Ficmas Cards (2)
We have another three tonight. :)
For jane_potter
Prompt: (I went for the first one, hope you don't mind) Kirk/Spock. Vulcan misconceptions (*coughs* gossip) about human sexual practices and how they're freaky/weird/loud/scary, leading to Spock being utterly confused during their first time and wondering is Jim holding back for his sake/when is shit going to get weird/is Jim's sexuality abnormal.
Rating: R (for discussion of sexual acts)
Half-awake, Jim reaches out with his hand to find the space beside him empty and cold. Instantly alarmed, he lifts himself up on his elbows, blinking away the remnants of sleep hastily. Has Spock left? He’d appeared to have enjoyed himself earlier, when he was fucking Jim through the mattress, but Jim hadn’t stayed awake long enough for pillow talk. Has he done something wrong?
He sits up in bed, looking around as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. His gaze lands on Spock immediately, but the sigh of relief gets stuck in Jim’s throat. Spock is sitting on his knees on the floor by the bed, fully clothed and looking grave.
“Spock,” Jim breathes out, tugging the sheets around himself as a sudden chill makes him shiver. “What’s wrong?”
Spock starts, Jim’s voice having raised him from the depths of his thoughts. “Jim. You are awake.” Spock pauses. “I... debated with myself as to whether I should simply leave you or apologize first. It seems that the choice is no longer mine.”
“What the hell?” Jim sits up straighter, glaring at him. “You wanted to sneak out on me, like I’m a one-night stand? We could have done that months ago - what was the point of this whole dating thing if all you wanted was sex?”
Spock lifts up a hand to stop the flow of angry words, his cheeks coloring slightly. “You misunderstand. I, too, wished to engage in a true romantic relationship. However, perhaps it would have been prudent to determine our sexual compatibility first.”
“The hell does that mean?” Jim snaps, baffled.
“I am genuinely sorry to be a disappointment to you,” Spock says, the corners of his mouth drooping down. “I wish for you to be happy. Therefore, I hope you will be able to find another partner, better suited to achieve your sexual potential.”
“Oh my God, cut it out,” Jim groans, sliding off the bed. He grips Spock’s shoulders and shakes him. “Start making sense, would you? ‘Cause I’m pretty damn sure that if you were anything close to a ‘disappointment,’ I’d be the first to know, and I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Spock blinks. “But you... When we-”
“Had sex?”
“Yes, then, you - you did not...”
“This is worse than pulling teeth,” Jim grumbles. “I didn’t what, Spock?”
“You only orgasmed once.”
Jim stares. When nothing else seems to be forthcoming, he clears his throat. “And?”
“And I could not bring you to the second climax, no matter how hard I tried.”
Jim gapes at him. “You know, I’m pretty sure that what you just said makes sense on some planet in a galaxy far, far away, but here and now, you’ve lost me.”
Spock purses his lips, a clear signal of his impatience. “Human average is three times per intercourse, correct?”
“The fuck?! Spock, who the hell told you that?”
Spock looks shifty. “When I was young, I overheard my classmates… discussing…”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Well, your classmates were idiots. Spock, three times per night - maybe, if you’re lucky. If you’re young, and healthy, and crazy about someone. No one can have three orgasms at once - it’s, like, physically impossible.”
To Jim’s utter annoyance and disbelief, Spock doesn’t look convinced. “Nyota could. She always climaxed at least three times.”
Jim all but wails in exasperation. “Yeah, well, Nyota is also a woman. Girls can pull off this shit, since they don’t have to - wait, hold on a second.” He stares at Spock incredulously. “Always? You always brought her off at least three times? Is your dick, like, magical?”
Spock frowns and pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously not, since the ‘magic’ did not work on you. Either I am not skilled enough, or… perhaps you are unwell.”
Jim presses his palm against his eyes, praying for patience. “Spock, human males have this little thing called a refractory period. I mean, sure, if you’re sixteen, you can be up and running again in fifteen minutes flat or something, but it takes the rest of us a little longer. And no male can get hard immediately after - if the job was done well enough the first time, of course.” He snorts involuntarily. “And I can tell you now that’s it’s going to be fucking impossible with you. You’re very… thorough.”
Spock seems to be absorbing the new information avidly, a half-embarrassed, half-curious expression on his face.
“Oh my God.” Jim sighs. “Check the data banks, or ask McCoy, if you don’t believe me. You know, it sort of figures that little Vulcans would have these fairytales about humans floating around. We’re, what, little more sophisticated than monkeys to you?”
“Jim.” Spock closes his eyes. “Bigotry is unnecessary. I apologize for assuming. The fault is mine, but it did not occur to me that - after Nyota...”
Jim eyes him warily, not liking where his thoughts are straying. “Spock,” he starts tentatively. “How many times do male Vulcans come per go?”
Spock looks thoughtful. “While five is considered a somewhat optimistic number-”
“You’re kidding me!” Jim yelps, horrified. What chance does he have to ever be able to keep up with that?
Spock’s lips twitch. Jim stares at him incredulously for a second before grabbing a pillow and smacking Spock on the head vindictively. “You are kidding me, you vicious little imp! How many times really?”
Spock plucks the pillow out of Jim’s hands, and throws it across the room. He peers at Jim, brow raised and eyes dancing. “One. In this, we appear to be - more similar than I assumed.”
“Well.” Jim exhales loudly with relief. “Thank God for small mercies.”
Spock’s expression grows serious again. “Jim, please forgive me for-”
“Hey, no harm, no foul. I’m just happy we’re on the same page.” Jim grins and reaches out to tug at Spock’s ear playfully. “‘Cause I really liked what we did last night.” He can feel he’s blushing. “Kind of a lot.”
Spock’s frame seems to relax slightly. “As did I. Perhaps-”
“Uh, not right now,” Jim says hastily, pulling himself upright. “You sort of… shocked me out of the mood. I’m going to hit the shower.”
He walks toward the bathroom, but stops, glancing back. Spock still sits where Jim left him, looking both relieved and defeated. Jim suppresses a sigh.
“Want to join me? Can’t promise you I’ll come fifteen times, but it could still be fun.”
Spock, much to Jim’s amusement, doesn’t need to be asked twice.
For syredronning
Prompt: Pike-Spock - not celebrating Christmas :)
Rating: R
It’s ironic, Chris thinks, that you have to be alone to stop feeling lonely. In the crowded halls of Starfleet Headquarters or in Academy corridors, with people swinging by constantly in colloidal motion, he often feels irrelevant and alone, like a grain of sand, with no real connection to either the familiar or the strangers.
Here, in the desert, with not a soul in dozens of square miles, the senses of calm and distinction are omnipresent. Others might cow before the blunt magnificence of nature, but Chris has always felt important here - not in the narcissist kind of way, but rather as the sole observer: a being with eyesight and a voice and a stream of thoughts that can finally be heard.
Chris walks into the kitchen, smiling softly and thinking that he’s doing what he promised he’d never do - turn into a boring, rambling man in his old age, trying to pass as a philosopher. Not that he’s that old biologically; barely crossed the equator there. But there have been three wars and a lifetime of service, night watches lasting for years, stale coffee, cheap cognac, no family, and... Spock.
There’s Spock.
Chris sets a kettle over a spirit stove and looks out the window.
Spock has left early, before Chris woke, and his shoes are still by the door, which means he’s gone wandering into the desert and will come back with slightly puffed feet, hurting physically but otherwise feeling better. He always does this whenever they come here. Chris doesn’t know if Spock is trying to reconnect with a home he’d forever lost, or if this is some kind of penance - for what crimes, Chris will never find out.
He doesn’t ask.
The kettle whistles and Chris picks it up. He brews tea in an old, slightly chapped teapot that had belonged to the previous owners of the ranch. He misses coffee, but he can live without it for three weeks.
He takes his cup out into the terrace, settling down in an old wooden chaise lounge. Soon, the sun will become too bright to be sitting here, staring into the blazing cloth of the desert, but it’s mid-morning now, so it’s okay. Chris closes his eyes and drifts with the gentle riptide of wind and the delicate scent of hibiscus.
He opens his eyes a moment or a century later to find Spock kneeling beside him, hands folded neatly over Chris’s lap, Spock’s chin resting on them as he gazes up wonderingly, as if Chris is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Chris reaches to run his fingers through the rich, heavy silk of Spock’s hair, and Spock turns his head slightly to meet the touch, his eyes smoky and dark in the blazing sunlight.
Chris doesn’t move when Spock tugs down his linen pants carefully, as if for the very first time. He doesn’t make a sound when Spock takes him - half-hard - into his mouth, curls his tongue around the head, and sucks, gentle and persistent. Chris lets his head fall further back as Spock takes more of him in, but when he reaches his limit, Chris tightens his grip on the back of Spock’s neck, holding him in place.
Spock sucks in a desperate breath through his nose, but stays perfectly still, lips wrapped tightly around Chris’s cock, as Chris rocks steadily up and down - a sweet, lazy, long-driven drag. He could go on forever like this - some days he would ride it out for as long as possible - but it’s getting too hot, and Chris doesn’t like the feeling of sweat streaming down his spine.
He presses Spock just a little further down, and Spock chokes once, twice, looking up at Chris imploringly for a split second, and that’s all it takes. Chris’s hand is unyielding through it, holding Spock firmly as Chris watches him swallow, his whole body tense with the effort.
Chris’s grip turns into a caress again as Spock licks him clean, eyes hidden beneath two dark half-circles, pointed tongue quick and efficient. Chris pulls him up then, slotting their mouths together. He likes kissing Spock like this, when he’s still breathless, still trying to regain control, adrenaline screwing with his coordination as his sense of self struggles to return.
Chris breaks the kiss at last, and Spock reaches after him instinctively - already mourning the loss, as if Chris pulling away is killing something in him.
This is why Chris has been spoiled for any other lover since the moment he met Spock. This is why he will never want anyone else.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” Chris says softly, stroking Spock’s face gently with his fingers. “There’s tea in the kitchen if you want it.”
“Thank you,” Spock murmurs, pressing his forehead against Chris’s for a moment, before rising fluidly and walking into the house.
Three weeks, Chris thinks. God knows when they’ll have another window. For now, though, they have three weeks that neither the admiralty nor Jim Kirk will dare to interrupt.
Chris hauls himself up to his feet and follows Spock inside.
For zjofierose
Prompt: ok- k/s, umm, christmas eve, and... eggnog. or something. :D
Rating: PG
At first, the idea of renting a cottage for the bridge crew and selected others for Christmas seems lame at best. Not that Jim can’t get behind it, but he doesn’t think most of his team would want to spend even more time together than they absolutely have to. They like each other and they work well together, but spending the rare shore leave seeing all the familiar faces seems a bit over the top. Jim is surprised, pleasantly so, when they all accost him at one point or other, telling him that, should he go through with it, it’ll be their first choice.
Now that the party’s over, and everyone has crawled up to their rooms for what’s left of the night, Jim can’t help but grin, tired and happy. They’re more than coworkers: they’re family. Probably the most insane one ever, but still.
He wanders into the now-quiet living room to check on the fireplace. It wouldn’t do to accidentally set the house on fire while everyone is too buzzed to move. Someone has put a new log in, and the fire licks at it now, deceivingly gentle flames sizzling softly. Surprised, Jim looks around to see Spock curled up on the sofa, a quilt thrown over his knees and a cup of eggnog in his hands.
“Hey,” Jim breathes out, smiling at the sight. “You made it. I thought you said not till tomorrow morning?”
Spock shifts slightly, staring into the fire. “I rescheduled the last meeting. I wished to be here.”
Jim’s heart clenches at the inherent vulnerability of Spock’s quiet tone, as if he isn’t entirely sure of his welcome. Spock knows better, has to by now, but gatherings like this have always been outside his comfort zone. Shaking his head slightly, Jim comes to sit next to him.
“We missed you,” Jim says softly, placing his hands on Spock’s shoulders and tugging gently. Spock resists instinctively for a moment, then relents, as if remembering that he’s allowed, and lets Jim pull him close.
“Hi,” Jim murmurs, nuzzling around the curve of Spock’s ear before placing a gentle kiss on his temple. “So glad you’re here.”
Spock lets out a low, happy grunt, relaxing further into Jim’s arms. “This eggnog contains no alcohol.”
Jim grins, his fingers rubbing circles on Spock’s back and arm absently. “You hate the taste, so I didn’t let them spike it. I never lost hope you’d actually come.”
“Illogical.” Spock sighs. “But thank you.”
Jim reaches to take the glass from Spock’s hands and sets it carefully on the coffee table. “C’mere.” He reclines on the sofa, tugging at Spock’s shirt.
“Jim.” Spock tenses and doesn’t budge. “We might fall asleep.” It’s an obvious testament to how tired he is that he openly says ‘we’ instead of taking a shot at Jim’s less advanced human stamina.
Jim shrugs. “That’s the idea.”
Spock glances over his shoulder toward the stairs. “Someone might see.”
Jim snorts quietly. “Spock, they know.”
Spock blinks, looking alarmed for a moment. “You told them?”
“No.” Jim shakes his head. “But I spent half the night explaining why you weren’t here, and I stopped telling them off for calling you my boyfriend after the fifteenth time or something. It just got old.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Plus, no one tried to corner me under the mistletoe, not even Tasha, so it’s a pretty safe bet that they know.”
Spock eyes him for a moment with a pensive expression Jim can’t quite read. He shifts awkwardly, stretching his legs. “Are you mad?”
Spock breaks his still posture as if startled. “No, Jim, of course not. It is merely - unexpected.”
“Thought we had them fooled, huh?” Jim asks with a wry smirk. “Apparently, Mr. Spock, we suck at keeping secrets.”
“Apparently,” Spock agrees, dry humor coloring his voice.
“Hey, at least it saves us the humiliation of a big announcement.”
“Apparently.”
“You do know other words, right?” Spock opens his mouth, and Jim flashes a palm up. “Don’t.”
Spock gives him an eyebrow that usually means he’s laughing at Jim and moves to lie down next to him. They spend a couple of minutes searching for a more comfortable position, finally settling down with Spock half-draped around Jim, legs tangled, arms around each other.
Jim pulls the quilt over them as best he can, his motions heavy with pleasant fatigue. Spock is a warm, reassuring weight at his side, and the only sound in the room is the enigmatic whisper of the fire and the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Jim blinks stubbornly, fighting off sleep, trying to stretch the blissful moment for as long as possible.
“Merry Christmas,” Spock mumbles suddenly through the veil of drowsiness, burying his face in Jim’s shoulder.
Jim knows the exact moment when Spock’s consciousness leaves him. It’s only then that he presses his lips to Spock’s forehead and whispers softly, “Love you, too.”
For jane_potter
Prompt: (I went for the first one, hope you don't mind) Kirk/Spock. Vulcan misconceptions (*coughs* gossip) about human sexual practices and how they're freaky/weird/loud/scary, leading to Spock being utterly confused during their first time and wondering is Jim holding back for his sake/when is shit going to get weird/is Jim's sexuality abnormal.
Rating: R (for discussion of sexual acts)
Half-awake, Jim reaches out with his hand to find the space beside him empty and cold. Instantly alarmed, he lifts himself up on his elbows, blinking away the remnants of sleep hastily. Has Spock left? He’d appeared to have enjoyed himself earlier, when he was fucking Jim through the mattress, but Jim hadn’t stayed awake long enough for pillow talk. Has he done something wrong?
He sits up in bed, looking around as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. His gaze lands on Spock immediately, but the sigh of relief gets stuck in Jim’s throat. Spock is sitting on his knees on the floor by the bed, fully clothed and looking grave.
“Spock,” Jim breathes out, tugging the sheets around himself as a sudden chill makes him shiver. “What’s wrong?”
Spock starts, Jim’s voice having raised him from the depths of his thoughts. “Jim. You are awake.” Spock pauses. “I... debated with myself as to whether I should simply leave you or apologize first. It seems that the choice is no longer mine.”
“What the hell?” Jim sits up straighter, glaring at him. “You wanted to sneak out on me, like I’m a one-night stand? We could have done that months ago - what was the point of this whole dating thing if all you wanted was sex?”
Spock lifts up a hand to stop the flow of angry words, his cheeks coloring slightly. “You misunderstand. I, too, wished to engage in a true romantic relationship. However, perhaps it would have been prudent to determine our sexual compatibility first.”
“The hell does that mean?” Jim snaps, baffled.
“I am genuinely sorry to be a disappointment to you,” Spock says, the corners of his mouth drooping down. “I wish for you to be happy. Therefore, I hope you will be able to find another partner, better suited to achieve your sexual potential.”
“Oh my God, cut it out,” Jim groans, sliding off the bed. He grips Spock’s shoulders and shakes him. “Start making sense, would you? ‘Cause I’m pretty damn sure that if you were anything close to a ‘disappointment,’ I’d be the first to know, and I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Spock blinks. “But you... When we-”
“Had sex?”
“Yes, then, you - you did not...”
“This is worse than pulling teeth,” Jim grumbles. “I didn’t what, Spock?”
“You only orgasmed once.”
Jim stares. When nothing else seems to be forthcoming, he clears his throat. “And?”
“And I could not bring you to the second climax, no matter how hard I tried.”
Jim gapes at him. “You know, I’m pretty sure that what you just said makes sense on some planet in a galaxy far, far away, but here and now, you’ve lost me.”
Spock purses his lips, a clear signal of his impatience. “Human average is three times per intercourse, correct?”
“The fuck?! Spock, who the hell told you that?”
Spock looks shifty. “When I was young, I overheard my classmates… discussing…”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Well, your classmates were idiots. Spock, three times per night - maybe, if you’re lucky. If you’re young, and healthy, and crazy about someone. No one can have three orgasms at once - it’s, like, physically impossible.”
To Jim’s utter annoyance and disbelief, Spock doesn’t look convinced. “Nyota could. She always climaxed at least three times.”
Jim all but wails in exasperation. “Yeah, well, Nyota is also a woman. Girls can pull off this shit, since they don’t have to - wait, hold on a second.” He stares at Spock incredulously. “Always? You always brought her off at least three times? Is your dick, like, magical?”
Spock frowns and pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously not, since the ‘magic’ did not work on you. Either I am not skilled enough, or… perhaps you are unwell.”
Jim presses his palm against his eyes, praying for patience. “Spock, human males have this little thing called a refractory period. I mean, sure, if you’re sixteen, you can be up and running again in fifteen minutes flat or something, but it takes the rest of us a little longer. And no male can get hard immediately after - if the job was done well enough the first time, of course.” He snorts involuntarily. “And I can tell you now that’s it’s going to be fucking impossible with you. You’re very… thorough.”
Spock seems to be absorbing the new information avidly, a half-embarrassed, half-curious expression on his face.
“Oh my God.” Jim sighs. “Check the data banks, or ask McCoy, if you don’t believe me. You know, it sort of figures that little Vulcans would have these fairytales about humans floating around. We’re, what, little more sophisticated than monkeys to you?”
“Jim.” Spock closes his eyes. “Bigotry is unnecessary. I apologize for assuming. The fault is mine, but it did not occur to me that - after Nyota...”
Jim eyes him warily, not liking where his thoughts are straying. “Spock,” he starts tentatively. “How many times do male Vulcans come per go?”
Spock looks thoughtful. “While five is considered a somewhat optimistic number-”
“You’re kidding me!” Jim yelps, horrified. What chance does he have to ever be able to keep up with that?
Spock’s lips twitch. Jim stares at him incredulously for a second before grabbing a pillow and smacking Spock on the head vindictively. “You are kidding me, you vicious little imp! How many times really?”
Spock plucks the pillow out of Jim’s hands, and throws it across the room. He peers at Jim, brow raised and eyes dancing. “One. In this, we appear to be - more similar than I assumed.”
“Well.” Jim exhales loudly with relief. “Thank God for small mercies.”
Spock’s expression grows serious again. “Jim, please forgive me for-”
“Hey, no harm, no foul. I’m just happy we’re on the same page.” Jim grins and reaches out to tug at Spock’s ear playfully. “‘Cause I really liked what we did last night.” He can feel he’s blushing. “Kind of a lot.”
Spock’s frame seems to relax slightly. “As did I. Perhaps-”
“Uh, not right now,” Jim says hastily, pulling himself upright. “You sort of… shocked me out of the mood. I’m going to hit the shower.”
He walks toward the bathroom, but stops, glancing back. Spock still sits where Jim left him, looking both relieved and defeated. Jim suppresses a sigh.
“Want to join me? Can’t promise you I’ll come fifteen times, but it could still be fun.”
Spock, much to Jim’s amusement, doesn’t need to be asked twice.
For syredronning
Prompt: Pike-Spock - not celebrating Christmas :)
Rating: R
It’s ironic, Chris thinks, that you have to be alone to stop feeling lonely. In the crowded halls of Starfleet Headquarters or in Academy corridors, with people swinging by constantly in colloidal motion, he often feels irrelevant and alone, like a grain of sand, with no real connection to either the familiar or the strangers.
Here, in the desert, with not a soul in dozens of square miles, the senses of calm and distinction are omnipresent. Others might cow before the blunt magnificence of nature, but Chris has always felt important here - not in the narcissist kind of way, but rather as the sole observer: a being with eyesight and a voice and a stream of thoughts that can finally be heard.
Chris walks into the kitchen, smiling softly and thinking that he’s doing what he promised he’d never do - turn into a boring, rambling man in his old age, trying to pass as a philosopher. Not that he’s that old biologically; barely crossed the equator there. But there have been three wars and a lifetime of service, night watches lasting for years, stale coffee, cheap cognac, no family, and... Spock.
There’s Spock.
Chris sets a kettle over a spirit stove and looks out the window.
Spock has left early, before Chris woke, and his shoes are still by the door, which means he’s gone wandering into the desert and will come back with slightly puffed feet, hurting physically but otherwise feeling better. He always does this whenever they come here. Chris doesn’t know if Spock is trying to reconnect with a home he’d forever lost, or if this is some kind of penance - for what crimes, Chris will never find out.
He doesn’t ask.
The kettle whistles and Chris picks it up. He brews tea in an old, slightly chapped teapot that had belonged to the previous owners of the ranch. He misses coffee, but he can live without it for three weeks.
He takes his cup out into the terrace, settling down in an old wooden chaise lounge. Soon, the sun will become too bright to be sitting here, staring into the blazing cloth of the desert, but it’s mid-morning now, so it’s okay. Chris closes his eyes and drifts with the gentle riptide of wind and the delicate scent of hibiscus.
He opens his eyes a moment or a century later to find Spock kneeling beside him, hands folded neatly over Chris’s lap, Spock’s chin resting on them as he gazes up wonderingly, as if Chris is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Chris reaches to run his fingers through the rich, heavy silk of Spock’s hair, and Spock turns his head slightly to meet the touch, his eyes smoky and dark in the blazing sunlight.
Chris doesn’t move when Spock tugs down his linen pants carefully, as if for the very first time. He doesn’t make a sound when Spock takes him - half-hard - into his mouth, curls his tongue around the head, and sucks, gentle and persistent. Chris lets his head fall further back as Spock takes more of him in, but when he reaches his limit, Chris tightens his grip on the back of Spock’s neck, holding him in place.
Spock sucks in a desperate breath through his nose, but stays perfectly still, lips wrapped tightly around Chris’s cock, as Chris rocks steadily up and down - a sweet, lazy, long-driven drag. He could go on forever like this - some days he would ride it out for as long as possible - but it’s getting too hot, and Chris doesn’t like the feeling of sweat streaming down his spine.
He presses Spock just a little further down, and Spock chokes once, twice, looking up at Chris imploringly for a split second, and that’s all it takes. Chris’s hand is unyielding through it, holding Spock firmly as Chris watches him swallow, his whole body tense with the effort.
Chris’s grip turns into a caress again as Spock licks him clean, eyes hidden beneath two dark half-circles, pointed tongue quick and efficient. Chris pulls him up then, slotting their mouths together. He likes kissing Spock like this, when he’s still breathless, still trying to regain control, adrenaline screwing with his coordination as his sense of self struggles to return.
Chris breaks the kiss at last, and Spock reaches after him instinctively - already mourning the loss, as if Chris pulling away is killing something in him.
This is why Chris has been spoiled for any other lover since the moment he met Spock. This is why he will never want anyone else.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” Chris says softly, stroking Spock’s face gently with his fingers. “There’s tea in the kitchen if you want it.”
“Thank you,” Spock murmurs, pressing his forehead against Chris’s for a moment, before rising fluidly and walking into the house.
Three weeks, Chris thinks. God knows when they’ll have another window. For now, though, they have three weeks that neither the admiralty nor Jim Kirk will dare to interrupt.
Chris hauls himself up to his feet and follows Spock inside.
For zjofierose
Prompt: ok- k/s, umm, christmas eve, and... eggnog. or something. :D
Rating: PG
At first, the idea of renting a cottage for the bridge crew and selected others for Christmas seems lame at best. Not that Jim can’t get behind it, but he doesn’t think most of his team would want to spend even more time together than they absolutely have to. They like each other and they work well together, but spending the rare shore leave seeing all the familiar faces seems a bit over the top. Jim is surprised, pleasantly so, when they all accost him at one point or other, telling him that, should he go through with it, it’ll be their first choice.
Now that the party’s over, and everyone has crawled up to their rooms for what’s left of the night, Jim can’t help but grin, tired and happy. They’re more than coworkers: they’re family. Probably the most insane one ever, but still.
He wanders into the now-quiet living room to check on the fireplace. It wouldn’t do to accidentally set the house on fire while everyone is too buzzed to move. Someone has put a new log in, and the fire licks at it now, deceivingly gentle flames sizzling softly. Surprised, Jim looks around to see Spock curled up on the sofa, a quilt thrown over his knees and a cup of eggnog in his hands.
“Hey,” Jim breathes out, smiling at the sight. “You made it. I thought you said not till tomorrow morning?”
Spock shifts slightly, staring into the fire. “I rescheduled the last meeting. I wished to be here.”
Jim’s heart clenches at the inherent vulnerability of Spock’s quiet tone, as if he isn’t entirely sure of his welcome. Spock knows better, has to by now, but gatherings like this have always been outside his comfort zone. Shaking his head slightly, Jim comes to sit next to him.
“We missed you,” Jim says softly, placing his hands on Spock’s shoulders and tugging gently. Spock resists instinctively for a moment, then relents, as if remembering that he’s allowed, and lets Jim pull him close.
“Hi,” Jim murmurs, nuzzling around the curve of Spock’s ear before placing a gentle kiss on his temple. “So glad you’re here.”
Spock lets out a low, happy grunt, relaxing further into Jim’s arms. “This eggnog contains no alcohol.”
Jim grins, his fingers rubbing circles on Spock’s back and arm absently. “You hate the taste, so I didn’t let them spike it. I never lost hope you’d actually come.”
“Illogical.” Spock sighs. “But thank you.”
Jim reaches to take the glass from Spock’s hands and sets it carefully on the coffee table. “C’mere.” He reclines on the sofa, tugging at Spock’s shirt.
“Jim.” Spock tenses and doesn’t budge. “We might fall asleep.” It’s an obvious testament to how tired he is that he openly says ‘we’ instead of taking a shot at Jim’s less advanced human stamina.
Jim shrugs. “That’s the idea.”
Spock glances over his shoulder toward the stairs. “Someone might see.”
Jim snorts quietly. “Spock, they know.”
Spock blinks, looking alarmed for a moment. “You told them?”
“No.” Jim shakes his head. “But I spent half the night explaining why you weren’t here, and I stopped telling them off for calling you my boyfriend after the fifteenth time or something. It just got old.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Plus, no one tried to corner me under the mistletoe, not even Tasha, so it’s a pretty safe bet that they know.”
Spock eyes him for a moment with a pensive expression Jim can’t quite read. He shifts awkwardly, stretching his legs. “Are you mad?”
Spock breaks his still posture as if startled. “No, Jim, of course not. It is merely - unexpected.”
“Thought we had them fooled, huh?” Jim asks with a wry smirk. “Apparently, Mr. Spock, we suck at keeping secrets.”
“Apparently,” Spock agrees, dry humor coloring his voice.
“Hey, at least it saves us the humiliation of a big announcement.”
“Apparently.”
“You do know other words, right?” Spock opens his mouth, and Jim flashes a palm up. “Don’t.”
Spock gives him an eyebrow that usually means he’s laughing at Jim and moves to lie down next to him. They spend a couple of minutes searching for a more comfortable position, finally settling down with Spock half-draped around Jim, legs tangled, arms around each other.
Jim pulls the quilt over them as best he can, his motions heavy with pleasant fatigue. Spock is a warm, reassuring weight at his side, and the only sound in the room is the enigmatic whisper of the fire and the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Jim blinks stubbornly, fighting off sleep, trying to stretch the blissful moment for as long as possible.
“Merry Christmas,” Spock mumbles suddenly through the veil of drowsiness, burying his face in Jim’s shoulder.
Jim knows the exact moment when Spock’s consciousness leaves him. It’s only then that he presses his lips to Spock’s forehead and whispers softly, “Love you, too.”