Saudade | STXI | NC-17 | 4/9
4.
The carnival was about girls in daisy-dukes, and boys in cowboy hats sneaking smokes behind candy-cane striped tents. It was about parents leading their tykes around - all of whom had some sort of sweets or ice cream to spill over their grubby little hands. It was about that indefinable, but undeniably cheerful music jangling on a manic loop, and balloons in the shape of poodle and giraffes, and a zoo of other animals in the form of face-painting and stuffed prizes.
Even as a kid, Jim revelled in the chaos of the carnival. His mother would fuss and fret over losing him - Don’t you dare let go of my hand, Jimmy! - but in the end he always made his daring escape.
She’d find him later; either puking up too many candy apples in the grass, or starting fights with kids too big for him or sneaking on rides when he didn’t have tickets. Either way, she always found him - but that never mattered. It was the escape that was such a blast.
Right now, Jim was of a mind that Spock needed to have a good time. Could Vulcans even have a blast? Okay, anything within the range of, ‘I did not wish to stick my face in the funnel cake deep fryer’ and ‘this has been an adequate encounter’ would suit Jim well enough.
Not that he cared, or anything - Spock could think whatever the hell he wanted. Jim didn’t need some Vulcan to tell him how awesome he was to hang around. That was old news.
Anyway, they did end up having kind of a blast. To start off with, at least.
They didn’t see any clowns, which was lucky. And although Spock seemed nervous at first - flinching at every other noise - he eventually loosened up and allowed Jim to tug him on rides, and coerce him to the game stalls. Turned out Spock had one hell of an aim - he rocked the phaser games and put Jim to shame when it came to the tribble toss.
Jim was content to laugh and chat to Spock, even if the only reply he got most of the time was a creative use of eyebrows. That was just fine with him - he enjoyed talking to someone who listened, anyway. And Spock didn’t seem like he was going to head for the hills screaming any time soon, so Jim could only assume he was having a good time, too.
Then Spock got lost.
For fucks sake, how did a grown person even get lost in the first place? Okay, yeah - this was a foreign setting to Spock, but Jim did say he was only going to take a piss and he’d be right back. They were meant to meet at the banana stand, and that’s where Jim had left Spock. He sure as hell wasn’t there now.
Awesome. Go on a date with an alien - lose him after he’s been on the planet for three whole days.
“Spock!” Jim pitched his voice above the majority of the crowd. He ignored any dirty looks tossed his way, as he wandered aimlessly through the throng.
“Spock, if you can hear me, say something! Like, ‘I’m here’, or ‘affirmative’.” Jim paused for a split second, not giving Spock any time to reply. “We’ll play the Penis Game. Yell, ‘penis’!”
Of course Spock wasn’t going to yell ‘penis’ if his life depended on it, but a guy could try. Lucky for Jim, it was at that moment that he heard a child pass with his mother:
“-funny eyebrows, Mommy-”
The kid was clutching the string of a cherry red balloon.
Jim made a dash for the balloon stand, and - sure enough, Spock was pressed against the garishly painted side. His hands were fisted, cheeks pallid, eyes drilling holes into nothing.
“Spock?” Jim darted to Spock’s side. He grazed a hand down Spock’s arm and raked his gaze over that immobile face. “Hey - Spock. What’s the matter? Come on, spill it.”
Spock literally wheezed and stared directly over Jim’s head. His voice was distant and strangled. “The crowd -”
“Okay, yeah well, crowds can be a kinda crazy sometimes,” Jim said quickly. “For kids, though. You’re not a kid, not even close. I mean, no one’s bothering you now, are they? You’re cool. It’ll be fine, all right?”
Fuck - Jim really had no idea what the hell to say under these circumstances. It wasn’t like he’d ever been scared of crowds or anything. Not even when he was a kid. He definitely couldn’t relate. But this was Spock - and Jim was, like, the only person he knew on the planet. So, he had to try.
Jim kept a hand firmly cuffed around Spock’s forearm. The flannel against his palm was hot, like clothes straight from the dryer, and he could feel the tension bunched in Spock’s triceps. Spock’s breathing was sharp and audible beside him, despite the swirling plume of laughter and conversation that spun around them.
A quick look to Spock illuminated fuck-all. He didn’t show outward signs of upset. In fact, he appeared almost deathly calm - robotic, even.
Ah, crap.
A young girl burst into wailing fury at being denied a funnel cake, and Spock’s eye twitched.
Jim was not a fan of retreating as a general rule - but right now, that seemed like the wisest option. They had to distance themselves from the commotion of the crow. It was unlikely Spock had ever been tossed in such a menagerie of ruckus and emotion.
Well, Spock probably should have said something about his disdain for large groups of people before he’d decided to tag along.
And I thought Vulcans were geniuses.
“Come on,” Jim said brusquely. For a moment, Spock remained an immovable weight - his back solidly pressed into the wood of the stall. “We need to leave,” Jim stressed.
After what seemed like forever, Spock finally seemed to unearth the will to move. Jim immediately began to tug Spock through the flurry of the crowd.
It took a minute to reach Jim’s intended destination. They were too far into the park to get out before Spock’s hard-drive shut down, so Jim had another plan. If you couldn’t move out, you moved up.
Jim manoeuvred Spock in front of him, and up a couple of wobbly metal stairs. They stood at the base of a brightly lit Ferris wheel. “Get on.”
“What are we -”
“Just shut up and get on.” Jim gave the small of Spock’s back a light, insistent push. So he wasn’t the best at comforting people - but he was getting the job done, wasn’t he?
Spock shot a terse look over his shoulder - but complied, as he settled himself stiffly onto the bench. Jim followed, flopped back in the seat without grace, and held up his arms loosely; allowing the carnie to lock the bar snugly over their laps.
Jim angled a considering look towards Spock. His fingers were clenched with white-knuckled ferocity on the iron bar before them. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared blankly ahead with glassy eyes.
“Hey. I’m right here,” Jim said. He considered holding Spock’s hand, but the guy was strung so tightly, he just might flip out and nerve-pinch him or something.
Fuck - the day Jim became afraid of someone pinching him was a pathetic day on James Kirk’s calendar. Welcome back to kindergarten - only this time, the kid you pick on can take you out with a delicate squeeze of thumb and forefinger.
Spock replied without inflection. “I am aware of your presence.”
The Ferris wheel jerked. It began to whir as they were swept up and back a few meagre feet. The wheel stopped once more as the carriage before them was refilled with new passengers.
Jim released a deep breath. “Do you know what we’re on?”
Spock waited the entirety of another carriage filling before he spoke softly. He peered down at his straining knuckles. “No.”
“You’ll probably think this ride is illogical. Hell, it sorta is. All you do is go ‘round and ‘round, real slow.” Jim swung his legs jovially, and the bench rocked and squawked, betraying its age. “It’s a Ferris wheel. If you’ve ever seen famous holos of London, you’ve probably seen a real massive one along the river Thames. This is just a dinky one, but I like it - always have.”
Jim shrugged an arm behind Spock - not quite resting upon his shoulders, but pressing softly against his shoulder blades. He nattered on casually, hoping to illicit a shift in Spock’s flagpole-up-the-ass posture.
Bit by bit, they were swept further towards the apex of the wheel. Voices became muted and fogged, and the bright lights faded to the equivalent of the stars. The air was sweet and cool, and didn’t reek of hot dogs and sweat and cotton candy. The world below became veiled, and the bleeding colours of the setting sun embraced them.
“Once the wheel fills up, we’ll start moving in earnest. This is the boring part - the waiting.” Jim’s thumb idly stroked the soft flannel of Spock’s bony shoulder.
Jim noted - not for the first time - that Spock was all angles. Jutting hip, yards of gangly leg, slashing cheekbones and eyebrows, militant movements - everything was sharp, but for two things.
Eyes and lips. Curves and unexpected warmth - and emotion.
“This was my favourite ride when I was a kid. Sure, I liked the spinning ones and the falling ones, and the shooting games and shit. But the feeling you get on this - it’s like -” The ride jolted to life, and the wheel began its lethargic circulations. “I dunno - getting away.”
Jim ventured a glance toward Spock. His countenance was less impending doom and more properly expressionless Vulcan.
Spock blinked languidly, as if slipping from a dream. He did not meet Jim’s eyes, but looked to the far-away fields that bruised purple and black with incoming evening. “What are you escaping?”
“I don’t escape anything,” Jim defended too sharply. “There’s a difference. ‘Getting away’ is more like a reprieve. Escape is defeatist.”
Spock didn’t reply immediately, and that was a large enough lag to irritate Jim of this conversation. “So, were you planning on telling me any time soon that you hate crowds? Because that would have been really useful information, say, an hour ago.”
“I apologise,” Spock said austerely. “I was previously unaware of my level of receptiveness to considerable groups of Humans.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
Finally Spock spared Jim a glance, but his eyes were too dark to mirror anything but the night. “Even without physical contact, Vulcans remain prone to the emotions of others. With years of discipline we can learn to shield ourselves from the constant onslaught.” Spock swallowed, his jaw working tightly, as he clearly fought to expel the next words. “I had assumed my time spent in Souix City would be the most challenging, and had fortified myself accordingly. But here, with the crowd experiencing such united emotions -”
“Ah - it’s okay. Really.” Apparently there was a delicate line between relaxing Spock through sarcasm and humour, and plain riling him up. “I just wanted to come here because I thought it’d be fun - not to send you into panic mode.”
Spock appeared blatantly affronted as he met Jim’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “I was not panicked. Vulcans do not panic.”
“Yeah.” Jim raised his brows with a knowing look. “Sure.”
Heedless once more to Spock’s comfort zone, Jim wiggled further near him; their hips pressed warmly together. Jim’s thumb confidently swept a stripe from the back of Spock’s ear, down to the meeting of collar to skin. “Anyway, I know the perfect way to relax. Works every time - unless you’re a eunuch or something.”
With that absolutely inappropriate segue, Jim tilted his chin and invaded Spock’s personal bubble - enough to inhale Spock’s exhale.
Spock sounded as if he’d just been presented with a particularly confounding physics problem. He cocked his head and peered down at Jim. “What are you attempting?”
Attempt nothing. Jim was painfully curious - okay, and kind of horny - and he never gave up on something once his mind was set. “I’m trying to kiss you, if you’d hold still.”
Spock’s wide, fathomless gaze descended to Jim’s lips for a breath, as a single brow flicked. “Why?”
Jim shrugged. “Because it’s fun and it feels good. Why not?”
“Why not what?”
Jim went nearly nose-to-nose with Spock, as he tried his hand at batting his eyelashes. “We gonna kiss or not?”
Spock appeared dubious. “By what means?”
A dramatically weighted sigh flung from Jim’s lips. Seriously?
Jim couldn’t recall a time in his recent past that he wasn’t kissing some lucky guy or gal - or, you know, he’d tried his hand at a couple of aliens, too. But that hadn’t been as great as he’d expected - apparently tentacles just weren’t his thing.
Jim didn’t quite grasp why he assumed it would be different with Spock. Hell, in all likelihood it would be a disaster to kiss a stone-cold Vulcan.
Then again, Jim had an affinity for disasters - beautiful to watch, exciting to be swept up in - oh, and the carnage that was left behind.
And anyway, being nestled beside Spock right now - with Jim’s fingers skimming the hot, silky nape of Spock’s neck - that was as far-reached from cold as humping the equator.
“Um, by French means, hopefully,” Jim said.
“I was not aware that you were French.”
Jim rolled his eyes. He angled himself awkwardly behind the bar to lean in further, as his tongue dabbed a corner of his lips.
“I’m not. It’s the style of kissing - but I mean, if you’re scared, we can start on a remedial level.”
That hooked Spock. Apparently he loathed being below-par just as much as Jim. Possibly more, what with the shitty Vulcan restraints and expectations Spock was likely put under.
Spock clenched his jaw. “I do not wish to begin on any level. I was merely curious. I did not, at any point in our conversation, concede to exchanging Human affection with you.”
Oh, he sure as hell had. Despite the rigor to his spine, Spock was essentially sinking into Jim’s personal space. Jim would have had to be blind not to notice.
“Regardless,” Spock murmured, catching Jim by surprise. “That is not how we kiss on Vulcan -French, or otherwise.”
Jim marvelled at his own hoarse whisper. “Show me.”
Spock’s voice was barely audible. “Why?”
His proclamation leapt forward without hesitation. “I want to know everything. I want to feel it all.”
Spock seemed to consider that for a moment. “Illogical.”
“Show me,” Jim said intently. “Hurry, before the ride ends.”
“I think you are already aware of how to perform the act.”
Jim frowned. His mind fizzled as he grew further impatient. “I don’t. Fucking show me - kiss me!”
Time did not slow. The world did not stop turning on its axis when Spock reached for Jim’s hand.
But Jim did feel like his senses had been thrust beneath a magnifying glass.
Spock guided Jim’s fingers apart patiently; their palms facing each other’s between them. Spock’s slender hand hesitated, before the pads of his fingertips pressed whisper-soft against Jim’s.
Fuck, and Spock’s hand was hot. The drag of his soft palm across the calloused terrain of Jim’s flesh was like being stroked by a supernova.
It was over too quickly for Jim’s liking. Spock’s hand slipped away, his fingertips trailing embers down Jim’s wrist before they dispersed.
Wow.
Wow? When the fuck had he started saying ‘wow’? When had his vocabulary been reduced to grade-school exclamations?
This was fucking bullshit.
That was more like it.
“That was...” Jim swallowed and raked his gaze over Spock’s placid face. “I mean, I knew Vulcan’s didn’t touch - hence the whole ‘rock-out’ hand symbol and all - but I didn’t know why.”
“Indeed. We are touch telepaths and, consequently, our hands are imperative towards the skill. I was unaware of your ignorance regarding the subject.” Spock was cool as a cucumber, apparently - bastard.
Jim snorted. “I’m hardly ignorant.” He paused and cocked his head. “So, does that mean I stole a kiss before I’d even known I’d done it?”
Spock visibly hesitated.
Jim’s lips parted in a soft ‘oh’ of realisation. Then he jumped on the open invitation, ignorant of the pain his healing lip radiated as he smiled. “You! You stole a kiss from me. You could have just as easily not helped me up. Oh, Vulcans are sneaky as fuck, aren’t they?” Jim winked lewdly. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
Spock appeared unable to retaliate for a time, and Jim was over the moon that he’d finally caught Spock off-guard.
Spock collected his wits without fanfare. “It would have been considered rude to deny a helping hand on this planet. Humans are overly-sensitive creatures and take offense to the most illogical of actions.”
“Likely story,” Jim quipped good-naturedly. “So...” He skimmed his thumb across Spock’s knuckles, his eyes sparkling at the hushed intake of breath. “Was I any good - you know, the first time around?”
Spock did not move is hand, nor did he reciprocate Jim’s advances. “I have no previous experience to base an educated conclusion.”
Virgin! Virgin kisser. God, something about that felt so deliciously dirty. Spock - this guy who was frighteningly intimidating and good-looking and older than Jim - hadn’t slid those soft, competent hands over anyone else’s.
Hadn’t touched those sinfully curved lips to anyone’s, either.
Jim was sure his eyes bugged out of his head for a moment, before he quickly regrouped. “Well, my hypothesis is that I’m a fantastic kisser. But the only way to prove such a theory would be through a, uh... number, of trials. Don’t you think?”
“That is... logical.” Spock admitted, his cheeks darkening. “For a Human.”
“But first -” Jim firmly cupped the back of Spock’s neck, and captured his mouth in one sloppy, searing kiss.
In that very moment, the Ferris wheel began its descent. Jim’s heart leapt into his throat as they dipped lightly back to Earth.
A quick nip on that succulently-serious bottom lip sealed the deal.
Jim released his hold on Spock. He grinned as they came to a jarring halt, and the metal bar was lifted from their laps. “And that is how we kiss.”
Jim hopped off the bench and turned with his hand outstretched towards Spock. His smile was genuine and bright as carousel lights.
“Welcome to Earth, Spock.”*
They laid upon a steep hill together, with their heads pillowed upon cool, prickly grass. The chatter of dozens of couples filtered pleasantly through the air. Groups of teenagers from Jim’s school - whom he happily ignored - surrounded the pair; as did parents with their children, and couples on blankets beneath the stars.
Jim was comfortable with his own silence. Awaiting the fireworks display, his shoulder a whisper away from Spock’s - their pinkies barely kissing between them - it was nice. Better than nice, but Jim could hardly think while he felt like he was falling without a parachute - and the end was a long way down.
Some might have been frightened by the emotion, but Jim found it... exhilarating.
When the first firework shattered the sky in a spray of azure glitter and flame, Jim whooped with glee. He looked up at the sky with unadulterated joy - this never got old. Some things never would.
Yet even with a cacophony of colour and sound thundering above their heads, Jim found it too easy to turn away from the spectacle and study the Vulcan beside him.
Spock’s eyes were wide in the wake of relaxation and astonishment. His mouth remained still and soft, his brows immobile, but his intent gaze upon the sky was like a megaphone.
Jim found himself smiling, simply because Spock was smiling too - in his own way.
Fuchsia and lime spangled and sparked across the strong plains of Spock’s profile, bathing him in colour, as it highlighted the guileless wonder painted across his features. Spock truly was alien to Jim. He was perplexing in his stoicism and logic, foreign in his unexpected innocence, and disarming in his sudden bouts of wisdom.
And Spock was, without a doubt, a really awesome dude.
Jim wanted to have him.
As if sensing Jim’s pointed attention, Spock lolled his head to unwaveringly meet his gaze. Silver and gold speckled the heavens like starlight aflame, but neither was watching the show anymore.
Jim curled his pinkie firmly around Spock’s unnaturally long one. Spock replied in kind.
A familiar, rich intonation flooded Jim’s senses - though he could swear he hadn’t seen the Vulcan’s lips move. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 5
The carnival was about girls in daisy-dukes, and boys in cowboy hats sneaking smokes behind candy-cane striped tents. It was about parents leading their tykes around - all of whom had some sort of sweets or ice cream to spill over their grubby little hands. It was about that indefinable, but undeniably cheerful music jangling on a manic loop, and balloons in the shape of poodle and giraffes, and a zoo of other animals in the form of face-painting and stuffed prizes.
Even as a kid, Jim revelled in the chaos of the carnival. His mother would fuss and fret over losing him - Don’t you dare let go of my hand, Jimmy! - but in the end he always made his daring escape.
She’d find him later; either puking up too many candy apples in the grass, or starting fights with kids too big for him or sneaking on rides when he didn’t have tickets. Either way, she always found him - but that never mattered. It was the escape that was such a blast.
Right now, Jim was of a mind that Spock needed to have a good time. Could Vulcans even have a blast? Okay, anything within the range of, ‘I did not wish to stick my face in the funnel cake deep fryer’ and ‘this has been an adequate encounter’ would suit Jim well enough.
Not that he cared, or anything - Spock could think whatever the hell he wanted. Jim didn’t need some Vulcan to tell him how awesome he was to hang around. That was old news.
Anyway, they did end up having kind of a blast. To start off with, at least.
They didn’t see any clowns, which was lucky. And although Spock seemed nervous at first - flinching at every other noise - he eventually loosened up and allowed Jim to tug him on rides, and coerce him to the game stalls. Turned out Spock had one hell of an aim - he rocked the phaser games and put Jim to shame when it came to the tribble toss.
Jim was content to laugh and chat to Spock, even if the only reply he got most of the time was a creative use of eyebrows. That was just fine with him - he enjoyed talking to someone who listened, anyway. And Spock didn’t seem like he was going to head for the hills screaming any time soon, so Jim could only assume he was having a good time, too.
Then Spock got lost.
For fucks sake, how did a grown person even get lost in the first place? Okay, yeah - this was a foreign setting to Spock, but Jim did say he was only going to take a piss and he’d be right back. They were meant to meet at the banana stand, and that’s where Jim had left Spock. He sure as hell wasn’t there now.
Awesome. Go on a date with an alien - lose him after he’s been on the planet for three whole days.
“Spock!” Jim pitched his voice above the majority of the crowd. He ignored any dirty looks tossed his way, as he wandered aimlessly through the throng.
“Spock, if you can hear me, say something! Like, ‘I’m here’, or ‘affirmative’.” Jim paused for a split second, not giving Spock any time to reply. “We’ll play the Penis Game. Yell, ‘penis’!”
Of course Spock wasn’t going to yell ‘penis’ if his life depended on it, but a guy could try. Lucky for Jim, it was at that moment that he heard a child pass with his mother:
“-funny eyebrows, Mommy-”
The kid was clutching the string of a cherry red balloon.
Jim made a dash for the balloon stand, and - sure enough, Spock was pressed against the garishly painted side. His hands were fisted, cheeks pallid, eyes drilling holes into nothing.
“Spock?” Jim darted to Spock’s side. He grazed a hand down Spock’s arm and raked his gaze over that immobile face. “Hey - Spock. What’s the matter? Come on, spill it.”
Spock literally wheezed and stared directly over Jim’s head. His voice was distant and strangled. “The crowd -”
“Okay, yeah well, crowds can be a kinda crazy sometimes,” Jim said quickly. “For kids, though. You’re not a kid, not even close. I mean, no one’s bothering you now, are they? You’re cool. It’ll be fine, all right?”
Fuck - Jim really had no idea what the hell to say under these circumstances. It wasn’t like he’d ever been scared of crowds or anything. Not even when he was a kid. He definitely couldn’t relate. But this was Spock - and Jim was, like, the only person he knew on the planet. So, he had to try.
Jim kept a hand firmly cuffed around Spock’s forearm. The flannel against his palm was hot, like clothes straight from the dryer, and he could feel the tension bunched in Spock’s triceps. Spock’s breathing was sharp and audible beside him, despite the swirling plume of laughter and conversation that spun around them.
A quick look to Spock illuminated fuck-all. He didn’t show outward signs of upset. In fact, he appeared almost deathly calm - robotic, even.
Ah, crap.
A young girl burst into wailing fury at being denied a funnel cake, and Spock’s eye twitched.
Jim was not a fan of retreating as a general rule - but right now, that seemed like the wisest option. They had to distance themselves from the commotion of the crow. It was unlikely Spock had ever been tossed in such a menagerie of ruckus and emotion.
Well, Spock probably should have said something about his disdain for large groups of people before he’d decided to tag along.
And I thought Vulcans were geniuses.
“Come on,” Jim said brusquely. For a moment, Spock remained an immovable weight - his back solidly pressed into the wood of the stall. “We need to leave,” Jim stressed.
After what seemed like forever, Spock finally seemed to unearth the will to move. Jim immediately began to tug Spock through the flurry of the crowd.
It took a minute to reach Jim’s intended destination. They were too far into the park to get out before Spock’s hard-drive shut down, so Jim had another plan. If you couldn’t move out, you moved up.
Jim manoeuvred Spock in front of him, and up a couple of wobbly metal stairs. They stood at the base of a brightly lit Ferris wheel. “Get on.”
“What are we -”
“Just shut up and get on.” Jim gave the small of Spock’s back a light, insistent push. So he wasn’t the best at comforting people - but he was getting the job done, wasn’t he?
Spock shot a terse look over his shoulder - but complied, as he settled himself stiffly onto the bench. Jim followed, flopped back in the seat without grace, and held up his arms loosely; allowing the carnie to lock the bar snugly over their laps.
Jim angled a considering look towards Spock. His fingers were clenched with white-knuckled ferocity on the iron bar before them. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared blankly ahead with glassy eyes.
“Hey. I’m right here,” Jim said. He considered holding Spock’s hand, but the guy was strung so tightly, he just might flip out and nerve-pinch him or something.
Fuck - the day Jim became afraid of someone pinching him was a pathetic day on James Kirk’s calendar. Welcome back to kindergarten - only this time, the kid you pick on can take you out with a delicate squeeze of thumb and forefinger.
Spock replied without inflection. “I am aware of your presence.”
The Ferris wheel jerked. It began to whir as they were swept up and back a few meagre feet. The wheel stopped once more as the carriage before them was refilled with new passengers.
Jim released a deep breath. “Do you know what we’re on?”
Spock waited the entirety of another carriage filling before he spoke softly. He peered down at his straining knuckles. “No.”
“You’ll probably think this ride is illogical. Hell, it sorta is. All you do is go ‘round and ‘round, real slow.” Jim swung his legs jovially, and the bench rocked and squawked, betraying its age. “It’s a Ferris wheel. If you’ve ever seen famous holos of London, you’ve probably seen a real massive one along the river Thames. This is just a dinky one, but I like it - always have.”
Jim shrugged an arm behind Spock - not quite resting upon his shoulders, but pressing softly against his shoulder blades. He nattered on casually, hoping to illicit a shift in Spock’s flagpole-up-the-ass posture.
Bit by bit, they were swept further towards the apex of the wheel. Voices became muted and fogged, and the bright lights faded to the equivalent of the stars. The air was sweet and cool, and didn’t reek of hot dogs and sweat and cotton candy. The world below became veiled, and the bleeding colours of the setting sun embraced them.
“Once the wheel fills up, we’ll start moving in earnest. This is the boring part - the waiting.” Jim’s thumb idly stroked the soft flannel of Spock’s bony shoulder.
Jim noted - not for the first time - that Spock was all angles. Jutting hip, yards of gangly leg, slashing cheekbones and eyebrows, militant movements - everything was sharp, but for two things.
Eyes and lips. Curves and unexpected warmth - and emotion.
“This was my favourite ride when I was a kid. Sure, I liked the spinning ones and the falling ones, and the shooting games and shit. But the feeling you get on this - it’s like -” The ride jolted to life, and the wheel began its lethargic circulations. “I dunno - getting away.”
Jim ventured a glance toward Spock. His countenance was less impending doom and more properly expressionless Vulcan.
Spock blinked languidly, as if slipping from a dream. He did not meet Jim’s eyes, but looked to the far-away fields that bruised purple and black with incoming evening. “What are you escaping?”
“I don’t escape anything,” Jim defended too sharply. “There’s a difference. ‘Getting away’ is more like a reprieve. Escape is defeatist.”
Spock didn’t reply immediately, and that was a large enough lag to irritate Jim of this conversation. “So, were you planning on telling me any time soon that you hate crowds? Because that would have been really useful information, say, an hour ago.”
“I apologise,” Spock said austerely. “I was previously unaware of my level of receptiveness to considerable groups of Humans.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
Finally Spock spared Jim a glance, but his eyes were too dark to mirror anything but the night. “Even without physical contact, Vulcans remain prone to the emotions of others. With years of discipline we can learn to shield ourselves from the constant onslaught.” Spock swallowed, his jaw working tightly, as he clearly fought to expel the next words. “I had assumed my time spent in Souix City would be the most challenging, and had fortified myself accordingly. But here, with the crowd experiencing such united emotions -”
“Ah - it’s okay. Really.” Apparently there was a delicate line between relaxing Spock through sarcasm and humour, and plain riling him up. “I just wanted to come here because I thought it’d be fun - not to send you into panic mode.”
Spock appeared blatantly affronted as he met Jim’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “I was not panicked. Vulcans do not panic.”
“Yeah.” Jim raised his brows with a knowing look. “Sure.”
Heedless once more to Spock’s comfort zone, Jim wiggled further near him; their hips pressed warmly together. Jim’s thumb confidently swept a stripe from the back of Spock’s ear, down to the meeting of collar to skin. “Anyway, I know the perfect way to relax. Works every time - unless you’re a eunuch or something.”
With that absolutely inappropriate segue, Jim tilted his chin and invaded Spock’s personal bubble - enough to inhale Spock’s exhale.
Spock sounded as if he’d just been presented with a particularly confounding physics problem. He cocked his head and peered down at Jim. “What are you attempting?”
Attempt nothing. Jim was painfully curious - okay, and kind of horny - and he never gave up on something once his mind was set. “I’m trying to kiss you, if you’d hold still.”
Spock’s wide, fathomless gaze descended to Jim’s lips for a breath, as a single brow flicked. “Why?”
Jim shrugged. “Because it’s fun and it feels good. Why not?”
“Why not what?”
Jim went nearly nose-to-nose with Spock, as he tried his hand at batting his eyelashes. “We gonna kiss or not?”
Spock appeared dubious. “By what means?”
A dramatically weighted sigh flung from Jim’s lips. Seriously?
Jim couldn’t recall a time in his recent past that he wasn’t kissing some lucky guy or gal - or, you know, he’d tried his hand at a couple of aliens, too. But that hadn’t been as great as he’d expected - apparently tentacles just weren’t his thing.
Jim didn’t quite grasp why he assumed it would be different with Spock. Hell, in all likelihood it would be a disaster to kiss a stone-cold Vulcan.
Then again, Jim had an affinity for disasters - beautiful to watch, exciting to be swept up in - oh, and the carnage that was left behind.
And anyway, being nestled beside Spock right now - with Jim’s fingers skimming the hot, silky nape of Spock’s neck - that was as far-reached from cold as humping the equator.
“Um, by French means, hopefully,” Jim said.
“I was not aware that you were French.”
Jim rolled his eyes. He angled himself awkwardly behind the bar to lean in further, as his tongue dabbed a corner of his lips.
“I’m not. It’s the style of kissing - but I mean, if you’re scared, we can start on a remedial level.”
That hooked Spock. Apparently he loathed being below-par just as much as Jim. Possibly more, what with the shitty Vulcan restraints and expectations Spock was likely put under.
Spock clenched his jaw. “I do not wish to begin on any level. I was merely curious. I did not, at any point in our conversation, concede to exchanging Human affection with you.”
Oh, he sure as hell had. Despite the rigor to his spine, Spock was essentially sinking into Jim’s personal space. Jim would have had to be blind not to notice.
“Regardless,” Spock murmured, catching Jim by surprise. “That is not how we kiss on Vulcan -French, or otherwise.”
Jim marvelled at his own hoarse whisper. “Show me.”
Spock’s voice was barely audible. “Why?”
His proclamation leapt forward without hesitation. “I want to know everything. I want to feel it all.”
Spock seemed to consider that for a moment. “Illogical.”
“Show me,” Jim said intently. “Hurry, before the ride ends.”
“I think you are already aware of how to perform the act.”
Jim frowned. His mind fizzled as he grew further impatient. “I don’t. Fucking show me - kiss me!”
Time did not slow. The world did not stop turning on its axis when Spock reached for Jim’s hand.
But Jim did feel like his senses had been thrust beneath a magnifying glass.
Spock guided Jim’s fingers apart patiently; their palms facing each other’s between them. Spock’s slender hand hesitated, before the pads of his fingertips pressed whisper-soft against Jim’s.
Fuck, and Spock’s hand was hot. The drag of his soft palm across the calloused terrain of Jim’s flesh was like being stroked by a supernova.
It was over too quickly for Jim’s liking. Spock’s hand slipped away, his fingertips trailing embers down Jim’s wrist before they dispersed.
Wow.
Wow? When the fuck had he started saying ‘wow’? When had his vocabulary been reduced to grade-school exclamations?
This was fucking bullshit.
That was more like it.
“That was...” Jim swallowed and raked his gaze over Spock’s placid face. “I mean, I knew Vulcan’s didn’t touch - hence the whole ‘rock-out’ hand symbol and all - but I didn’t know why.”
“Indeed. We are touch telepaths and, consequently, our hands are imperative towards the skill. I was unaware of your ignorance regarding the subject.” Spock was cool as a cucumber, apparently - bastard.
Jim snorted. “I’m hardly ignorant.” He paused and cocked his head. “So, does that mean I stole a kiss before I’d even known I’d done it?”
Spock visibly hesitated.
Jim’s lips parted in a soft ‘oh’ of realisation. Then he jumped on the open invitation, ignorant of the pain his healing lip radiated as he smiled. “You! You stole a kiss from me. You could have just as easily not helped me up. Oh, Vulcans are sneaky as fuck, aren’t they?” Jim winked lewdly. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
Spock appeared unable to retaliate for a time, and Jim was over the moon that he’d finally caught Spock off-guard.
Spock collected his wits without fanfare. “It would have been considered rude to deny a helping hand on this planet. Humans are overly-sensitive creatures and take offense to the most illogical of actions.”
“Likely story,” Jim quipped good-naturedly. “So...” He skimmed his thumb across Spock’s knuckles, his eyes sparkling at the hushed intake of breath. “Was I any good - you know, the first time around?”
Spock did not move is hand, nor did he reciprocate Jim’s advances. “I have no previous experience to base an educated conclusion.”
Virgin! Virgin kisser. God, something about that felt so deliciously dirty. Spock - this guy who was frighteningly intimidating and good-looking and older than Jim - hadn’t slid those soft, competent hands over anyone else’s.
Hadn’t touched those sinfully curved lips to anyone’s, either.
Jim was sure his eyes bugged out of his head for a moment, before he quickly regrouped. “Well, my hypothesis is that I’m a fantastic kisser. But the only way to prove such a theory would be through a, uh... number, of trials. Don’t you think?”
“That is... logical.” Spock admitted, his cheeks darkening. “For a Human.”
“But first -” Jim firmly cupped the back of Spock’s neck, and captured his mouth in one sloppy, searing kiss.
In that very moment, the Ferris wheel began its descent. Jim’s heart leapt into his throat as they dipped lightly back to Earth.
A quick nip on that succulently-serious bottom lip sealed the deal.
Jim released his hold on Spock. He grinned as they came to a jarring halt, and the metal bar was lifted from their laps. “And that is how we kiss.”
Jim hopped off the bench and turned with his hand outstretched towards Spock. His smile was genuine and bright as carousel lights.
“Welcome to Earth, Spock.”*
They laid upon a steep hill together, with their heads pillowed upon cool, prickly grass. The chatter of dozens of couples filtered pleasantly through the air. Groups of teenagers from Jim’s school - whom he happily ignored - surrounded the pair; as did parents with their children, and couples on blankets beneath the stars.
Jim was comfortable with his own silence. Awaiting the fireworks display, his shoulder a whisper away from Spock’s - their pinkies barely kissing between them - it was nice. Better than nice, but Jim could hardly think while he felt like he was falling without a parachute - and the end was a long way down.
Some might have been frightened by the emotion, but Jim found it... exhilarating.
When the first firework shattered the sky in a spray of azure glitter and flame, Jim whooped with glee. He looked up at the sky with unadulterated joy - this never got old. Some things never would.
Yet even with a cacophony of colour and sound thundering above their heads, Jim found it too easy to turn away from the spectacle and study the Vulcan beside him.
Spock’s eyes were wide in the wake of relaxation and astonishment. His mouth remained still and soft, his brows immobile, but his intent gaze upon the sky was like a megaphone.
Jim found himself smiling, simply because Spock was smiling too - in his own way.
Fuchsia and lime spangled and sparked across the strong plains of Spock’s profile, bathing him in colour, as it highlighted the guileless wonder painted across his features. Spock truly was alien to Jim. He was perplexing in his stoicism and logic, foreign in his unexpected innocence, and disarming in his sudden bouts of wisdom.
And Spock was, without a doubt, a really awesome dude.
Jim wanted to have him.
As if sensing Jim’s pointed attention, Spock lolled his head to unwaveringly meet his gaze. Silver and gold speckled the heavens like starlight aflame, but neither was watching the show anymore.
Jim curled his pinkie firmly around Spock’s unnaturally long one. Spock replied in kind.
A familiar, rich intonation flooded Jim’s senses - though he could swear he hadn’t seen the Vulcan’s lips move. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 5