Against the Dying of the Light, 4/?
Title: Against the Dying of the Light
Summary: Falling in love with a man you met at a hospice for the terminally ill isn't the smartest thing in the world to do, but Jim goes ahead and does it anyway.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
"A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own." - Thomas Mann
Jim was a lot of things, but he was a man of his word, and so he rang for entrance to Spock's apartment at eight thirty the following night, twirling his car keys around one finger and thinking that the feel of the leather jacket on his bare chest kind of explained the whole leather fetish thing in the sex stores.
He jogged up to the second floor when Spock buzzed him in - with rather more stability than he had on Wednesday night - to find the man in question waiting in the doorway. His arms were folded rather than in parade rest, for once, and he was wearing another one of those probably obscene t-shirts.
Scratch that: definitely obscene.
"Hey," he said, grinning widely. "Look," he unzipped his jacket halfway to flash his chest hair, then zipped it up again. "No shirt, so we can't wreck anything. I learned from the last round."
"As have I," Spock returned smoothly. "I have changed the sheets for more durable ones."
Jim laughed, and Spock stepped back, waving him into the apartment as though this were part of their routine. As if they had a routine.
"I am afraid that I am running a little late," he said formally. "I will just change."
"Fair enough," Jim shrugged, eyeing his backside and hoping the change would involve even tighter jeans. He stuck his hands in his pockets to avoid the urge to put them in Spock's pockets, and glanced around at the boxes. "You just move in?"
"Five weeks ago."
Even Jim didn't quite count that as just. The place looked like he'd moved in the night he'd taken Jim home - even his kitchenware was still in boxes.
"And you still haven't unpacked?"
"Obviously not."
"Where'd you move from?" Jim asked, changing the subject. Slightly.
"Seattle."
"Seattle?" Jim perked up. "Really? You don't sound like a northerner - not really."
"I have lived in many states and countries during my lifetime," Spock replied, stripping off his shirt and opening a chest of drawers to look for a new one. Jim shamelessly stared. "I am technically not an American, and I lived in Seattle for only three years."
"Why the move?"
Spock paused.
"Um. It's okay if, you know, it's personal or whatever," Jim backtracked clumsily.
"My mother died," came the abrupt response, and then a word flood: "She had been ill for some time - breast cancer - and I moved to Seattle to care for her. My father is a diplomat and has to leave the country frequently, so I went to care for her in Seattle. It is her home city. She expressed...a wish to...die there, rather than in Washington D.C., where my parents lived at the time."
Jim swallowed, hunching in on himself as the words hit home. It explained his volunteer work in the hospice, it explained his distance, it explained him not really wanting to find a relationship - who would, with that shit? - it explained his ex-girlfriend apparently wanting to socialise with him even in the presence of her new boyfriend...and for Spock to have moved only five weeks ago...
"When did she...?" he whispered.
"Four months ago," Spock replied, and Jim jerked his head up, surprised. "It was a peaceful end. She did not suffer, and for that I am grateful, as much as I...miss her."
"I'm sorry," Jim whispered.
"As am I," Spock said quietly, then turned back to the dresser and selected a t-shirt. "When she passed away, Nyota decided..."
"Who?"
"Ms. Uhura."
"Ah."
"Nyota decided that I should not remain in Seattle alone, and...persuaded me..."
"Twisted your arm until you begged for mercy and moved south?" Jim guessed.
Spock straightened and pulled the shirt over his head. "In essence, yes."
"I have got to meet this woman properly," Jim said, trying desperately to lighten the mood. It was obvious that talking about his mother was still painful for Spock; hell, it was painful enough for Jim, to imagine what Spock must have suffered through, in watching a long death from cancer of one that he loved. "Maybe she can give me tips on how to twist your arm."
"I believe your technique from the bar works efficiently enough."
"Oh yeah?"
"Relentless flirting and a somewhat strong sexual attraction."
"Oh, I'm good."
"As I believe you have already demonstrated."
Jim grinned, the mood sufficiently lightened for him to toy with the zip on the jacket almost idly. "You know, we don't have to go out. I'm down with ruining your bed sober. Really, I'm okay with that."
"In which case, it is polite to remove one's shoes and jacket upon entering another's home."
"You know," Jim commented from the vicinity of Spock's bare shoulder. "I'm kind of surprised."
It was somewhere before midnight. They had not gone out, and so Jim found himself in someone else's bed sober for the first time in a long time, and somehow content to simply curl around a warm body and stay that way. There was something peaceful about it - even if he was sore, and they'd wrecked the sheets again, and he had no clue where his jeans had gone. But who cared? He didn't have anywhere to be, and Spock didn't seem to want to kick him out yet, and they had to lie close enough to share the pillow, which meant being close enough to feel Spock's breathing and the heat radiating off his skin.
He felt alive. Jim felt alive. They were alive.
"Surprised?" Spock prompted.
"At this," Jim said. "I honestly didn't think I'd be able to talk you into this."
"This time, or in the bar?"
"Both?" Jim hedged. "You didn't really strike me as the one-night-stand kinda guy."
Spock hummed, bringing a hand up to rest over Jim's forearm, where Jim had flung it haphazardly over Spock's upper chest. His hand was warm, and he brushed the hair lightly in an odd stroking motion, as if Jim were a cat. It felt oddly good, though. Soothing, almost.
"I am...typically not," Spock replied. "However, I have moved to an area where I have very few acquaintances, and I find myself...unwilling to socialise much after my mother's passing. I have ceased to...see the point of it. I suppose she would say that I have been...lonely."
Jim felt a lump rise in his throat, and he pulled himself a little closer.
"I have always been...independent, but I have always had the support of my mother. To find myself without it was..."
"One of the worst pains in the world?" Jim guessed quietly.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
"When you approached me in the bar, I was...tired of Nyota's attempts to encourage me to socialise. I was somewhat relieved when you engaged me in conversation that would prevent me from having to lie to her about my wellbeing, and when it became obvious what you sought..."
"You figured 'what the hell' and went for it?" Jim finished, and cracked a small smile. "'Cause I'm hot?"
"Essentially."
Jim snickered quietly into Spock's shoulder.
"I found you attractive when you came to speak with Dr. McCoy, and again in the bar, and I...indulged in a moment of weakness on my part."
"I'd call this two moments. At least."
"As would I."
"Well," Jim said. "You find me attractive, I find you attractive. We're both lonely and could use the distraction and the company and the frankly awesome sex. I've heard worse reasons to carry on doing what we're doing."
Spock's lips twitched. "As have I."
"Awesome," Jim said, curling closer as a new agenda turned into his mind. "Now for a decision. Round three: shower, bed, or the kitchenette?"
"Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh." - George Bernard Shaw.