Any Way You Want It 2/2
Continued from Part 1/2
--
Spock is standing by the viewport just outside Wesley’s office when Jim exits. Stifling a sigh, Jim walks toward him.
“Congratulations,” he says quietly, reaching to touch Spock’s shoulder. “That’s one hell of a ship you’ve landed.”
Spock looks at him with a strange expression, his gaze shifting from Jim’s hand to his eyes.
“You wish for me to accept.”
“What kind of question is that?” Jim asks indignantly. He acts mildly offended, because he can’t very well say, ‘No, I want to handcuff you to my wrist and throw away the key.’ Spock already thinks Jim is an infantile selfish bastard ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. He doesn’t need to see Jim sulking instead of being happy for him right now. For once in his life, Jim is going to do the right thing.
“It’s perfect for you, Spock,” Jim says with miserable honesty. “I’m just glad they realized that I no longer need a babysitter in time to offer it to you.”
“You seem… relieved.” Spock pauses. “Was my presence so heavy a burden?”
Jim pffts. “Spock, come on - where does this even come from? I’ll miss you; you know I will. Who’s going to be raining on my parade once you’re gone, huh?” Jim grins. “Don’t know how I’m going to survive without a constant stream of critique coming from over my shoulder. But it’s life, you know. I’ll suffer, but I’ll move on.”
Okay. So it might have come out slightly more sarcastic than he’d intended, but who can blame him? He’s keeping it together as best he can, and Spock, with his intense stares and stupid questions, isn’t helping.
“Tell you what,” Jim says hastily, because another moment and he might burst into tears, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. “Let me handle those requisitions. You go pack and celebrate; it’s only fair. I’ll see you later tonight. Save me a dance or something for old times’ sake, okay?”
Jim whirls on his heel and all but jumps into the nearest turbolift. If he feels like hitting his head repeatedly against the closed doors, he doesn’t give in to the impulse.
--
The ultra-smart tactics of fooling one of their own that Jim has suggested to Spock just this morning turns out to be completely superfluous.
The supplies officer takes one look at Jim’s face, sighs, and starts working his terminal without a word. He takes a second look after a while, a better one, and offers Jim coffee and some hangover pills. Jim blinks at him, but it gives him an idea.
The station is as crowded and flamboyant as ever, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the Rabbit, or the Dragon, or something. (Jim’s never been a fan of the Lunar Calendar, so how would he know?)
Jim stumbles through the exuberant crowd, half-expecting it to go all slow-motion-with-dramatic-music on him, but it doesn’t happen. There are just a lot of really loud people, and his eyes begin to hurt from all the rampant colors gone wild.
The top deck is somewhat quieter, though no less busy, and when Jim slides through the doors of what looks like the station’s biggest restaurant, he’s suddenly submerged in a pool of soothing silence. Well, almost. There are people hanging up decorations in the hall, but Jim can live with that.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed. There’s a grand reception this evening, and-”
Jim looks at the middle-aged woman who’s polishing the glasses at the bar. Before he can say anything, her eyes scan him over from head to toe before seizing his face like a particularly grabby tractor beam.
“On the other hand,” the woman says slowly, motioning for him to come closer, “you might as well stay. I’ve never seen a man who needed a drink more in my entire life, and I’ve been a bartender for the better part of it. Come here.”
Jim doesn’t tempt his luck and slides into a barstool quickly, trying to appear as grateful as his mind, currently divorced from his emotions, will allow.
The woman stares at him quizzically. Jim forces a grin. “I have this friend named Jack?”
“That one’s friends with everybody.” She reaches for the bottle. “You guys close?”
Jim eyes her pouring the rich amber liquid into a short, tubby glass appreciatively. She doesn’t ask him about the ice - must have been telling the truth about those years of experience.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Used to be years ago. Haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
He takes the glass and swallows a large sip, and yes, Jack still likes to bite his tongue as much as Jim remembers. Dirty bastard.
“Yeah, I missed that,” Jim breathes, signaling for a refill. “Thanks -?”
“Taynam,” she says, watching him whirl the whiskey in his glass.
“I’m Jim.”
“Nice to meet you.” She studies him carefully. “So… no offense, Jim, but it’s pretty early in the day for this kind of - friendly reunion.”
Jim shrugs. “Always five o’clock somewhere.”
“Mind if I ask what brought this up?”
He peers at her curiously. “Mind if I tell you to mind your own business?”
She smiles. “Not at all. At the moment, though, my business will be to tell you to clear off the property, so-”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Jim grins halfheartedly. He looks at her closer, and his eyes narrow. “Hang on… You’re an El-Aurian! Shit.” He laughs. “So when you said ‘in my entire life,’ you probably meant, like, four hundred years or something?”
Taynam chuckles. “It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, Jim.”
“Would you mind?”
“Yes, I would. No talk, no drink.”
“Fine.” Jim sighs. “It’s no big deal, really. Just, a friend of mine, he’s - leaving. And I feel like shit because I should be happy for him, and I’m not.”
Jim doesn’t really know what makes him talk. He’s not the sharing-caring kind of guy; he’s never been one. Maybe it’s because she’s a Listener, and they’re said to possess some kind of charm over people. Or maybe it’s more prosaic than that, and it’s just the veil of practical anonymity that two absolute strangers can share over a glass of some really good whiskey, knowing they’d never see each other again.
And anyway, even if Jim wanted to spill his guts - which he doesn’t - to someone, who could he turn to? Bones would tease him to death. Pike’s too far away and not really cut out to be a couples therapist anyway. Sam left when Jim was eight years old, and birthday cards that catch him three years, two months too late don’t really count as a steady family relation.
The closest Jim has ever come to speaking of anything so personal with was Spock, and he is so not the person Jim wants to talk to right now. He doesn’t trust himself enough to do that.
Besides, Listener or no, Taynam is a damn good listener.
He tells her random things. He tells her how Spock used to shadow him for the first three or so months of their mission, making sure Jim learned the ropes without killing anyone or embarrassing himself too much. Jim didn’t understand his intentions at the time, and was mostly pissed as hell, but they worked it out eventually. (A Jiu-Jitsu match might have been involved.)
He tells her how Spock mistranslated a ceremonial phrase during a first contact mission and had inadvertently agreed to marry the chieftain’s daughter. The ‘clarification’ of the misunderstanding had earned him a spear in the chest. Uhura had yelled at him in the transporter room, and McCoy hadn’t let him live it down for about a year.
He tells her about the Enterprise’s first chess tournament, and how Spock had won every game except the one against Jim, and how shocked he’d looked when Jim beat him. They played a lot, just the two of them, ever since. Spock only lost one in four games or so, but every time he would look at Jim with something like endless wonder. Once, after Jim had defeated him yet again, Spock looked at him with his almost-smile and told him that Jim was his best remedy against over-confidence.
He tells her how Vulcans aren’t really affected by alcohol, and how they used this when they needed to gain an upper hand during negotiations. Spock was a goldmine like this - except when they had to deal with Cardassians. After two glasses of kanar, Spock had literally lost it, and, for a horrifying moment, Jim thought he’d have to fight their way out of there. But the Cardassians were more amused than angry, and even offered to take care of Spock - who, to Jim’s utter annoyance, didn’t protest too much. Which was absolutely not the way Jim would have preferred to be clued in on Spock having the same basic desires as everybody else.
Jim ended up being the one explaining to the Cardassians that Spock was in a goddamned committed relationship and then hauled his ass back to the ship. Spock turned out to be an affectionate and funny drunk, and Jim had never laughed so much in his entire life (literally in stitches), but Uhura was not impressed. The next morning, they found out that Spock didn’t remember much of the night before and he was so honestly and completely freaked about it that even Bones didn’t have the heart to laugh at him. Which, Jim explains to Taynam, is a really big deal.
Jim tells her how Spock had yelled in his cold, Vulcan manner at the admiral who gave Jim an order that landed him on a Tholian prison ship, and then - after Spock led a successful rescue - he had yelled at Jim for following that order. It was pretty unique, for Spock, and even Pike was impressed that Jim had managed to corrupt him so completely.
Jim tells her a dozen other things. How Spock likes blueberry muffins and quotes fucking Dante; how Spock knows all the words to Eleanor Rigby, but has no idea what a Harley-Davidson is; how Spock was the one who killed the plant that Sulu gave Jim for his birthday; how Spock acts like nothing can affect him, but Jim knows - just knows - how everything does.
Jim’s talking and Taynam is smiling, until suddenly he stops midword and stares at her in horror.
“Shit.”
She chuckles. “You were bound to figure it out eventually.”
“Oh my God, no.” Jim clutches his glass, panicking. “Please no. This can’t be happening.”
“Darling, it’s already happened.” She pats his cheek sympathetically. “I know it’s hard to be so slow, but at least you have your looks.”
“No,” Jim groans. “I’m not. I can’t be.” He stares at her. “Am I?”
She grins and recaps the bottle. “You don’t really need me to answer that.”
Jim groans louder. “I’m so screwed.”
“Yes.” Taynam studies him pensively. “One thing, though. You know what they say about setting them free?”
Why does he even know what she’s talking about? It’s a curse, really.
“Yeah?”
“It’s not the same as kicking them out.”
It’s a mystery, Jim thinks, that there are still some Klingons and Romulans intimidated by Captain Kirk and his mighty starship. Apparently, the worst kept secret in the universe is that his life is officially a number twelve on the top-five list of the corniest chick flicks.
--
The Enterprise is dark and silent, which isn’t a surprise - though it is a relief. Jim jogs along the empty corridors, happy that there are no more newly transferred ensigns to spook. He spots a white paper lantern hanging above the entrance to a Jeffries tube and curses under his breath.
Not bothering with a chime, he rushes into Spock’s quarters, a half-formed explanation on the tip of his tongue.
Spock’s quarters are empty.
They aren’t just devoid of Spock himself - all of his possessions, too. There’s no shovel-shaped thing that Spock insists is a dangerous weapon hanging on the wall. There is no hand lotion that Spock keeps on his desk for Nyota. There are no clothes in the wardrobe, and nope - Jim checks - no toiletries in the bathroom.
The room is pristine, clean, and silent.
Vacated.
“Fuck,” Jim curses. “Oh fuck, no you don’t.”
He walks out, the pounding of his heart on par with the sledgehammer having a party in his head. He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and how dumb can anyone be to drink whiskey on an empty stomach? He really is losing it.
Med Bay, of course, is fully powered, because McCoy is paranoid and thinks that Jim can come down with excessive heart failure during a children’s matinee - “It’s not paranoia if it’s true, Jim!” - which is sort of fair, but not the point.
Jim is surprised, though, to see that Bones himself is there, rummaging through his cabinets, like a bear coming out of hibernation. The grumpiness sure fits.
“Hey, Bones,” Jim calls, trying to grin and wincing instead.
Bones stares at him for five seconds before reaching for a hypospray, which is just eerie. Either he’s psychic or he has had surgery to switch his eyes for medical scanners; Jim has no other explanation. Simply knowing him for six years wouldn’t do that to a person, would it?
“Be gentle, I’m a virgin,” Jim says, eyeing the nearing hypo warily.
“Just for that,” McCoy snaps, and jams the hypo into Jim’s neck with no tenderness whatsoever.
“Ow!” Jim yelps. “You’re a menace!”
“And you’re starting early. What the hell, Jim?”
“You know, I’d love to stay and chat, your company being charming and all, but I need to find Spock, stat. Have you seen him?”
McCoy stares at him, and Jim curses the medicine for choosing that particular moment to kick in. He wouldn’t mind a bit of a buzz while dealing with this.
“Have I seen him?” McCoy drawls menacingly. “Have I seen him?”
“Is there an echo here or what?”
“Yes, I have seen him. He was here two hours ago asking for his medical records to be sealed and ready for a goddamn transfer. What the hell, Jim?”
“Look, I know, it doesn’t look good, but there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding-”
“I’ll say. He told me that ‘despite harboring certain misconceptions,’ I’m a ‘gifted physician,’ and then he shook my hand, Jim!”
Jim winces harder. “Fuck.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Look, it’s bad, I know. I’ll find him and fix this, promise.”
“You’d better. He’s freaking me out.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jim turns to go, but pauses. “Hey Bones, did you - um, did you know I had a - a thing? For Spock?”
Bones glares at him, his lips curling into a sneer that spells the mother of sarcasm, bitchy edition.
“Did I know you had a thing? Did I know you had a ‘thing,’ Jim?”
“Well, did you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jim. Between ‘Where’s Spock?’ being your usual hello, and all the freaking eye sex in my Med Bay - which is just gross, by the way - and the goddamn innuendos you’re throwing at him fifty times a day hoping to provoke him - how could I possibly have gotten any idea that you had a ‘thing’ for the damned hobgoblin?”
“Shit.” Jim presses a hand to his forehead. “Look, I know I’m an idiot-”
“YOU THINK?”
“Bones - fine, hold your horses! I need to get him to listen to me - how do I do that? If I screw this up, I just - I don’t know how I’m going to - just, everything. You know?”
“Well, first of all, thanks for asking for my advice, because you know how much I love it when you talk to me about your goddamn sex life. Second of all, learn to speak something other than Moron, and maybe you’ll even be comprehensible. And third” - Bones stares at him heavily - “how about YOU DON’T SCREW THIS UP?”
“Sheesh, wow, okay!” Jim steps back so fast he slams into a bulkhead. “Brilliant pep talk, Bones; really, you’re a rockstar.”
“Sure, I’m freakin’ Bob Dylan. Now get the hell out of here and go get your princess. Though, from what I’ve just seen, I’m not sure there’re any balls involved in this relationship at all.”
“We could always come to you if that turns out to be a problem.”
“Do that and die,” Bones tells him kindly. “Now get!”
Jim makes himself scarce with record speed. He’ll never admit it unless physically persuaded, but Bones is the scariest son of a bitch Jim has ever met.
He thinks about Spock’s possible reaction to Jim’s new bunch of revelations and hopes to God that he won’t have to change his mind.
--
Four hours later, Jim’s grip on himself, tenuous as it has been already, is all but gone.
Spock, damn him and his Vulcan efficiency, is nowhere to be found.
Wesley said that Spock would probably receive his orders within twenty-four hours, so Jim doesn’t start to panic as soon as he discovers that Spock has left the ship. However, after turning the whole station inside out without producing so much as a peek of Spock’s tail, metaphorically speaking, Jim is okay with calling it panic.
He’s harassing Starbase Ops for information on any ship that might have left during the eight life-changing hours that have passed since he has seen Spock last, when Wesley tracks him down.
“Jim, what are you doing here?” The commodore blinks in surprise. “There’s a party upstairs and it’s booming. Even Commander Spock said he was impressed.”
Jim stops short and stares. “Spock is - at the party?”
Wesley looks at him hesitantly. “Yeah. At least, he was there half an hour ago. Is there a problem?”
“Not if I can help it!” Jim shouts over his shoulder, already on the run.
The first thing that greets him as the doors of the restaurant slide open is a huge, life-size monster that has a guy or a dozen inside its glimmering kaleidoscopic skin. Jim freezes for a moment, trying to assimilate the giant chaps with large paper teeth that seem to be mirroring Jim’s every motion as the onlookers laugh their asses off.
“Lion dancers!” somebody shouts.
“Better run!”
Jim pushes his way past the purple and blue mess that somehow symbolizes a lion and looks around the huge room. His heart sinks, because it looks like there are at least a thousand people here - eating, drinking, dancing, exchanging red envelopes, and shooting golden strings at each other.
Jim has no idea how he’s supposed to find Spock in this crowd. The deeper he moves into the hall, the more he begins to feel as if the room is swinging around him in a chaotic dance of colors and lights. Jim all but stumbles over a wishing well, where dozens of coins are glistening at the bottom - and where have all those people even gotten those? For an insane moment, Jim is severely tempted to throw in a coin of his own and ask for goddamn directions.
Apparently, though, wishing is enough, because that’s when he finally sees Spock, standing casually by a huge window with a steaming cup in his hand. Somehow, Jim suspects it isn’t tea.
Relief floods over him, and Jim takes a moment to draw in a calming breath, eyes glued to Spock. It occurs to him that, in view of his recent revelations, Spock should seem different to him now. The most beautiful creature in the galaxy or some shit like that.
But the more he looks, the more he sees Spock - just Spock. The same Spock who bitches at him about the delayed paperwork; the same Spock who kicks his ass in the gym and dares to look smug about it; the same Spock who sat with him once through the night when Jim thought he was dying and couldn’t handle it alone and couldn’t ask anybody, and Spock stayed without being asked.
Spock chooses that moment to turn around, and Jim finally realizes that there is something different about him, after all.
Spock isn’t in uniform, which looks a little weird. But, although Jim will admit that the simple grey shirt Spock is wearing with some dark grey slacks suits him immensely, Jim’s breath doesn’t hitch, and he doesn’t suddenly discover that Spock is a sex god.
It’s not really a discovery if you’ve known it all along.
Jim doesn’t exactly do nervous, so he wipes his hands on his pants and walks toward Spock like a man on a mission. Spock looks up in time to see him, and of course it has to be now - this once-in-a-blue-moon time - when Jim can’t read him.
“Spock,” Jim manages, nodding. “I was looking all over for you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Spock lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and reaches out casually to steal a piece of chocolate-covered quince off the nearest table.
“I was invited,” Spock says quietly, while Jim is being dumbstruck with the surreal image of Spock touching food with his hands.
“By whom?”
Spock looks away. “By a person who has apparently forgotten our appointment.”
Oh fuck.
Jim shuts his eyes and wants to die here and now.
“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I was just - it’s just - you left the Enterprise.”
“I cannot fathom how this can possibly come as a surprise. You have let me know, clearly, that I have overstayed my welcome.”
“Please.” Jim’s hand wraps around Spock’s arm. Spock flinches and glares at Jim pointedly, but Jim only tightens his grip. “Can we talk? I really need to tell you something.”
Spock stares at him, and Jim really has no idea what he’s seeing. He feels beat, and spent, and on edge, and this still isn’t over, and he feels like he might explode if it doesn’t happen soon.
Behind his back, firecrackers take off and people start screaming their lungs out in delight. Jim wants to shoot them.
Spock twists his arm out of Jim’s grip with offensive ease and drops over his shoulder, “Follow me.”
Which is how Jim finds himself two decks up, in a cramped, barely-lit room filled with weird-looking equipment. It’s the technical ‘roof’ of the station, and most people aren’t supposed to know about it, never mind have access to it - but, of course, Spock isn’t most people.
Spock is looking at him expectantly, and Jim swallows.
“You’re not in uniform,” he says, because it’s such a vital thing to take notice of.
“I am no longer a member of Starfleet.”
Of all the things Jim could have opened with... Wait, what? “What?”
“Or, I will cease to be one, once the office hours start tomorrow and I log in my resignation. I am returning to New Vulcan.”
“But why?”
“My new assignment holds no appeal to me, and I have been asked to step down from my previous position.”
“Spock, about that...” Jim rubs his forehead. This is excruciating. For a moment, he feels incredibly exasperated with Spock, but almost instantly regrets it. Sure, Spock could probably act less like a drama queen, but Jim is the one who sent him there. It’s his mess to clean up.
He takes a deep breath. “I never really wanted to see you go.”
“You gave every indication that you did.”
“Yeah, I know, and it was a dick move. It’s just that - they gave you a ship. Who the hell says no to a ship?” Jim sighs. “Look. I’ve always known you wouldn’t be hanging out with me forever. You were my ticking bomb, okay? I knew you’d leave sooner or later when you found something better.”
Jim runs a hand through his hair roughly in frustration. “When Mom left, when Sam left - I couldn’t do anything about it. I thought - hell, I have no idea what I thought. That I could control it this way, probably.” He looks at Spock glumly. “That it wouldn’t be like you left me if I told you to go first.”
Spock stares at him with a confused expression, obviously waiting for some kind of sensible explanation to arrive. Jim almost feels sorry for him.
“That makes even less sense than your usual brand of what you call ‘reasoning,’” Spock says bluntly.
“Guess you’ve never been dumped on your ass, then,” Jim snaps. “It makes perfect sense.”
“We are discussing our professional relationship. Could you not pretend to be serious for one minute, at the least?”
“I was giving you an easy way out, okay?” Jim hisses, voice rising. “They gave you a ship - a fucking ship, Spock! I know you think I’m a dick, but did you really think I would stand between you and something like this? I want you to have anything you want! I want you to be happy!”
“Why?”
Jim wouldn’t have stopped his next words even if he could have. “Because I’m in love with you, you pointy-eared asshole - for a while! That serious enough for you yet?”
Spock is silent long enough for the echo to die out between the bulkheads.
“Spock?”
“Forgive me.” Spock purses his lips, tone dry. “Your words have been so - evocative - and considerate - that I believe I am experiencing the sensation of being ‘swept off my feet.’ The power of speech should return to me… momentarily.”
“Asshole,” Jim mutters again with conviction, pressing the backs of his palms against his eyes and rubbing vigorously. “You wanna laugh at me, or say something of value?”
“Indeed, there is a dire need for the latter.” Spock steps closer. “James Kirk, you are, without a doubt, the most self-centered, self-absorbed, short-sighted, arrogant, and conceited individual I have ever met.”
Jim blinks. “Okay. Kind of - not what I was hoping for, but okay.” He frowns. “Hey, half those words mean the same thing. Did you swallow a thesaurus when you were a little kid or something?”
Spock ignores him. “Why do you assume that your dream is everybody else’s dream? I have never desired command, Jim.”
“It’s not just ‘a command,’ it’s a starship. Who wouldn’t want a starship?”
“I would not. I do not know how to convince you of my sincerity.”
“Spock, you fought me for command so hard - you kicked me off the ship.”
“Because I believed that you were a dangerous, mentally unstable individual who would be the death of us all. Because I did not think I had a choice.” Spock frowns. “I can assume command when need be, Jim, but I prefer my position as it is. When I am in command, I can no longer be myself.”
“Why the hell not? First, I’ve seen you in command, and you’re awesome. And second, I’m in command all the time, and I’m still me.”
“Because you are a naturally born leader, Jim,” Spock bites out impatiently. “And I can be one should the need arise. There is a difference.”
…Huh.
Jim stares at Spock, assimilating this, and it’s not a surprise that Spock is right, because suddenly Jim gets it. There really is a difference. He’s never thought about it that way.
“Do you know why I came back to Starfleet after Nero?” Spock asks, quieter.
Jim shakes his head.
“It was because of you.”
That is... “What?”
“You, Jim. You were irritating enough to try even a Vulcan’s patience, and you were intriguing, and when we fought Nero, there were certain moments when you made me more than I was. Than I thought I was, perhaps. I wished to explore that. I wished to explore - us.”
Below them, loud cheers erupt, and Jim takes a guess that the fireworks have probably started.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay. That was definitely mushier than what I said to you before. I feel so much better now.”
Spock looks like he wants to roll his eyes so badly it hurts his face. “You are insufferable.”
“And speaking of what I told you before... You know, when I was yelling?” Jim clears his throat. “Um… any comments?”
Spock glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I am a Vulcan, Jim. We are not in the habit of discussing our emotions.”
Jim scowls. “What, you get a free pass or something? That is so racist I don’t even - wait, did you say emotions? As in you have some for me?”
Spock’s lips curl. “You are always rushing to make a joke, and sometimes it distracts you from noticing-”
“Spock.”
“Jim,” Spock parries defiantly, and he has the gall to look smug. “If, by this point, you do not know how I feel about you, then you hardly deserve to be called a genius.”
Jim can feel his face flushing like a stupid, lit-up Christmas tree. “See, this is cheating,” he says petulantly. “Like royal one.”
There goes the damn eyebrow again. “If that is so, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Jim growls in frustration. “You are the most unbearably superior bastard that I have ever-”
And Spock’s lips are pressed against his own, muffling the rest of the sentence.
“I find ‘name calling’ illogical,” Spock murmurs, and Jim doesn’t have the time to shout ‘Double standards, hello’ because the next thing he knows, he is being thoroughly kissed by someone who means it.
Never let it be said that James T. Kirk goes down without a fight - except, right now he does just that so fast it’s embarrassing. He opens up to Spock, wanting more of the same, wanting everything, here and now, immediately, but Spock - that bastard - keeps it curious more than urgent, all sensual slide of lips and tantalizing sweeps of tongue.
Fucking tease.
Jim decides to bring it up a notch and drops his hands to Spock’s hips, pulling Spock flush against himself. Spock makes a very interesting noise of approval, and Jim finally gets what he wants, which, really, was inevitable. Spock kisses him deep and almost as hard as Jim wants him to, though not quite there yet - but they can work on that.
Spock is the kind of guy who needs some prime provocation to get in gear, but once he does, he’s ruthless and so fucking thorough, and there’s really no stopping him. It’s just lucky that he has Jim to push him around - never breaking, just shattering a little.
Jim moans, one hair away from making the kiss dirty, as his mind conveniently supplies him with images of Spock being pushed one step too far. Jim is so going to love wrecking him. He can bet serious money that Spock wears ‘fucked out’ really well.
Which, ouch. Yes please.
By the time Spock lets him breathe, Jim is dizzy and disoriented and damn grateful for the warm, solid presence holding him up. He wraps his arms around Spock’s waist and holds him, and it’s so damn nice - nice - and just so. Easy.
It’s awesome.
“We should have done this ages ago.” Jim sighs, light-headed with relief and possibly hunger.
“We are actually moving ahead of schedule.” Spock nuzzles Jim’s hair. “You still owe me dinner.”
Jim laughs at that, resting his forehead against Spock’s shoulder for a moment. He pulls back to look into Spock’s eyes.
“You’re damn high maintenance, you know that?”
Spock seems to ponder this. “I believe I am worth it.”
Jim laughs again, even as he leans to plant a soft kiss in the corner of Spock’s mouth. “You are,” he says, stepping back, Spock’s hand lying confidently in his.
“Okay then. Let’s steal as much food as we can lay our hands on and beam back to the Enterprise. I don’t feel like sharing tonight with a bunch of ancient civilizations.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Do you ever do anything in a traditional way?”
Jim grins. “Now where’s the fun in that? Seriously, Spock, if you were looking for someone to make an honest man out of you, you picked the wrong guy.”
He turns to go, but Spock uses his hold to stop him.
“No, Jim,” he says, voice soft and way too low. “I didn’t.”
Spock seriously needs to stop saying shit like that - only, Jim knows he won’t. And, thanks to that, this doesn’t feel like a cheesy rom-com anymore, but rather like those multi-volume tomes of classic lit, where everything is so fucking serious and forever, and it scares the hell out of Jim - most of all because he knows it’s too late to care.
Jim smiles as the New Year Dragon explodes just outside the viewport, and decides he might as well keep calm and carry on.
--
Four hours later, Jim is rapidly drifting toward sleep and Spock is already more than halfway there, stretched on the bed beside him.
Jim thinks they’re disgusting and possibly insane because they didn’t even have sex. Instead, they ate weird Chinese delicacies and talked for hours about everything and nothing, the same way they had a hundred times before. Only this time, there was also kissing, and possibly, at some point, cuddling, and Jim used Spock’s lap as a pillow, and when Jim laughed, Spock laid a hand on his chest to feel it.
It’s all so lame and horribly domestic, and Jim just can’t be bothered.
He snuggles closer to Spock, who’s lying on his side with his back to Jim, and rests his hand on Spock’s arm, grinning and kissing his shoulder. (He likes Spock’s scent. Sue him.)
Spock shifts just enough to take hold of Jim’s arm and wrap it around himself.
Voice rough and slurring, Spock mutters, “Sleep, Jim.”
Jim grins, closing his eyes.
For someone who doesn’t want to be in command, Spock sure as hell loves to give orders.
--
Spock is standing by the viewport just outside Wesley’s office when Jim exits. Stifling a sigh, Jim walks toward him.
“Congratulations,” he says quietly, reaching to touch Spock’s shoulder. “That’s one hell of a ship you’ve landed.”
Spock looks at him with a strange expression, his gaze shifting from Jim’s hand to his eyes.
“You wish for me to accept.”
“What kind of question is that?” Jim asks indignantly. He acts mildly offended, because he can’t very well say, ‘No, I want to handcuff you to my wrist and throw away the key.’ Spock already thinks Jim is an infantile selfish bastard ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. He doesn’t need to see Jim sulking instead of being happy for him right now. For once in his life, Jim is going to do the right thing.
“It’s perfect for you, Spock,” Jim says with miserable honesty. “I’m just glad they realized that I no longer need a babysitter in time to offer it to you.”
“You seem… relieved.” Spock pauses. “Was my presence so heavy a burden?”
Jim pffts. “Spock, come on - where does this even come from? I’ll miss you; you know I will. Who’s going to be raining on my parade once you’re gone, huh?” Jim grins. “Don’t know how I’m going to survive without a constant stream of critique coming from over my shoulder. But it’s life, you know. I’ll suffer, but I’ll move on.”
Okay. So it might have come out slightly more sarcastic than he’d intended, but who can blame him? He’s keeping it together as best he can, and Spock, with his intense stares and stupid questions, isn’t helping.
“Tell you what,” Jim says hastily, because another moment and he might burst into tears, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. “Let me handle those requisitions. You go pack and celebrate; it’s only fair. I’ll see you later tonight. Save me a dance or something for old times’ sake, okay?”
Jim whirls on his heel and all but jumps into the nearest turbolift. If he feels like hitting his head repeatedly against the closed doors, he doesn’t give in to the impulse.
--
The ultra-smart tactics of fooling one of their own that Jim has suggested to Spock just this morning turns out to be completely superfluous.
The supplies officer takes one look at Jim’s face, sighs, and starts working his terminal without a word. He takes a second look after a while, a better one, and offers Jim coffee and some hangover pills. Jim blinks at him, but it gives him an idea.
The station is as crowded and flamboyant as ever, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the Rabbit, or the Dragon, or something. (Jim’s never been a fan of the Lunar Calendar, so how would he know?)
Jim stumbles through the exuberant crowd, half-expecting it to go all slow-motion-with-dramatic-music on him, but it doesn’t happen. There are just a lot of really loud people, and his eyes begin to hurt from all the rampant colors gone wild.
The top deck is somewhat quieter, though no less busy, and when Jim slides through the doors of what looks like the station’s biggest restaurant, he’s suddenly submerged in a pool of soothing silence. Well, almost. There are people hanging up decorations in the hall, but Jim can live with that.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed. There’s a grand reception this evening, and-”
Jim looks at the middle-aged woman who’s polishing the glasses at the bar. Before he can say anything, her eyes scan him over from head to toe before seizing his face like a particularly grabby tractor beam.
“On the other hand,” the woman says slowly, motioning for him to come closer, “you might as well stay. I’ve never seen a man who needed a drink more in my entire life, and I’ve been a bartender for the better part of it. Come here.”
Jim doesn’t tempt his luck and slides into a barstool quickly, trying to appear as grateful as his mind, currently divorced from his emotions, will allow.
The woman stares at him quizzically. Jim forces a grin. “I have this friend named Jack?”
“That one’s friends with everybody.” She reaches for the bottle. “You guys close?”
Jim eyes her pouring the rich amber liquid into a short, tubby glass appreciatively. She doesn’t ask him about the ice - must have been telling the truth about those years of experience.
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Used to be years ago. Haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
He takes the glass and swallows a large sip, and yes, Jack still likes to bite his tongue as much as Jim remembers. Dirty bastard.
“Yeah, I missed that,” Jim breathes, signaling for a refill. “Thanks -?”
“Taynam,” she says, watching him whirl the whiskey in his glass.
“I’m Jim.”
“Nice to meet you.” She studies him carefully. “So… no offense, Jim, but it’s pretty early in the day for this kind of - friendly reunion.”
Jim shrugs. “Always five o’clock somewhere.”
“Mind if I ask what brought this up?”
He peers at her curiously. “Mind if I tell you to mind your own business?”
She smiles. “Not at all. At the moment, though, my business will be to tell you to clear off the property, so-”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Jim grins halfheartedly. He looks at her closer, and his eyes narrow. “Hang on… You’re an El-Aurian! Shit.” He laughs. “So when you said ‘in my entire life,’ you probably meant, like, four hundred years or something?”
Taynam chuckles. “It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, Jim.”
“Would you mind?”
“Yes, I would. No talk, no drink.”
“Fine.” Jim sighs. “It’s no big deal, really. Just, a friend of mine, he’s - leaving. And I feel like shit because I should be happy for him, and I’m not.”
Jim doesn’t really know what makes him talk. He’s not the sharing-caring kind of guy; he’s never been one. Maybe it’s because she’s a Listener, and they’re said to possess some kind of charm over people. Or maybe it’s more prosaic than that, and it’s just the veil of practical anonymity that two absolute strangers can share over a glass of some really good whiskey, knowing they’d never see each other again.
And anyway, even if Jim wanted to spill his guts - which he doesn’t - to someone, who could he turn to? Bones would tease him to death. Pike’s too far away and not really cut out to be a couples therapist anyway. Sam left when Jim was eight years old, and birthday cards that catch him three years, two months too late don’t really count as a steady family relation.
The closest Jim has ever come to speaking of anything so personal with was Spock, and he is so not the person Jim wants to talk to right now. He doesn’t trust himself enough to do that.
Besides, Listener or no, Taynam is a damn good listener.
He tells her random things. He tells her how Spock used to shadow him for the first three or so months of their mission, making sure Jim learned the ropes without killing anyone or embarrassing himself too much. Jim didn’t understand his intentions at the time, and was mostly pissed as hell, but they worked it out eventually. (A Jiu-Jitsu match might have been involved.)
He tells her how Spock mistranslated a ceremonial phrase during a first contact mission and had inadvertently agreed to marry the chieftain’s daughter. The ‘clarification’ of the misunderstanding had earned him a spear in the chest. Uhura had yelled at him in the transporter room, and McCoy hadn’t let him live it down for about a year.
He tells her about the Enterprise’s first chess tournament, and how Spock had won every game except the one against Jim, and how shocked he’d looked when Jim beat him. They played a lot, just the two of them, ever since. Spock only lost one in four games or so, but every time he would look at Jim with something like endless wonder. Once, after Jim had defeated him yet again, Spock looked at him with his almost-smile and told him that Jim was his best remedy against over-confidence.
He tells her how Vulcans aren’t really affected by alcohol, and how they used this when they needed to gain an upper hand during negotiations. Spock was a goldmine like this - except when they had to deal with Cardassians. After two glasses of kanar, Spock had literally lost it, and, for a horrifying moment, Jim thought he’d have to fight their way out of there. But the Cardassians were more amused than angry, and even offered to take care of Spock - who, to Jim’s utter annoyance, didn’t protest too much. Which was absolutely not the way Jim would have preferred to be clued in on Spock having the same basic desires as everybody else.
Jim ended up being the one explaining to the Cardassians that Spock was in a goddamned committed relationship and then hauled his ass back to the ship. Spock turned out to be an affectionate and funny drunk, and Jim had never laughed so much in his entire life (literally in stitches), but Uhura was not impressed. The next morning, they found out that Spock didn’t remember much of the night before and he was so honestly and completely freaked about it that even Bones didn’t have the heart to laugh at him. Which, Jim explains to Taynam, is a really big deal.
Jim tells her how Spock had yelled in his cold, Vulcan manner at the admiral who gave Jim an order that landed him on a Tholian prison ship, and then - after Spock led a successful rescue - he had yelled at Jim for following that order. It was pretty unique, for Spock, and even Pike was impressed that Jim had managed to corrupt him so completely.
Jim tells her a dozen other things. How Spock likes blueberry muffins and quotes fucking Dante; how Spock knows all the words to Eleanor Rigby, but has no idea what a Harley-Davidson is; how Spock was the one who killed the plant that Sulu gave Jim for his birthday; how Spock acts like nothing can affect him, but Jim knows - just knows - how everything does.
Jim’s talking and Taynam is smiling, until suddenly he stops midword and stares at her in horror.
“Shit.”
She chuckles. “You were bound to figure it out eventually.”
“Oh my God, no.” Jim clutches his glass, panicking. “Please no. This can’t be happening.”
“Darling, it’s already happened.” She pats his cheek sympathetically. “I know it’s hard to be so slow, but at least you have your looks.”
“No,” Jim groans. “I’m not. I can’t be.” He stares at her. “Am I?”
She grins and recaps the bottle. “You don’t really need me to answer that.”
Jim groans louder. “I’m so screwed.”
“Yes.” Taynam studies him pensively. “One thing, though. You know what they say about setting them free?”
Why does he even know what she’s talking about? It’s a curse, really.
“Yeah?”
“It’s not the same as kicking them out.”
It’s a mystery, Jim thinks, that there are still some Klingons and Romulans intimidated by Captain Kirk and his mighty starship. Apparently, the worst kept secret in the universe is that his life is officially a number twelve on the top-five list of the corniest chick flicks.
--
The Enterprise is dark and silent, which isn’t a surprise - though it is a relief. Jim jogs along the empty corridors, happy that there are no more newly transferred ensigns to spook. He spots a white paper lantern hanging above the entrance to a Jeffries tube and curses under his breath.
Not bothering with a chime, he rushes into Spock’s quarters, a half-formed explanation on the tip of his tongue.
Spock’s quarters are empty.
They aren’t just devoid of Spock himself - all of his possessions, too. There’s no shovel-shaped thing that Spock insists is a dangerous weapon hanging on the wall. There is no hand lotion that Spock keeps on his desk for Nyota. There are no clothes in the wardrobe, and nope - Jim checks - no toiletries in the bathroom.
The room is pristine, clean, and silent.
Vacated.
“Fuck,” Jim curses. “Oh fuck, no you don’t.”
He walks out, the pounding of his heart on par with the sledgehammer having a party in his head. He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and how dumb can anyone be to drink whiskey on an empty stomach? He really is losing it.
Med Bay, of course, is fully powered, because McCoy is paranoid and thinks that Jim can come down with excessive heart failure during a children’s matinee - “It’s not paranoia if it’s true, Jim!” - which is sort of fair, but not the point.
Jim is surprised, though, to see that Bones himself is there, rummaging through his cabinets, like a bear coming out of hibernation. The grumpiness sure fits.
“Hey, Bones,” Jim calls, trying to grin and wincing instead.
Bones stares at him for five seconds before reaching for a hypospray, which is just eerie. Either he’s psychic or he has had surgery to switch his eyes for medical scanners; Jim has no other explanation. Simply knowing him for six years wouldn’t do that to a person, would it?
“Be gentle, I’m a virgin,” Jim says, eyeing the nearing hypo warily.
“Just for that,” McCoy snaps, and jams the hypo into Jim’s neck with no tenderness whatsoever.
“Ow!” Jim yelps. “You’re a menace!”
“And you’re starting early. What the hell, Jim?”
“You know, I’d love to stay and chat, your company being charming and all, but I need to find Spock, stat. Have you seen him?”
McCoy stares at him, and Jim curses the medicine for choosing that particular moment to kick in. He wouldn’t mind a bit of a buzz while dealing with this.
“Have I seen him?” McCoy drawls menacingly. “Have I seen him?”
“Is there an echo here or what?”
“Yes, I have seen him. He was here two hours ago asking for his medical records to be sealed and ready for a goddamn transfer. What the hell, Jim?”
“Look, I know, it doesn’t look good, but there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding-”
“I’ll say. He told me that ‘despite harboring certain misconceptions,’ I’m a ‘gifted physician,’ and then he shook my hand, Jim!”
Jim winces harder. “Fuck.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Look, it’s bad, I know. I’ll find him and fix this, promise.”
“You’d better. He’s freaking me out.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jim turns to go, but pauses. “Hey Bones, did you - um, did you know I had a - a thing? For Spock?”
Bones glares at him, his lips curling into a sneer that spells the mother of sarcasm, bitchy edition.
“Did I know you had a thing? Did I know you had a ‘thing,’ Jim?”
“Well, did you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jim. Between ‘Where’s Spock?’ being your usual hello, and all the freaking eye sex in my Med Bay - which is just gross, by the way - and the goddamn innuendos you’re throwing at him fifty times a day hoping to provoke him - how could I possibly have gotten any idea that you had a ‘thing’ for the damned hobgoblin?”
“Shit.” Jim presses a hand to his forehead. “Look, I know I’m an idiot-”
“YOU THINK?”
“Bones - fine, hold your horses! I need to get him to listen to me - how do I do that? If I screw this up, I just - I don’t know how I’m going to - just, everything. You know?”
“Well, first of all, thanks for asking for my advice, because you know how much I love it when you talk to me about your goddamn sex life. Second of all, learn to speak something other than Moron, and maybe you’ll even be comprehensible. And third” - Bones stares at him heavily - “how about YOU DON’T SCREW THIS UP?”
“Sheesh, wow, okay!” Jim steps back so fast he slams into a bulkhead. “Brilliant pep talk, Bones; really, you’re a rockstar.”
“Sure, I’m freakin’ Bob Dylan. Now get the hell out of here and go get your princess. Though, from what I’ve just seen, I’m not sure there’re any balls involved in this relationship at all.”
“We could always come to you if that turns out to be a problem.”
“Do that and die,” Bones tells him kindly. “Now get!”
Jim makes himself scarce with record speed. He’ll never admit it unless physically persuaded, but Bones is the scariest son of a bitch Jim has ever met.
He thinks about Spock’s possible reaction to Jim’s new bunch of revelations and hopes to God that he won’t have to change his mind.
--
Four hours later, Jim’s grip on himself, tenuous as it has been already, is all but gone.
Spock, damn him and his Vulcan efficiency, is nowhere to be found.
Wesley said that Spock would probably receive his orders within twenty-four hours, so Jim doesn’t start to panic as soon as he discovers that Spock has left the ship. However, after turning the whole station inside out without producing so much as a peek of Spock’s tail, metaphorically speaking, Jim is okay with calling it panic.
He’s harassing Starbase Ops for information on any ship that might have left during the eight life-changing hours that have passed since he has seen Spock last, when Wesley tracks him down.
“Jim, what are you doing here?” The commodore blinks in surprise. “There’s a party upstairs and it’s booming. Even Commander Spock said he was impressed.”
Jim stops short and stares. “Spock is - at the party?”
Wesley looks at him hesitantly. “Yeah. At least, he was there half an hour ago. Is there a problem?”
“Not if I can help it!” Jim shouts over his shoulder, already on the run.
The first thing that greets him as the doors of the restaurant slide open is a huge, life-size monster that has a guy or a dozen inside its glimmering kaleidoscopic skin. Jim freezes for a moment, trying to assimilate the giant chaps with large paper teeth that seem to be mirroring Jim’s every motion as the onlookers laugh their asses off.
“Lion dancers!” somebody shouts.
“Better run!”
Jim pushes his way past the purple and blue mess that somehow symbolizes a lion and looks around the huge room. His heart sinks, because it looks like there are at least a thousand people here - eating, drinking, dancing, exchanging red envelopes, and shooting golden strings at each other.
Jim has no idea how he’s supposed to find Spock in this crowd. The deeper he moves into the hall, the more he begins to feel as if the room is swinging around him in a chaotic dance of colors and lights. Jim all but stumbles over a wishing well, where dozens of coins are glistening at the bottom - and where have all those people even gotten those? For an insane moment, Jim is severely tempted to throw in a coin of his own and ask for goddamn directions.
Apparently, though, wishing is enough, because that’s when he finally sees Spock, standing casually by a huge window with a steaming cup in his hand. Somehow, Jim suspects it isn’t tea.
Relief floods over him, and Jim takes a moment to draw in a calming breath, eyes glued to Spock. It occurs to him that, in view of his recent revelations, Spock should seem different to him now. The most beautiful creature in the galaxy or some shit like that.
But the more he looks, the more he sees Spock - just Spock. The same Spock who bitches at him about the delayed paperwork; the same Spock who kicks his ass in the gym and dares to look smug about it; the same Spock who sat with him once through the night when Jim thought he was dying and couldn’t handle it alone and couldn’t ask anybody, and Spock stayed without being asked.
Spock chooses that moment to turn around, and Jim finally realizes that there is something different about him, after all.
Spock isn’t in uniform, which looks a little weird. But, although Jim will admit that the simple grey shirt Spock is wearing with some dark grey slacks suits him immensely, Jim’s breath doesn’t hitch, and he doesn’t suddenly discover that Spock is a sex god.
It’s not really a discovery if you’ve known it all along.
Jim doesn’t exactly do nervous, so he wipes his hands on his pants and walks toward Spock like a man on a mission. Spock looks up in time to see him, and of course it has to be now - this once-in-a-blue-moon time - when Jim can’t read him.
“Spock,” Jim manages, nodding. “I was looking all over for you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Spock lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and reaches out casually to steal a piece of chocolate-covered quince off the nearest table.
“I was invited,” Spock says quietly, while Jim is being dumbstruck with the surreal image of Spock touching food with his hands.
“By whom?”
Spock looks away. “By a person who has apparently forgotten our appointment.”
Oh fuck.
Jim shuts his eyes and wants to die here and now.
“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I was just - it’s just - you left the Enterprise.”
“I cannot fathom how this can possibly come as a surprise. You have let me know, clearly, that I have overstayed my welcome.”
“Please.” Jim’s hand wraps around Spock’s arm. Spock flinches and glares at Jim pointedly, but Jim only tightens his grip. “Can we talk? I really need to tell you something.”
Spock stares at him, and Jim really has no idea what he’s seeing. He feels beat, and spent, and on edge, and this still isn’t over, and he feels like he might explode if it doesn’t happen soon.
Behind his back, firecrackers take off and people start screaming their lungs out in delight. Jim wants to shoot them.
Spock twists his arm out of Jim’s grip with offensive ease and drops over his shoulder, “Follow me.”
Which is how Jim finds himself two decks up, in a cramped, barely-lit room filled with weird-looking equipment. It’s the technical ‘roof’ of the station, and most people aren’t supposed to know about it, never mind have access to it - but, of course, Spock isn’t most people.
Spock is looking at him expectantly, and Jim swallows.
“You’re not in uniform,” he says, because it’s such a vital thing to take notice of.
“I am no longer a member of Starfleet.”
Of all the things Jim could have opened with... Wait, what? “What?”
“Or, I will cease to be one, once the office hours start tomorrow and I log in my resignation. I am returning to New Vulcan.”
“But why?”
“My new assignment holds no appeal to me, and I have been asked to step down from my previous position.”
“Spock, about that...” Jim rubs his forehead. This is excruciating. For a moment, he feels incredibly exasperated with Spock, but almost instantly regrets it. Sure, Spock could probably act less like a drama queen, but Jim is the one who sent him there. It’s his mess to clean up.
He takes a deep breath. “I never really wanted to see you go.”
“You gave every indication that you did.”
“Yeah, I know, and it was a dick move. It’s just that - they gave you a ship. Who the hell says no to a ship?” Jim sighs. “Look. I’ve always known you wouldn’t be hanging out with me forever. You were my ticking bomb, okay? I knew you’d leave sooner or later when you found something better.”
Jim runs a hand through his hair roughly in frustration. “When Mom left, when Sam left - I couldn’t do anything about it. I thought - hell, I have no idea what I thought. That I could control it this way, probably.” He looks at Spock glumly. “That it wouldn’t be like you left me if I told you to go first.”
Spock stares at him with a confused expression, obviously waiting for some kind of sensible explanation to arrive. Jim almost feels sorry for him.
“That makes even less sense than your usual brand of what you call ‘reasoning,’” Spock says bluntly.
“Guess you’ve never been dumped on your ass, then,” Jim snaps. “It makes perfect sense.”
“We are discussing our professional relationship. Could you not pretend to be serious for one minute, at the least?”
“I was giving you an easy way out, okay?” Jim hisses, voice rising. “They gave you a ship - a fucking ship, Spock! I know you think I’m a dick, but did you really think I would stand between you and something like this? I want you to have anything you want! I want you to be happy!”
“Why?”
Jim wouldn’t have stopped his next words even if he could have. “Because I’m in love with you, you pointy-eared asshole - for a while! That serious enough for you yet?”
Spock is silent long enough for the echo to die out between the bulkheads.
“Spock?”
“Forgive me.” Spock purses his lips, tone dry. “Your words have been so - evocative - and considerate - that I believe I am experiencing the sensation of being ‘swept off my feet.’ The power of speech should return to me… momentarily.”
“Asshole,” Jim mutters again with conviction, pressing the backs of his palms against his eyes and rubbing vigorously. “You wanna laugh at me, or say something of value?”
“Indeed, there is a dire need for the latter.” Spock steps closer. “James Kirk, you are, without a doubt, the most self-centered, self-absorbed, short-sighted, arrogant, and conceited individual I have ever met.”
Jim blinks. “Okay. Kind of - not what I was hoping for, but okay.” He frowns. “Hey, half those words mean the same thing. Did you swallow a thesaurus when you were a little kid or something?”
Spock ignores him. “Why do you assume that your dream is everybody else’s dream? I have never desired command, Jim.”
“It’s not just ‘a command,’ it’s a starship. Who wouldn’t want a starship?”
“I would not. I do not know how to convince you of my sincerity.”
“Spock, you fought me for command so hard - you kicked me off the ship.”
“Because I believed that you were a dangerous, mentally unstable individual who would be the death of us all. Because I did not think I had a choice.” Spock frowns. “I can assume command when need be, Jim, but I prefer my position as it is. When I am in command, I can no longer be myself.”
“Why the hell not? First, I’ve seen you in command, and you’re awesome. And second, I’m in command all the time, and I’m still me.”
“Because you are a naturally born leader, Jim,” Spock bites out impatiently. “And I can be one should the need arise. There is a difference.”
…Huh.
Jim stares at Spock, assimilating this, and it’s not a surprise that Spock is right, because suddenly Jim gets it. There really is a difference. He’s never thought about it that way.
“Do you know why I came back to Starfleet after Nero?” Spock asks, quieter.
Jim shakes his head.
“It was because of you.”
That is... “What?”
“You, Jim. You were irritating enough to try even a Vulcan’s patience, and you were intriguing, and when we fought Nero, there were certain moments when you made me more than I was. Than I thought I was, perhaps. I wished to explore that. I wished to explore - us.”
Below them, loud cheers erupt, and Jim takes a guess that the fireworks have probably started.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay. That was definitely mushier than what I said to you before. I feel so much better now.”
Spock looks like he wants to roll his eyes so badly it hurts his face. “You are insufferable.”
“And speaking of what I told you before... You know, when I was yelling?” Jim clears his throat. “Um… any comments?”
Spock glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I am a Vulcan, Jim. We are not in the habit of discussing our emotions.”
Jim scowls. “What, you get a free pass or something? That is so racist I don’t even - wait, did you say emotions? As in you have some for me?”
Spock’s lips curl. “You are always rushing to make a joke, and sometimes it distracts you from noticing-”
“Spock.”
“Jim,” Spock parries defiantly, and he has the gall to look smug. “If, by this point, you do not know how I feel about you, then you hardly deserve to be called a genius.”
Jim can feel his face flushing like a stupid, lit-up Christmas tree. “See, this is cheating,” he says petulantly. “Like royal one.”
There goes the damn eyebrow again. “If that is so, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Jim growls in frustration. “You are the most unbearably superior bastard that I have ever-”
And Spock’s lips are pressed against his own, muffling the rest of the sentence.
“I find ‘name calling’ illogical,” Spock murmurs, and Jim doesn’t have the time to shout ‘Double standards, hello’ because the next thing he knows, he is being thoroughly kissed by someone who means it.
Never let it be said that James T. Kirk goes down without a fight - except, right now he does just that so fast it’s embarrassing. He opens up to Spock, wanting more of the same, wanting everything, here and now, immediately, but Spock - that bastard - keeps it curious more than urgent, all sensual slide of lips and tantalizing sweeps of tongue.
Fucking tease.
Jim decides to bring it up a notch and drops his hands to Spock’s hips, pulling Spock flush against himself. Spock makes a very interesting noise of approval, and Jim finally gets what he wants, which, really, was inevitable. Spock kisses him deep and almost as hard as Jim wants him to, though not quite there yet - but they can work on that.
Spock is the kind of guy who needs some prime provocation to get in gear, but once he does, he’s ruthless and so fucking thorough, and there’s really no stopping him. It’s just lucky that he has Jim to push him around - never breaking, just shattering a little.
Jim moans, one hair away from making the kiss dirty, as his mind conveniently supplies him with images of Spock being pushed one step too far. Jim is so going to love wrecking him. He can bet serious money that Spock wears ‘fucked out’ really well.
Which, ouch. Yes please.
By the time Spock lets him breathe, Jim is dizzy and disoriented and damn grateful for the warm, solid presence holding him up. He wraps his arms around Spock’s waist and holds him, and it’s so damn nice - nice - and just so. Easy.
It’s awesome.
“We should have done this ages ago.” Jim sighs, light-headed with relief and possibly hunger.
“We are actually moving ahead of schedule.” Spock nuzzles Jim’s hair. “You still owe me dinner.”
Jim laughs at that, resting his forehead against Spock’s shoulder for a moment. He pulls back to look into Spock’s eyes.
“You’re damn high maintenance, you know that?”
Spock seems to ponder this. “I believe I am worth it.”
Jim laughs again, even as he leans to plant a soft kiss in the corner of Spock’s mouth. “You are,” he says, stepping back, Spock’s hand lying confidently in his.
“Okay then. Let’s steal as much food as we can lay our hands on and beam back to the Enterprise. I don’t feel like sharing tonight with a bunch of ancient civilizations.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Do you ever do anything in a traditional way?”
Jim grins. “Now where’s the fun in that? Seriously, Spock, if you were looking for someone to make an honest man out of you, you picked the wrong guy.”
He turns to go, but Spock uses his hold to stop him.
“No, Jim,” he says, voice soft and way too low. “I didn’t.”
Spock seriously needs to stop saying shit like that - only, Jim knows he won’t. And, thanks to that, this doesn’t feel like a cheesy rom-com anymore, but rather like those multi-volume tomes of classic lit, where everything is so fucking serious and forever, and it scares the hell out of Jim - most of all because he knows it’s too late to care.
Jim smiles as the New Year Dragon explodes just outside the viewport, and decides he might as well keep calm and carry on.
--
Four hours later, Jim is rapidly drifting toward sleep and Spock is already more than halfway there, stretched on the bed beside him.
Jim thinks they’re disgusting and possibly insane because they didn’t even have sex. Instead, they ate weird Chinese delicacies and talked for hours about everything and nothing, the same way they had a hundred times before. Only this time, there was also kissing, and possibly, at some point, cuddling, and Jim used Spock’s lap as a pillow, and when Jim laughed, Spock laid a hand on his chest to feel it.
It’s all so lame and horribly domestic, and Jim just can’t be bothered.
He snuggles closer to Spock, who’s lying on his side with his back to Jim, and rests his hand on Spock’s arm, grinning and kissing his shoulder. (He likes Spock’s scent. Sue him.)
Spock shifts just enough to take hold of Jim’s arm and wrap it around himself.
Voice rough and slurring, Spock mutters, “Sleep, Jim.”
Jim grins, closing his eyes.
For someone who doesn’t want to be in command, Spock sure as hell loves to give orders.