Transatlanticism (2/11)
Title: Lightness
Length: 2380 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild alcohol consumption, Eventual slash, Some profanity
Summary: AU, Spock moves to Earth to deal with a personal crisis and meets Jim, a charismatic photographer who has also recently left his home. Based off of the Death Cab for Cutie album.
A/N1: Each chapter is based off of its respective track on the album- listening to the accompanying song is ideal, but not necessary. All comments/criticisms/suggestions are ALWAYS welcome!!!
Spock rolled over in bed and stared at the clock on his bedside table, willing it to turn back at least an hour or so. He was reluctant to get out of the large bed swathed with heavy blankets that occupied most of the space within his small room. It was much too cool on this part of Earth for him, but for some reason he felt drawn to the vibrant green of the local fauna and the unique shade of grey that colored the clouds covering the sky most of the days. There was something ethereal about this place and he wished desperately to understand it. It was so unlike his home, but there was something undeniably alluring about it- the unfamiliar damp smell and feel of the ocean permeating everything.
In the months following his arrival here he had set about immediately procuring a job and someplace nicer to stay than the run down motel that made him feel just shy of squeamish- another consequence of his ill planned abscond to this surreal place. He had managed to get a modest job as the assistant to an editor in the city, his fondness for punctuality and following instructions to the letter serving him quite well. He had already gotten a raise and was able to afford this small apartment in which he resided now. It was on the outskirts of the city, closer to the coast, but that served him well- preferring the quiet sound of the waves and its inhabitants as opposed the rather off-putting din that the city and its inhabitants made.
Once he had gotten more settled in to his surroundings he had to admit that he hadn't done much indulging of his human nature- as had been his plan originally. As such he had recently taken a lengthy walk through the city in attempt to find some kind of "hobby" that would occupy the time outside of his work. Finally he pushed himself out of the bed and moved into the adjoining bathroom. He tried not to frown as he stripped for his shower- the warmth seeping out of his skin as he removed more and more layers. He had found his first weeks here that this area was considered precious to human culture and as such development and advanced technology were frowned upon. The large cities were as modern as any, but pushing out of their bounds the surrounding placed had varied levels of advancement. He found it….. quaint.
He covered his torso in the three layers of terran clothes that he found appropriate during this region's cool spring, but stared at the denim jeans that seemed to be the most commonplace of clothing choices for humans of all ages regardless of sex. He found blue jeans to be constricting and rough, all around unlikable, but he was determined to assimilate to the best of his abilities so he pulled them on with a frown, not bothering to suppress his emotions this time. He moved through the apartment quickly, intending to eat somewhere in the city before arriving at the small art studio that had caught his eye during his stroll through the city. He grabbed the black leather portfolio containing all the necessary supplies on his way out, hoping that this experience would provide him with what he was looking for.
Jim slung his antique camera around his neck carefully while he grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen and hooked his arms through his black leather jacket- one of the few things that he had bothered to bring with him during his spontaneous move west. He struck up a light jog down the streets- always wishing to get to the art studio early so he could retrieve his pictures from the dark room before everyone arrived. He smiled at the bracing cold that settled around him as he breathed in the fresh ocean air. He had only been here a few months, but had found that this place unexpectedly suited him more than he could have imagined. For some reason unbeknownst to him he felt more at home here than he had anywhere else. Sometimes he missed the warm kiss of the sun on his bare shoulders, but he need only travel south for the weekend to get his fill.
This place had a mysticism about it that had enthralled him from the first day. It seemed as if it was in its own separate place, apart from the rest of the galaxy. Time didn't seem to affect the towns in the same way and the ever present clouds above acted as a barrier to the outside sealing them off in a world of their own making. He slowed as he approached the smile building, shaking his head and laughing lightly. Since when had he become this guy? Shaking it off, he sauntered to the building's side entrance when something caught the corner of his eye. He poked his head around the edge of the building to see another guy about his age sitting out front.
His interest piqued immediately- no one was ever here before him. He treaded around the studio lightly, unabashedly staring at the boy. He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and breathing measured, he sat up against the trunk of the singular tree in the yard. Jim's own breath began to accelerate as his eyes followed the smooth, sinewy lines of his body. Jim could tell that although he was lean, it was all muscle, much like a large, predatory cat. He wore a thick blue-grey sweater that fit as snug as the dark pair of jeans that hugged his hips in an innocently seductive manner. He had inky black hair that was trimmed immaculately that somehow complimented the green tinge in his skin. Wait, Jim paused his ogling momentarily,green? It was then that he noticed the elegant sweep of the man's eyebrows and the sharp point of his smooth ears. The exotic beauty of it all struck him suddenly and he couldn't help himself as he lifted his camera to his eye and agonized over getting just the right shot.
Finally satisfied with the composition of the shot he pressed the shutter button with a faint click. At the same exact moment the Vulcan's ear twitched at the sound and he turned his head in Jim's direction, eyes flashing open. Jim's camera slipped from his grip- only the strap around his neck saving it from smashing against the ground. He couldn't help the flush that crawled across his neck and cheeks as their gaze met. He let out a small gasp at the dark, unmistakably human eyes that stared back at him. He couldn't place the emotions within them and he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to break the intense stare. Those eyes were so unfathomably dark and deep that Jim could feel them starting to pull him deeper and deeper as the world around him started to slip away. He felt as though he couldn't breathe- palms sweating and throat dry. Just when he thought that the abyss would finally swallow him- the strange chimera broke as the Vulcan stood gracefully and headed inside. Jim sucked in a long, raspy breath and fell to his knees.
Spock took his seat at one of the many islands that were spread out in one of the large rooms inside the building. He pushed his hands in his sleeves and took several deep breaths. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to grab hold of his emotions- his control frayed. 'That boy….' he tried to clear his head, but could only see the terran boy from outside. When Spock had heard the unmistakable click of a camera he had whipped his head towards its source intending to thoroughly lecture the culprit on the proper etiquette when photographing others- only to have his mind completely erased by ruffled, sun drenched tawny locks, a smattering of freckles, and impossibly bright blue eyes that threatened to burn him out.
His clothing suddenly seemed much too warm and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. As people began to idle inside he tried to focus on setting up his easel and sketching materials, but he couldn't force his hands to stop trembling. He frowned, frustrated at his own lack of control and debated packing up and heading home before this ill-conceived outing could get much worse. He felt as though he understood now why he had never before tried to connect with this side of himself. Just as he had resolved to leave the door opened and the boy from outside sauntered in. A smile like liquid sunshine blossomed across his lips and Spock fell back onto his stool- completely taken by him. He forced himself to stare at the floor and wait for the work to commence.
An older gentleman stood at the front of the room and began to address everyone- informing them of various dates and times- upcoming galleries that they should be finishing preparations for. Though he heard the words he was unable to fully comprehend their meaning and was mildly surprised when everyone rose to begin working on their assorted projects. He too stood and placed his thin, charcoal pencil to the paper in front of him. He stared intensely at the white expanse, willing his hand to start moving, to draw anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration- finding the harder he tried to focus the less it helped.
Finally deciding to just give in he let himself peek around his easel to find the boy seemingly made of sunshine standing at the island directly in front of him- thankfully with his back turned. Spock noted that he had shed the worn, black leather jacket that he had worn before. Now a thin white t-shirt was all that covered his torso and Spock sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed a tear at the hem that had inched its way up to the small of his back. He couldn't keep himself from staring, fascinated at the tanned, smooth skin the tear revealed- yellow light from a nearby lamp illuminating the peach fuzz that nestled there.
Spock felt his hand twitch at his side and was momentarily baffled as to what exactly that meant. Slowly he lifted the pencil to paper again and this time it almost seemed to move of its own accord. He was slightly ashamed at his inability to follow the rules he had been so ready to lay out when he had unexpectedly had his picture taken. His instincts told him that what was happening now was a good thing- he was connecting with some of his more human aspects; but he also felt frightened by this and instincts can be misleading. He had been raised to be guided by logic, not gut feelings. Instincts often had a way of not telling him what he knows he should want. His free hand clenched and unclenched as the boy's figure came spilling out of the tip of his pencil. He frequently snuck glances around his easel once he came down to the details- pencil working furiously and his attention never straying.
His head snapped up abruptly when he heard the advisor's voice rung out across the room again, commanding their attention. Spock looked, bewildered that two hours had passed already. He noted that there was a thin gleam of sweat across his brow and his hands had charcoal smeared along the outer edges. He quickly began packing his things wishing to return to his apartment for a long afternoon of meditation. He heard the stool in front of him squeal as it was put away and he looked up to find his subject approaching. "It sounded like you were working pretty damn hard back here, mind if I take a look?" he smiled that smile again and it took Spock a moment to gather himself.
"I can't think of a reason why not." he didn't add that he had been trying his best to find one. The boy walked around the countertop and came to a stop in front of Spock's easel, freezing rigidly. Spock turned to watch his reaction, refusing to acknowledge that the uneasy feeling in his stomach could be nerves. The boy's ears and cheeks began to tinge pink as he took in the depiction of his own torso in staggering detail. The only discrepancy between reality being the tear in his shirt- which on the paper had turned into a dark, swirling design that spilled across his back in intricate whorls. Moving for the first time sine he caught sight of the drawing he reached behind himself and felt at the hem of his shirt, seemingly for the first time noticing the tear in the fabric. "If you find my rendering obtrusive I apologize for not first asking your permission and shall endeavor to find a different subject during the next session."
The boy shook his head furiously at this and seeming to regain his composure cocked a grin, different from his sunshine-smile, and extended his hand. "I'm Jim." Spock looked at the extended hand pointedly before bowing his head in greeting.
"I am afraid that entwining hands in my culture is very intimate and as such I cannot return your gesture. However, I am at liberty to offer my name in return. I am Spock." Jim's eyes widened slightly at his unintended attempt at intimacy and quickly withdrew his hand.
"Sorry, I've never met a Vulcan before." he rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. "I was lead to believe that art, as an expression of emotion, really wasn't their cup of tea."
Spock's brows furrowed, "I fail to see how my beverage preference is relevant to my art." Jim couldn't keep himself from laughing, unaware of the way that it made Spock tense and his eyes widen. Jim looked up after wiping tears from the corner of his eyes to find those deep brown eyes trained on him, meticulously sliding over his shape. He suppressed a shiver and as a sort of defense mechanism settled into an arrogant bravado. Silently he wondered, 'Who is this guy?
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Length: 2380 words
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild alcohol consumption, Eventual slash, Some profanity
Summary: AU, Spock moves to Earth to deal with a personal crisis and meets Jim, a charismatic photographer who has also recently left his home. Based off of the Death Cab for Cutie album.
A/N1: Each chapter is based off of its respective track on the album- listening to the accompanying song is ideal, but not necessary. All comments/criticisms/suggestions are ALWAYS welcome!!!
Spock rolled over in bed and stared at the clock on his bedside table, willing it to turn back at least an hour or so. He was reluctant to get out of the large bed swathed with heavy blankets that occupied most of the space within his small room. It was much too cool on this part of Earth for him, but for some reason he felt drawn to the vibrant green of the local fauna and the unique shade of grey that colored the clouds covering the sky most of the days. There was something ethereal about this place and he wished desperately to understand it. It was so unlike his home, but there was something undeniably alluring about it- the unfamiliar damp smell and feel of the ocean permeating everything.
In the months following his arrival here he had set about immediately procuring a job and someplace nicer to stay than the run down motel that made him feel just shy of squeamish- another consequence of his ill planned abscond to this surreal place. He had managed to get a modest job as the assistant to an editor in the city, his fondness for punctuality and following instructions to the letter serving him quite well. He had already gotten a raise and was able to afford this small apartment in which he resided now. It was on the outskirts of the city, closer to the coast, but that served him well- preferring the quiet sound of the waves and its inhabitants as opposed the rather off-putting din that the city and its inhabitants made.
Once he had gotten more settled in to his surroundings he had to admit that he hadn't done much indulging of his human nature- as had been his plan originally. As such he had recently taken a lengthy walk through the city in attempt to find some kind of "hobby" that would occupy the time outside of his work. Finally he pushed himself out of the bed and moved into the adjoining bathroom. He tried not to frown as he stripped for his shower- the warmth seeping out of his skin as he removed more and more layers. He had found his first weeks here that this area was considered precious to human culture and as such development and advanced technology were frowned upon. The large cities were as modern as any, but pushing out of their bounds the surrounding placed had varied levels of advancement. He found it….. quaint.
He covered his torso in the three layers of terran clothes that he found appropriate during this region's cool spring, but stared at the denim jeans that seemed to be the most commonplace of clothing choices for humans of all ages regardless of sex. He found blue jeans to be constricting and rough, all around unlikable, but he was determined to assimilate to the best of his abilities so he pulled them on with a frown, not bothering to suppress his emotions this time. He moved through the apartment quickly, intending to eat somewhere in the city before arriving at the small art studio that had caught his eye during his stroll through the city. He grabbed the black leather portfolio containing all the necessary supplies on his way out, hoping that this experience would provide him with what he was looking for.
Jim slung his antique camera around his neck carefully while he grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen and hooked his arms through his black leather jacket- one of the few things that he had bothered to bring with him during his spontaneous move west. He struck up a light jog down the streets- always wishing to get to the art studio early so he could retrieve his pictures from the dark room before everyone arrived. He smiled at the bracing cold that settled around him as he breathed in the fresh ocean air. He had only been here a few months, but had found that this place unexpectedly suited him more than he could have imagined. For some reason unbeknownst to him he felt more at home here than he had anywhere else. Sometimes he missed the warm kiss of the sun on his bare shoulders, but he need only travel south for the weekend to get his fill.
This place had a mysticism about it that had enthralled him from the first day. It seemed as if it was in its own separate place, apart from the rest of the galaxy. Time didn't seem to affect the towns in the same way and the ever present clouds above acted as a barrier to the outside sealing them off in a world of their own making. He slowed as he approached the smile building, shaking his head and laughing lightly. Since when had he become this guy? Shaking it off, he sauntered to the building's side entrance when something caught the corner of his eye. He poked his head around the edge of the building to see another guy about his age sitting out front.
His interest piqued immediately- no one was ever here before him. He treaded around the studio lightly, unabashedly staring at the boy. He appeared to be asleep, eyes closed and breathing measured, he sat up against the trunk of the singular tree in the yard. Jim's own breath began to accelerate as his eyes followed the smooth, sinewy lines of his body. Jim could tell that although he was lean, it was all muscle, much like a large, predatory cat. He wore a thick blue-grey sweater that fit as snug as the dark pair of jeans that hugged his hips in an innocently seductive manner. He had inky black hair that was trimmed immaculately that somehow complimented the green tinge in his skin. Wait, Jim paused his ogling momentarily,green? It was then that he noticed the elegant sweep of the man's eyebrows and the sharp point of his smooth ears. The exotic beauty of it all struck him suddenly and he couldn't help himself as he lifted his camera to his eye and agonized over getting just the right shot.
Finally satisfied with the composition of the shot he pressed the shutter button with a faint click. At the same exact moment the Vulcan's ear twitched at the sound and he turned his head in Jim's direction, eyes flashing open. Jim's camera slipped from his grip- only the strap around his neck saving it from smashing against the ground. He couldn't help the flush that crawled across his neck and cheeks as their gaze met. He let out a small gasp at the dark, unmistakably human eyes that stared back at him. He couldn't place the emotions within them and he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to break the intense stare. Those eyes were so unfathomably dark and deep that Jim could feel them starting to pull him deeper and deeper as the world around him started to slip away. He felt as though he couldn't breathe- palms sweating and throat dry. Just when he thought that the abyss would finally swallow him- the strange chimera broke as the Vulcan stood gracefully and headed inside. Jim sucked in a long, raspy breath and fell to his knees.
Spock took his seat at one of the many islands that were spread out in one of the large rooms inside the building. He pushed his hands in his sleeves and took several deep breaths. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to grab hold of his emotions- his control frayed. 'That boy….' he tried to clear his head, but could only see the terran boy from outside. When Spock had heard the unmistakable click of a camera he had whipped his head towards its source intending to thoroughly lecture the culprit on the proper etiquette when photographing others- only to have his mind completely erased by ruffled, sun drenched tawny locks, a smattering of freckles, and impossibly bright blue eyes that threatened to burn him out.
His clothing suddenly seemed much too warm and he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. As people began to idle inside he tried to focus on setting up his easel and sketching materials, but he couldn't force his hands to stop trembling. He frowned, frustrated at his own lack of control and debated packing up and heading home before this ill-conceived outing could get much worse. He felt as though he understood now why he had never before tried to connect with this side of himself. Just as he had resolved to leave the door opened and the boy from outside sauntered in. A smile like liquid sunshine blossomed across his lips and Spock fell back onto his stool- completely taken by him. He forced himself to stare at the floor and wait for the work to commence.
An older gentleman stood at the front of the room and began to address everyone- informing them of various dates and times- upcoming galleries that they should be finishing preparations for. Though he heard the words he was unable to fully comprehend their meaning and was mildly surprised when everyone rose to begin working on their assorted projects. He too stood and placed his thin, charcoal pencil to the paper in front of him. He stared intensely at the white expanse, willing his hand to start moving, to draw anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration- finding the harder he tried to focus the less it helped.
Finally deciding to just give in he let himself peek around his easel to find the boy seemingly made of sunshine standing at the island directly in front of him- thankfully with his back turned. Spock noted that he had shed the worn, black leather jacket that he had worn before. Now a thin white t-shirt was all that covered his torso and Spock sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed a tear at the hem that had inched its way up to the small of his back. He couldn't keep himself from staring, fascinated at the tanned, smooth skin the tear revealed- yellow light from a nearby lamp illuminating the peach fuzz that nestled there.
Spock felt his hand twitch at his side and was momentarily baffled as to what exactly that meant. Slowly he lifted the pencil to paper again and this time it almost seemed to move of its own accord. He was slightly ashamed at his inability to follow the rules he had been so ready to lay out when he had unexpectedly had his picture taken. His instincts told him that what was happening now was a good thing- he was connecting with some of his more human aspects; but he also felt frightened by this and instincts can be misleading. He had been raised to be guided by logic, not gut feelings. Instincts often had a way of not telling him what he knows he should want. His free hand clenched and unclenched as the boy's figure came spilling out of the tip of his pencil. He frequently snuck glances around his easel once he came down to the details- pencil working furiously and his attention never straying.
His head snapped up abruptly when he heard the advisor's voice rung out across the room again, commanding their attention. Spock looked, bewildered that two hours had passed already. He noted that there was a thin gleam of sweat across his brow and his hands had charcoal smeared along the outer edges. He quickly began packing his things wishing to return to his apartment for a long afternoon of meditation. He heard the stool in front of him squeal as it was put away and he looked up to find his subject approaching. "It sounded like you were working pretty damn hard back here, mind if I take a look?" he smiled that smile again and it took Spock a moment to gather himself.
"I can't think of a reason why not." he didn't add that he had been trying his best to find one. The boy walked around the countertop and came to a stop in front of Spock's easel, freezing rigidly. Spock turned to watch his reaction, refusing to acknowledge that the uneasy feeling in his stomach could be nerves. The boy's ears and cheeks began to tinge pink as he took in the depiction of his own torso in staggering detail. The only discrepancy between reality being the tear in his shirt- which on the paper had turned into a dark, swirling design that spilled across his back in intricate whorls. Moving for the first time sine he caught sight of the drawing he reached behind himself and felt at the hem of his shirt, seemingly for the first time noticing the tear in the fabric. "If you find my rendering obtrusive I apologize for not first asking your permission and shall endeavor to find a different subject during the next session."
The boy shook his head furiously at this and seeming to regain his composure cocked a grin, different from his sunshine-smile, and extended his hand. "I'm Jim." Spock looked at the extended hand pointedly before bowing his head in greeting.
"I am afraid that entwining hands in my culture is very intimate and as such I cannot return your gesture. However, I am at liberty to offer my name in return. I am Spock." Jim's eyes widened slightly at his unintended attempt at intimacy and quickly withdrew his hand.
"Sorry, I've never met a Vulcan before." he rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish grin. "I was lead to believe that art, as an expression of emotion, really wasn't their cup of tea."
Spock's brows furrowed, "I fail to see how my beverage preference is relevant to my art." Jim couldn't keep himself from laughing, unaware of the way that it made Spock tense and his eyes widen. Jim looked up after wiping tears from the corner of his eyes to find those deep brown eyes trained on him, meticulously sliding over his shape. He suppressed a shiver and as a sort of defense mechanism settled into an arrogant bravado. Silently he wondered, 'Who is this guy?
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