances…" Jim nodded, careful not to lose any skin contact.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly, and Spock nodded slowly.
“I am acceptable, though I desire a rapid return to the Enterprise and the hopefully speedy resolution of this issue at the hands of Doctor McCoy.”
“For once we agree,” Jim said with a rueful smirk, and Spock did that not-glaring thing he did that was always timed perfectly to just piss Jim right off. Today though, Jim decided to be the bigger man and ignored him, instead lacing their fingers and following the delegates who were hurrying out of the room.
Again they were led through cramped halls, made even more awkward by their necessary contact, and after a seeming eternity of crouching and stumbling, they eventually made it to the exit of the cliffs and were able to be beamed back on board after exchanging a hasty goodbye with the Lalians and extracting promises about remaining in communication for updates on their health.
They were beamed directly into the medbay and Jim made a mental note to buy Scotty the most expensive bottle of whiskey he could afford in an effort to thank him for fiddling with the transporter and setting up emergency beaming. Why this wasn’t standard procedure on starships, Jim had no idea.
The second they were fully materialized, they were greeted by an irate McCoy. Jim didn’t even have time to fully explain the situation (though Spock had told him the briefest of summaries through the communicator) before he was running his tricorder over them and yelling.
"What'd I tell ya, ya idiots?" He glared at the readings on his tricorder and then at them, like they had actively gotten themselves into such an awkward situation. Then, entirely without warning, McCoy pushed them apart. Both Jim and Spock cried out and collapsed, writhing in agony.
"Shit," McCoy breathed, and pushed them back together, where they lay clasped in one another's arms, trying to catch their breath.
“Don’t do that,” Jim yelled once the pain had started to fade again. But he noticed with a sinking feeling that their limited skin-to-skin contact was not making the pain fade as much as it had even half an hour ago.
And over the next hour, as Bones tried hypoing them with every medicine in the universe, Jim started sweating as the pain grew steadily worse and worse. Finally, when he let out an involuntary whimper when Spock shifted his hand, Spock cleared his throat.
"Doctor, please allow me to have a word with the Captain in private." McCoy stared at them for a moment, then nodded and stepped away to give them the semblance of privacy.
Jim looked at Spock and noted how they were now both occasionally twitching as another stab rolled though their system. “Okay, talk.”
“The pain is worsening and our contact is providing less relief," Spock stated. Jim nodded, not liking where this was going.
Spock closed his eyes, clearly unable to contain his displeasure at the next statement. "I suggest we engage in… copulation… in order to achieve the reprieve the Lalians suggested was possible. Perhaps the doctor can provide an antidote in the resulting time."
"I don't want to fuck you, Spock,” Jim said with a grimace. “Bones will fix it, he has to.”
"Likewise, I have no interest in engaging intimately with you. However, I can see no other option, as I have extrapolated that you will lose consciousness from pain in approximately thirty-nine point two minutes. At that point, the proposed solution would be…impossible. I would gladly entertain another solution if you are able to think of one." They were both silent for a moment, as they tried to think of something else.
“And after?” Jim asked when neither of them were able to think of anything.
“Perhaps the reprieve the Lalians spoke of will be sufficient time that the Doctor can provide an antidote.”
Jim nodded. It made sense. It really did. He looked at Spock—really looked, taking in his graceful features and angles, the deep brown of his eyes. He supposed it could be worse.
"I wonder if it's actual sex, or just, y'know. Release," Jim finally said.
Spock grimaced slightly. "I would appreciate a less invasive experiment as our first attempt, Captain."
After another minute of hushed discussion, they reluctantly called McCoy over and filled him in on their rather desperate plan. It was just in time, too, as Jim was already starting to feel woozy from the now constant thud of pain. He was beginning to think that Spock’s estimate of thirty-nine minutes was giving him a bit too much credit.
McCoy was not happy, but when Spock informed him that if Jim passed out, there was a very real possibility that Spock would have to have sex with his unconscious body, he caved. He still looked disgusted, but told them to go to one of the medbay’s private rooms, so he could work on them as soon as they were done. “Use protection!” he hollered as they reluctantly closed the door behind them.
Once inside, they quickly stripped, avoiding eye contact but still trying to keep at least a hand on each other at all times. Once entirely naked, Spock unselfconsciously pulled Jim flush with him as he fumbled in the medical cabinets for lube and a condom. They both momentarily relaxed when the added skin contact lessened the pain; however, it did not completely go away and after a few minutes of non-action, it began to build again.
"God this is awkward…" Jim said, mostly to himself, and then tensed as Spock took a deep breath and snaked his hand to touch lightly at Jim's stomach. “Least invasive possible,” Jim said softly, and Spock nodded before looking at the ceiling and drifting his hand downward. The second his hand touched Jim’s flaccid cock, the pain immediately vanished, and they stopped, shocked.
“That is—” Spock started to say, removing his hand, but was cut off when the pain abruptly returned worse than ever.
Spock growled in frustration, and Jim glanced at him, acutely aware of the fact that Spock was still refusing to look at him. And fine, if Spock was going to be clinical about this, so was Jim. No noises. It would probably make Spock uncomfortable anyway.
Spock reached for Jim again and with a few precise and firm movements, efficiently stroked him to full hardness. Jim leaned back against the wall, relieved that he was, for the moment, pain free, and allowed himself to give in (slightly unwillingly) to the pleasure of someone other than himself getting him off.
After several minutes of silence, during which Spock carefully worked Jim's cock and Jim's breathing grew more and more ragged, Jim let out a soft moan (dammit he said no noises but it was too late now) and came into Spock's hand. Spock withdrew, his face utterly blank, and moved away to clean his hand. They waited separate for several seconds, and had just enough time to think that maybe it had actually worked when they were again wracked with mind-numbing pain.
"Fuck!" Jim breathed, as he pulled Spock close again. The pain retreated and Jim made up his mind in a split second. They just needed to get this over with, and as he would need a bit of time before he’d be able to get it up again, that meant he got to bottom. He sighed. “Well that didn’t work,” he mumbled, and felt a flare of annoyance through Spock’s touch. He snapped annoyance right back and growled out, “I guess it’s time for you to fuck me then." Spock's eyes widened.
"Captain…"
"Just do it, Spock! Jesus, it's an order, ok? The quicker we can get this over with, the quicker we can work on forgetting this ever happened, right?"
Spock reluctantly nodded and then with a smooth movement, turned Jim to bend over biobed and grabbed the lube and condom he’d procured earlier, not breaking their contact. After a moment of staring at the small tube in his hand, he let out a sigh (Jim stared at him, surprised at the emotional outburst) before he squeezed some on both his hand and dribbled some along Jim's crack.
"I am sorry, Captain… I should have…" he said softly as he slid a finger in and began moving it back and forth, starting the stretch.
"Just get it over with, Mr. Spock," Jim repeated, cutting him off. He really didn’t want to talk at the moment, instead needing to concentrate on relaxing his body. It had been awhile since he’d done this—at least five years. What could he say? He was a captain. He topped a lot.
Spock nodded in assent and added another finger, stretching Jim slightly before adding a third. With his other hand, he began to stroke himself, firming the erection that was growing from the contact he was already having with Jim. “Please open this,” he asked, and handed Jim the condom wrapper, not slowing the movement of his hand.
Jim hesitated. “I’m clean, Spock. Bones checked me out last week, and we certainly haven’t been anywhere since then.”
“Regardless,” Spock grunted, still moving his fingers deep. He brushed across Jim’s prostate and Jim’s dick started hardening again.
“I just,” Jim stammered, (he had a reason behind this, he really did, but damn, Spock’s fingers felt so nice that he was having a hard time thinking clearly) “I don’t want to have to repeat this. What if you need to, uh, what if a barrier makes it not count?”
Spock’s fingers paused for a moment. “That is… logical, I suppose, Captain. In that case, I must inform you that I too have a clean bill of health.”
“Ok, no condom, and, and, that's good, c'mon." Jim pressed back slightly into Spock’s hand and Spock let out a breath that may have been another sigh. He moved more directly behind Jim, only pausing for half a second before he pushed into him in one long, smooth movement.
Jim clamped down on his moan of pleasure and felt his dick twitch, almost fully hard again, and it really had been far too long since he'd last had sex if he was getting off on getting fucked by Spock. But then with a jolt he realized that he was feeling a sense of pleasure that was not his own and he realized that some of Spock's carefully constructed mental barriers were slipping. Jim received a gentle wash of pleasure spiked with more animalistic lust, and he grinned. It had probably been awhile for Spock, too.
Spock shifted behind him and Jim bit his lip to hold back a gasp as that long Vulcan cock scraped across his prostate, sliding deeper into his body. Then shockingly, Spock tightened his grip on Jim’s hips and groaned softly—and that broke Jim's self-imposed vow of silence. He made a split-second decision—if they had to do this, then he could be allowed to enjoy it. So he moaned in response, and pushed his hips further back into Spock's thrusts, angling himself so Spock could sink in deeper, closer.
"Oh, god, Spock…" he breathed, and felt Spock slide his hand along his back, massaging in gentle circles. Then that hand circled down to his hip and grasped Jim's now steadily dripping cock, stroking in time with the thrusts.
"This… is pleasing… Captain…" Spock said softly, before Jim groaned and released, slightly overwhelmed with the dual sensations of pleasure traveling through his skin. He involuntarily clenched himself tightly around Spock and jerked forward, smearing his come on the biobed. Spock let out a surprised grunt and then was filling Jim, the heat of his release making Jim groan and grind backward into him again.
Slowly, slowly, they pulled apart, both breathing heavily and waiting for the pain to return, but this time it didn't. They didn’t meet each other’s eyes.
"Well, it worked," Jim said finally, pushing himself to standing and finding wipes to clean them up. "Let's go tell Bones."
('')
Five hours and innumerable tests later, Jim felt the already-familiar pooling of pain starting in his stomach. He reached out from his bed in the MedBay toward where Spock was lying in the next bed over. The joined hands, and the pain receded.
Bones noticed and frowned, making a quick note on his PADD. "Pain coming back?"
"Yes. We have experienced four hours and fifty-seven minutes of relief," Spock told him. “I had hoped for a longer reprieve.”
“Yea,” Jim muttered. “Can’t exactly captain shit if I’m taking sex breaks every five hours. Tell me you’ve got something, Bones.”
McCoy shook his head. “I’ve got absolutely no clue what it was you idiots ate. I can’t find hide nor hair of it anywhere in your scans.”
Spock’s hand tightened in Jim’s. “Does this mean you will be unable to halt the effects of the drug?”
Bones inspected his tricorder, pointedly not looking at them. “I’m sorry, fellas.”
Jim swore and pulled his hand away from Spock, but then grunted and grabbed at him again. Spock not-glared at him for a moment and then tugged on Jim’s hand, moving to sit on the edge of the biobed so Jim could join him and they could touch more easily.
He looked at McCoy. "I believe it would be prudent to contact the Lalians before we are… overcome… again. We may be able to see if they have any more insight. Are we cleared for now to return to our quarters?" Jim looked sharply at him, but Spock merely raised an eyebrow. “Logically…”
“Logically my ass,” Jim muttered. “The Lalians better have some more information about this.”
McCoy looked between them unhappily. "Well, I can't do anything about it. I can't even separate the chemical, if there even is a chemical.” He looked down at his tricorder again, confused. Finally, he slowly said, “I don't think it's life threatening… but I'm not gonna clear you for duty until we get a better timetable. And even then, I might not clear you for duty at all. We’ll have to see how it plays."
Jim sighed. "I figured. C'mon, Spock, let's not dirty another of Bones' rooms." He tugged lightly on Spock’s hand and had a momentary surreal image of himself and Spock, holding hands and skipping through the Enterprise’s hallways, huge grins on both their faces. He snorted to himself, and when he glanced at Spock, the Vulcan was watching him with an entirely perplexed look.
“I do not skip,” Spock grumbled at him, and Jim coughed. Apparently that image slipped through. Oops.
McCoy watched them worriedly as they stood to leave. “I’ll be checking in with you in two hours, all right?” That should give you enough time to, ah. Do what needs doing.”
Jim glared at him. Spock did not even deign him with a response.
Before they exited the sickbay, Spock disentangled their hands, and when Jim shot him a look, Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim instantly regretted all thoughts of skipping.
"It would be preferable to not act as though anything has changed regarding our relationship. If they crew saw us… touching… rumors would undoubtedly surface." Spock deadpanned, and Jim nodded but then grimaced as a burst of pain flared in his chest.
"Well, let's hurry, then."
They quickly headed for Jim's quarters, and as soon as the door had closed behind them, they lurched toward one another, Jim grabbing Spock's face with his hands and resting their foreheads together. They breathed heavily for a moment as the pain retreated, and then withdrew, careful to keep at least their hands in contact.
Jim sat down at his computer and Spock settled next to him, sliding his hand under Jim's shirt to the small of his back. Jim closed his eyes for a moment at the entirely unexpected thrum of pleasure he felt at this touch, but then shook his head, almost amazed at Spock’s seeming ease with touching him. In fact, if he’d been told yesterday that he’d be sitting in his quarters with Spock’s hand up his shirt, he probably would have died of shock.
He swallowed and shook his head, simultaneously keying in the comm code L'iatian had given them, and after a moment, the man's concerned orange face swum into focus.
"Captain, Commander. I was about to message you. Are things…?" he trailed off, extremely uncomfortable.
"We were able to… negate the effects for a short time," Spock responded flatly. L'iatian flushed, realizing what they must have done to 'negate the effects', and stammered slightly in his response.
"W-we've been researching. Apparently the symptoms last for two hundred thirteen of our days. I believe this time equates to approximately ninety-two of your days. After the allotted time has elapsed, you will no longer feel any effects of the fruit. Additionally, it is more potent toward the beginning, leveling off at around ten of your days. At this point, it should become easier to separate yourselves, although the pain will return if you do not engage in… activities."
Jim sighed. At least it would get a little easier, he supposed. "Thank you, Cha. We appreciate your research. I would also like to inform you that as this was accidental, these circumstances will in no way negatively affect our negotiation process, although it may be easier if Mr. Spock and myself appoint others to continue the talks." A particularly sharp pain caused Spock to pull Jim closer, and Jim closed his eyes to pull himself together.
When he refocused on the Lalian dignitary, the orange man was nodding in understanding. "We shall await messages from Starfleet, and we again apologize. On behalf of the Lalian people, we wish we could provide further help."
Jim smiled tightly. "Thank you. Now, if you will excuse us…" L'iatian nodded again, and the screen went black.
"C'mere," Jim muttered, standing up and pulling his shirts over his head. Spock did the same, and they relaxed into each other's arms, the pain only vaguely circling in the back of their awareness.
"I guess there's worse reactions to be had from alien fruit…" Jim said, forcing the joke slightly as he pulled Spock toward the bed. "And we only have to deal with this for three months. Then we can get back to regular life. And he said it gets easier after a few days, maybe that means longer times in between."
"Indeed," Spock responded, efficiently unbuttoning Jim's pants, then his own, and falling with the other man down onto the bed. They lay somewhat awkwardly next to one another for a moment, relishing the lack of pain that their contact provided. Jim ran his hand down Spock’s side, inspecting the contrast of his tanned hand against Spock’s pale skin. Spock watched him, his face unreadable.
“Well…” Jim muttered. “I guess we should get used to this for now.”
“I am not giving up on Doctor McCoy quite yet,” Spock said in return, but then caught Jim’s hand and guided it down. Jim grinned filthily at him.
“This will be okay,” he said, almost making it an order, then leaned in and pressed his face into Spock’s chest, inhaling the clean smell he found there while simultaneously beginning to move his hand, slowly pumping. He caught a shock of arousal and desire that wasn’t his own and grinned wider. "You know, you're letting some of your emotions bleed through," he said, and turned his head to nuzzle into Spock's neck.
"It is difficult to maintain the control necessary to fully suppress all emotions while engaging in coitus." Spock forced out, and Jim was pleased to hear that his voice was slightly breathless.
"Is that Vulcan for 'you make me hot'?"
Spock made an amused noise in the back of his throat. "Perhaps."
Jim turned to look at him. Desire was mixing with discomfort in Spock's brown eyes, and Jim suddenly realized that Spock really was beautiful. Without thinking, he reached up and kissed him firmly on the lips, and Spock pulled back, surprised.
"Shouldn’t have sex without some foreplay," Jim said by way of explanation.
"Perhaps…" Spock ventured again, but after a beat, he leaned down and captured Jim's lips.
After several minutes of kissing (which grew steadily more and more intense) Jim gasped, "Take me again, Spock, I'm still pretty loose from before…" Spock nodded in assent and pulled Jim's legs over his shoulders, lining himself up.
Jim gasped as he felt Spock enter him for the second time today, the liberal precome dribbling out of his cock easing the way. Spock moved slowly until he was fully sheathed and then dropped his legs, guiding Jim to wrap them around his waist, and leaned down to continue kissing his captain.
Jim twined his fingers in Spock's inky black hair and moaned into the kiss—a purely pornographic noise that made Spock's eyebrow twitch. But Spock responded, pulling out and thrusting back in repeatedly, making Jim gasp and arch at his touch.
Jim could feel Spock’s fascination with him, with the noises he was making and the way he writhed his body underneath the heavier Vulcan frame. And he felt the moment Spock made the conscious decision to let his shields down further and allowed the lust he was experiencing to flow into Jim. Again, the dual sensation pushed Jim over the edge with Spock following close behind.
After allowing themselves a few heartbeats to collect their breath, Spock pulled out and rolled off Jim, located a towel to clean themselves, and then sat to pull his pants back on. Jim watched him impassively for a moment.
“My stamina’s usually a lot better than this. But I’ve never been with a telepath before, so hey.”
“It is of no consequence.” Spock yanked on his boots and glanced around, searching for his shirts.
Jim pushed himself up on his elbows, suddenly serious. "We should talk about what this is going to do to our relationship. I mean, we’re not the best of friends."
"There is no reason our professional relationship should change in regards to our affliction."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Sure. Cause fucking several times a day, and needing to touch each other more than that, not even being able to stay away from one another for extended periods of time—yea. That changes nothing."
"Sarcasm, Captain, is illogical."
"You're infuriating."
"You are childish."
"Goddammit, Spock."
Spock rubbed his hand across his face. "I require cleansing rituals, meditation, and sustenance. I will return to my quarters, and shall see you in approximately five hours. Until then, Captain." He stood up walked briskly out, not looking back.
Jim watched him go, anger etched on his face. This was going to be a very long three months.
('')
Five and a half hours later, Jim's door chimed. He went to answer it, but doubled over in pain before he could reach the keypad. Fucking Spock, pushing it to the last minute… Finally able to answer the door, he felt a slight rush of vindictive pleasure when he saw Spock, his body leaning heavily against the doorframe, his breathing harsh.
"Captain, may I enter…"
Jim grunted in response and pulled Spock inside. "You get to bottom this time. I'm sore." Spock opened his mouth (undoubtedly to protest) but Jim ignored him in favor of yanking his pants down and pushing him (perhaps slightly roughly, but Spock could have stopped him if it was an issue) to bend over his desk. He palmed himself through his pants and took a brief moment to appreciate Spock’s pale ass, the curve of his spine, and then he was grabbing lube and unzipping his own pants.
“Let’s do this quick,” he grunted, and slid his finger without preamble into Spock. Underneath him, Spock stiffened, but Jim just continued preparing him. After a few minutes of this, Jim grunted out, “Ready?”
“Affirmative.” Spock’s voice was low, and Jim paused for a second, a flash of worry worming its way into his brain, but Spock pushed back into his hand and repeated, “Affirmative, Captain.”
Jim shrugged and pushed his black regulation slacks down, freeing his dick. “All right then.” He pushed in quickly and set a close to brutal pace, pounding into Spock, letting out his aggression and frustration with Spock, the situation, everything.
And even though sex this time was brutal and quick, when Jim collapsed over Spock's back, grunting his release into Spock’s neck and his hand tight around Spock’s dick, both men had come to completion.
Jim pulled his pants back up and pushed away from the desk, running his hand through his hair. He sighed and plopped down in his desk chair but stopped short and stood up again when Spock made no movement to clean himself up, just slowly stood and stared at the wall.
"Spock? You… ok?" Jim tentatively touched his shoulder.
Spock blinked, coming back to himself. "That was… my first time being penetrated. I admit to disconcertion."
Jim paled. "Oh, Jesus, oh my god, I'm so sorry… I didn't realize…" he pulled on Spock’s shoulders until he shuffled around and was facing him. "I really didn't think… fuck are you ok?" He touched Spock’s face gently, then looked wildly around for his towel. Spying it, he grabbed the thing and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, returning with it wet down, and only hesitated for a moment before simply cleaning Spock up himself.
“I never would have been that rough if I’d known. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” murmured, tossing the towel to the side. Spock looked at him, his face blank, and pulled his pants up. But he didn’t make any sort of move to either leave or sit down, so after a moment, Jim grasped his forearm and guided him over to the couch.
Spock settled on the couch with a slight wince and Jim cringed but sat next to him anyway. He hesitantly placed his hand on Spock's knee. "I'm sorry. I was… furious… about, um. Earlier. But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I’ll never be so rough again, I promise. I don't want to hurt you." He thought for a moment, then added, “You know what? I’ll bottom exclusively the rest of the time if you want. It’s okay. I just—say you’re okay, Spock.”
This seemed to snap Spock out of his silent contemplation and he looked at Jim, his brown eyes unreadable. "My physical well-being is acceptable, Captain. It will be unnecessary for you to assume the… bottom? Role for the duration of this affliction." He fell silent for a moment, and then dropped his gaze. "I apologize for my actions and words earlier. You are correct—our relationship will change with this addition of physicality between us."
Jim, clearly still uneasy, just shrugged. “Yea, I don’t think that’s that big of a deal right now, Spock. I mean I just—”
Spock reached out and grasped his hand for a brief moment, then released it and withdrew slightly. “I did not mean to suggest that your actions earlier were unwanted, nor unappreciated. It was simply surprising. I would not be adverse to such treatment again. The… the benefits far outweigh the costs.
Jim stared at him. “You liked that?”
A faint green sheen appeared on Spock’s cheeks. “It appears that I am not adverse to a firm hand in this affair.”
“You thought it was hot.” Jim was unable to contain his growing smirk, and the green flush on Spock’s face intensified.
“Perhaps a change of subject…” he suggested mildly, and Jim outright grinned.
"So anyway,” he said, going with Spock’s suggestion, “Our change in relationship.” He thought for a moment, then said slowly, “Well, we have to spend time together. Maybe we can use this as an opportunity to get to know one another a little better? We can, I duno, talk and hold hands? Keep the pain at bay as long as possible?"
Spock nodded. "I will keep track of the specific amounts of time our interactions allow us to be apart. When we can remain pain-free for the extent of one shift, I believe Dr. McCoy will clear us for duty. Until then, we should remain near each other."
"What was the exact time this go-round?"
"Four hours, fifty-nine minutes."
"Two whole extra minutes! See, it's getting better already…"
The corners of Spock's mouth twitched involuntarily, and Jim grinned in response.
"You play chess, right, Mr. Spock? Let's have a game. We can talk."
('')
Ten days after they were infected, Jim and Spock were able to go twelve hours without the pain becoming unbearable. The Lalians reluctantly confirmed that this would likely be the best case scenario until the toxin was completely out of their systems.
Leonard cleared them for partial active duty, and life returned mostly to normal, with the exception of twice-daily steamy sessions in one or the other's quarters. Still, Jim and Spock spent much of their free time together—simply holding hands was enough to ward off the otherwise almost constant thud of pain.
At first, they played the odd game of chess, discussed ship policies, and spoke of mutual acquaintances. As the weeks went by, however, they became more comfortable with one another, and began talking about their personal lives, sharing desires, and even joking.
The sex changed along with their relationship. At first it was purely for seeking release, but later… they began to take their time, kissing more often, teasing the other, putting more emphasis into bringing the other to previously unexplored heights of pleasure. It began to feel less like an affliction, and more like a relationship.
(‘’)
It was fifteen days since they had ingested the fruit, and Spock was waiting patiently outside his captain’s quarters for him to answer his chime. He knew he was pushing their limits again, but he had not anticipated the experiment he had been running to last as long as it did. The pain had not yet reached unbearable levels, though the captain was certainly taking his time answering the door…
It finally swished open and Spock found himself dragged into the room with no preamble. He relaxed as Jim’s hands found his and the pain dwindled, and allowed himself a small thrum of pleasure at their touch.
“Captain, I apologize—”
“You know, you don’t have to call me that.” The captain’s hands were wandering, pushing his shirt up around his armpits, pausing to feel his heartbeat against his side, sliding deftly down to unbutton his pants.
“I.” Spock found that he was having difficulty concentrating. Those hands… “Please elaborate.”
There was a quiet laugh and a soft press of lips against his neck. “We’ve been screwing for two weeks, Spock. I think you can call me Jim.” The captain—Jim—leaned back and fixed him with a lecherous look. “Unless you get off on the power thing. If that’s it, you can call me whatever you want.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “I request that you remove your uniform, Jim.” He let his eyes trail down the body in front of him (the sight really was most pleasing) and on the return, the front of Jim’s regulation slacks was noticeably tighter. Spock resisted the urge to smirk.
Jim grinned. “Yessir.”
(‘’)
A month into their affair found Jim and Spock sprawled naked on the floor of Spock’s quarters, Jim hungrily nibbling along Spock’s bottommost ribs, his hands tight on Spock’s hips. Spock made an abortive gesture as if to turn over (it was his turn to bottom) but Jim made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat and trailed his lips down toward something he’d been thinking about for weeks.
He’d heard rumors at the Academy about how Vulcan spunk tasted different. Sweet, even. And since Jim so thoroughly enjoyed exploring new things…
He swiped his tongue along Spock’s head and grinned when Spock swore in Andorian and stiffened underneath him.
“Jim...?”
“Shut up and let me suck your cock.” Jim could practically feel the eyebrow burning into the top of his head, but Spock remained silent and in fact started thrusting tentatively up to meet Jim’s suction.
And wasn’t that fancy. He did taste sweet.
(‘’)
It was a month and a half in before something truly uncomfortable happened, and (like most uncomfortable things) it seemed to be Jim’s fault.
They were on a diplomatic mission and everything was going swimmingly until one of the Ambassador’s attachés ran one of xir long-fingered hands down Jim’s back during an after-negotiation party and Jim, like the flirtatious man he just so happened to be, grinned filthily back at xir.
Approximately five seconds later, Jim was hit by a bout of nausea so intense that he immediately threw up on the attaché’s shoes. Across the room, Spock collapsed as a bolt of intense pain shot through his head.
And after McCoy beamed them up emergency-style, they again fucked in the same room where this whole thing had first become physical, Jim apologizing nonstop as Spock not-yelled at him in that way that was actually remarkably close to yelling.
Later, a thoroughly sheepish L’aitian Cha told them that yes, any sort of sexual contact with someone who was not a part of the mating pair would result in negative side effects. Spock not-yelled a little more about how they should have been told this, and L’aitian, confused, asked (in the innocent way that someone who is not accustomed to others’ societal habits has) if their joinings were not enough to satisfy their desires and how (if that was the case) that was truly impressive.
(‘’)
Two months in, things took yet another turn. After a particularly rough day (a firefight with Klingons combined with a tongue-lashing from the Admiralty for getting too close to the Neutral Zone) they’d taken out their stress in the most pleasurable way possible, bringing each other off slowly and stretching the sex out for almost two hours.
And after, as Spock considered forcing his sated body to rise, redress, and return to his quarters, Jim threw an arm across his chest and nuzzled into his neck.
“Stay?”
Spock felt a lurch in his side and attempted to ignore what that lurch may mean. “…You desire me to sleep here?” Jim nodded against his neck and Spock slowly draped his arm over Jim’s shoulders. “That is… I appreciate it, Jim.”
Jim snorted, then tilted his head and kissed him on the jaw. Spock sucked in a breath. They never kissed when they were not mid-coitus. This was new, and… exhilarating. He licked his lips, and in surge of something (either desire or bravery or mere impulsiveness) lifted the hand Jim had splayed on his chest and turned it palm up, molding it into the proper shape with the first two digits extended, then pressed his own against the pads of Jim’s fingers. Jim watched what he was doing with interest, letting Spock move him to the correct position.
“This is a Vulcan kiss,” Spock told him softly, and lifted his head to look at him.
“How come you didn’t show me that before?”
“…It is quite intimate.”
And Spock was rewarded with that brilliant grin spreading across Jim’s face and then human leaned forward, kissing him quite firmly and simultaneously in both the Human and Vulcan way.
(‘’)
With two weeks left of their forced association (Spock found he, quite illogically, disliked thinking about the time when he and Jim could return to their previous working relationship, and since Jim had not attempted to bring it up, neither had he) the sex started to take a more desperate edge.
Currently, Spock was on his back in on Jim’s bed and Jim was moving in him, panting and sweating and looking down at him with some indefinable emotion in his blue eyes. And suddenly, Spock wanted just so badly to know, he burned for it, for Jim, and his hand was moving to Jim’s face without his express permission and he got the impression of yesyesplease through their touch.
His fingers were on Jim’s psi points and the words were on his lips before his mind caught up with him but it did and he snatched his hand back as though Jim’s skin burned. A look of disappointment and something else (not hurt, Jim knew that this was temporary as well as Spock did) flashed across Jim’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared and then Jim was leaning down to kiss him, pressing in deeper.
And minutes later, at their climax, Spock was almost positive that he heard Jim whispering, “Mine, mine, God yes Spock, only mine, no one else,” into his skin, but he was surely mistaken. Jim did not… they were not truly together. These moments were an exception in both of their lives. Nothing more.
But that night, as he watched Jim sleep, Spock could not explain away the longing pull he felt toward the other man. Eventually, he succumbed to his desire and pressed closer to Jim, draping himself over his cooler body. And when Jim snuggled back into him, his contentment seeping through into Spock’s body, Spock even allowed himself a small smile.
('')
It was the last day that, according to Spock's calculations, they should be affected by the chemicals in the pat'iv'i fruit, and Jim was lying on his back, moaning softly as Spock lazily thrust into him. They were off today and had taken the opportunity to shag themselves senseless whenever even the slightest twinge of pain had reared its head. They were on time number seven right now—both men were sweaty and sticky, breathless and in ecstasy.
"God yes, Spock, right there…"
Spock angled his hips appropriately to stroke Jim's prostrate more fully and let his eyes close in pleasure. He rubbed gently along Jim's length, reveling in the hothard feel of Jim underneath his sensitive fingers. He abandoned Standard and slipped into Vulcan, speaking words he knew Jim didn't understand, complimenting the beautiful body writhing underneath him, letting his emotions of satisfaction and pleasure wash over Jim.
They weren't close yet—Spock was purposefully going slow to draw this out. They were in no hurry.
"Spock?" Jim sounded more focused than Spock thought he should be at the moment… He opened his eyes and looked down at him.
"Yes, Jim?" he asked, pausing mid-thrust.
"First, don't stop," Jim muttered, and ground down slightly. Spock twitched his lips up at this and resumed his movements. "Second," Jim continued, voice suddenly almost shy, "will you… um. Meld with me?"
Spock blinked in surprise and his hips stilled again. He floundered for a moment before saying haltingly, "I… am unsure that would be an… appropriate course of action." He started thrusting again, going harder, wanting now to finish. He could feel Jim's confusion and mild hurt by his statement, and hastily erected barriers between them—something he hadn't done in almost two months.
"Stop it, Spock." Jim's voice was bordering on steely, and confused and suddenly awkward, Spock pulled out and sank down to sit next to Jim on the bed. Jim raised himself up on his elbows and looked over at Spock, whose confusion was now evident on his face.
"Captain,” (Jim frowned at the sudden use of his title, but Spock valiantly attempted to ignore it) “we have, at most, a few more hours of… this affliction. After that, I assumed you would no longer desire to share my bed. Performing a meld would… could… complicate matters further."
Jim looked away, his face utterly blank. "You still consider this an affliction," he finally said, flatly.
Spock hesitated. "Should I consider it anything else?"
"No, of course not. A temporary issue that we've just about resolved, right?" Jim laughed harshly and pushed himself up, sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the bed.
Spock slowly nodded, trying not to let his tumultuous emotions seep onto this face.
"Well then, Mr. Spock, by your calculations, will we be fine until the last of it is out of our system?" Jim wasn’t looking at him, and his tone, which five minutes ago had been warm and welcoming, was now cold and distant.
Spock turned to him, wanting to say something (anything) to ease the hurt he heard in Jim’s voice, but when he saw the hard look on his face, he faltered. "…We may experience mild discomfort, but it is unlikely the pain will again become unbearable."
Jim nodded and immediately rolled off the bed, gathering up his pants and undershirt. "Very good, Mr. Spock. I'll see you tomorrow for Alpha shift." He quickly dressed and left Spock's quarters, leaving him staring into space, wondering at how the tightness in his chest didn't feel at all like the usual pain they'd experienced over the past three months.
('')
Jim realized with a start that he'd once again been staring at Spock. His First was sitting calmly at the science station, occasionally making notes or typing something into the readout, and those actions in no way warranted the images that were parading through Jim's mind.
Spock, slammed up against the wall of the shower, his cheeks flushed and mouth open with desire…
That same mouth wrapped around Jim's cock, Spock's pale face flushed a deep green as he slowly bobbed his head up and down…
Spock’s head thrown back in ecstasy, hitting the headboard with a loud clunk that both men had ignored as Jim had thrust his tongue inside…
"Dammit," Jim said to himself. It had been two weeks. Two weeks since he'd left Spock forlornly on the end of his bed, two weeks since the building pain had suddenly turned off like a switch being flipped, two weeks since he'd asked Spock to meld with him and felt like he was being ripped apart when Spock refused.
They'd barely spoken since. Yesterday, Jim had been on the verge of asking Spock for a game of chess, but had chickened out. He mentally berated himself: Captain James T. Kirk, afraid to be alone with an ex. Not even really an ex… someone he'd been forced to be with.
Jim sighed and slouched in his chair, not noticing that as soon as his eyes had left Spock, the Vulcan's had flicked over to watch him instead.
(‘’)
“Right, enough is enough.” McCoy smashed his dinner tray down on the table and sat (Spock noted with some interest how the doctor had mastered making the mere act of sitting aggressive) across from Spock. He raised an eyebrow, and McCoy scoffed.
“Talk to him.”
“I fear I do not—”
McCoy held up a hand and Spock stopped mid-sentence. With another glare for good measure, he clarified, “You’re being deliberately thick. Talk to Jim.”
Spock looked down and inspected his soup. “Captain Kirk has made his feelings on any matter between us perfectly clear. Any altering substances have been cleared from our systems and we have returned to the professional relationship we enjoyed before our unfortunate experience with the Lalian people.”
“Bullshit,” McCoy spat. “You’re both miserable. And you can’t tell me you ‘enjoyed’ any sort of relationship before this whole mess. You hated one another.”
“Vulcans do not—”
McCoy talked over him and Spock stopped speaking again, his lips pursed in slight annoyance. “Jimmy’s broken up, Spock. He may not be showing it any more than you are, but that’s because he’s a Starfleet captain and needs to be professional. But he’s been coming to me off shift same as you’ve been running to Sulu” (Spock turned his head and not-glared across the mess hall in the pilot’s direction. Sulu pointedly ignored him and took a large bite of his lasagna) “and as much as I don’t want to say it, he misses you.”
“I…” Spock dropped his gaze back down to his soup and frowned slightly.
McCoy snorted in derision. “Fine, don’t do anything about it. Be children. See if I care.” But then he leaned in and pointed his finger at Spock. “But you’re breaking my best friend’s heart. Think about that for a bit and remember that you’ve got an annual physical coming up.”
(‘’)
A week later, Spock watched Jim staring into space on the bridge, rubbing his temples, and made up his mind.
He stood. "Captain, may I have a word with you?" Jim looked up in surprise and raised his eyebrows when he realized who had spoken to him.
"…Sure, Mister Spock. Sulu, you have the bridge."
"Yes, Captain."
The tension on the bridge crackled. Spock ignored it. Jim stood slowly and followed him off the bridge and into the turbolift in silence. Once the doors swished shut, he glanced at Spock out of the corner of his eye. "Where to, Mr. Spock?"
"Perhaps one of our quarters would be appropriate."
Jim shrugged. "Deck Five." They remained in silence the rest of the way. Once the lift arrived, Jim led the way to his quarters, keyed in the entry code, and gestured Spock inside.
"What did you want to talk about, Commander? Is something wrong?"
Spock hesitated. "Yes, Captain," he said slowly. "I feel that the continued distance between us is causing emotional instability on my part."
Jim cocked his head and a look of panic crossed his face for a split second. "What does that mean, Sp—Commander? You don't want to ask for a transfer, do you? Because you don’t need to do that, if I’m doing something that’s unprofessional, I can stop, I’ll do—”
Spock interrupted him."On the contrary, I do not have any inclination to request a transfer. In fact, I wished to impart my desire that we return…” he hesitated, and Jim watched him silently. Spock sighed. “That we return at least partially to the relationship we have enjoyed over the past three months. I have discovered that I… miss your presence. Jim."
Jim’s visibly sagged with relief, and his face broke out in a sunny smile. He reached out and tentatively took Spock’s hand, smiling even wider when he didn't pull away. "I thought you said it was an affliction."
"That was a poor choice of words. Your request to meld took me by surprise, and I… did not want to admit to my feelings for you." He glanced up at Jim's piercing blue eyes—the other man was studying him closely. "I have since meditated upon this topic, and I feel it would be detrimental to both our well-beings if we did not address this concern."
Without another word, Jim pulled Spock to him and kissed him deeply, his tongue tracing patterns in Spock's mouth and his fingers tracing patterns on Spock's hands. When they broke apart, long minutes later, he smiled into Spock's neck.
"Not that I'm complaining, but why'd you decide the middle of our shift was the best time to tell me?"
Spock spoke into Jim’s hair and slid his hands under Jim’s command shirt, trying to impart his feelings of contentment through his skin. "Today alone, you have been staring at me for seventy-three of the two hundred nineteen minutes we were on the bridge. I found I could think of nothing else."
Jim laughed. "We need to get back to the bridge. Will you have dinner with me tonight? I've… really missed you." He kissed Spock again, lightly this time, and was rewarded by the slight upturn of the Vulcan's lips.
('')
That night, dinner was excellent—Spock was practically boisterous (he made two jokes—two!) and Jim couldn't stop grinning. In fact, he hadn't stopped grinning from the time he and Spock had spoken in his quarters—by the end of the day, the entire bridge crew was asking him if he felt all right.
After dinner, Jim suggested chess, but Spock shook his head, instead rising from the table and reaching out to take Jim’s hand. He laced their fingers (Jim stared down at their hands with a huge smile on his face) and pulled Jim toward the bedroom.
"Mmm, Spock's horny…" Jim started to laugh, but was silenced when Spock shot him a Look, his dark eyes dilated and needful. Jim's mouth abruptly started watering, and heat pooled in his groin as his dick sprang to life.
Spock paused when they reached the foot of Jim’s bed. “Is this acceptable? I do not wish to rush you into a resumption of physicality.” But he pulled Jim close, his actions contradicting his words. So in response, Jim tilted his head and kissed him, snaking his hands around Spock’s waist and molding his body along his.
When Jim finally released him, it was just to murmur, "Want you, Spock, so bad… want to touch you everywhere… I missed you, this, so much, we’ve both been idiots." Spock nodded and they began to undress one another, dropping clothes directly on the floor, uncaring of the mess. In moments they were naked, their erections smearing sticky across each other’s stomachs. Spock stroked his hand down Jim’s side and dropped kisses on his cheeks, his forehead.
"I desire you as well, Jim. I was foolish to have denied this.” Jim started kissing along his neck, and Spock’s words faltered slightly. “We are remarkably… ah. Compatible… oh…”
Jim smiled and sucked a bruise onto Spock’s collarbone before pushing him gently to sit down onto the bed. Spock allowed himself to be led, and Jim settled into his lap, wrapping his legs around Spock’s narrow hips and continuing to darken his mark on Spock’s chest.
Spock rocked gently up toward him and slid one hand between them, encircling them both and stroking slowly. Abandoning Spock’s chest in favor of kissing his lips, Jim pushed closer, crushing their chests together and savoring the hard press of Spock’s body, the sharp angles, the radiating heat. He clung tightly to the back of Spock’s neck, disallowing their separation, and they kissed deeply with Jim mostly in control, his tongue swirling lazily around Spock’s mouth.
“Jim,” Spock breathed into their kiss, and there was a subtle change as he dropped his shields and his lust, desire, thrill, and joy seeped through into Jim's mind.
"Oh, Spock, you're beautiful," Jim moaned, loving the surge of Spock’s emotions. "I want everything about you…"
Spock sighed into Jim's mouth and Jim reached up, his fingers tracing the shell of Spock's ear, running through his hair, memorizing every angle of his face.
"May I meld with you?" came Spock's almost whispered words.
Jim shifted so their foreheads pressed together. "God, yes."
After another kiss, Spock pulled back slightly for room to place both his hands on Jim’s face. “This may be…” he said softly, and Jim smiled.
“Intense?”
“Indeed.” And then Spock's fingers slid into their proper positions on Jim's cheeks, forehead and jaw, and the whispered words of "My mind to your mind," transformed seamlessly into /my thoughts to your thoughts/.
Jim gasped as everything that was Spock washed over him, a tide breaking on, in, around his consciousness. This experience with his Spock was so different from his meld with the elder Spock that they were barely recognizable as the same thing. Where the first had been an information dump, this was a joining, and Jim suddenly felt as if he was complete for the first time in his life.
He tried to convey this feeling of utter completeness to Spock and felt a lance of agreement, felt Spock’s awe and wonder and they circled close, clinging together.
Abruptly, physical sensation returned and Jim cried out and arched against Spock. He could feel his hands on Spock, and felt Spock feeling him, and the overwhelming everything that was both of them being joined to the other exploded in his mind, and he came untouched, crying out Spock's name in a feedback loop that forced Spock’s climax as well, leaving them both shuddering and breathless.
Jim couldn’t remember the last time he felt so perfect, utterly perfect.
Long minutes later he came back to himself and realized that somehow he and Spock had ended up lying lengthwise on his bed, curled together. He didn’t remember moving, and his feet were hanging off the side of the bed, but he didn’t even consider changing positions, instead just pressing his face into Spock’s neck and breathing deep.
“I love you,” he said.
Spock tightened his arms around him and Jim could feel their connection burning comfortingly in the back of his mind. Spock didn’t say anything, but Jim got the message, all the same.