Destiny's Bitch - 2/2
Part 1
***
So: tempting fate, mocking destiny, ignoring Spock's warnings and dismissing the rest of the landing party. Jim had managed, in the space of five minutes, to create ideal conditions for shit to go seriously awry.
There's no excuse, really, for him not to have seen it coming.
He didn't, though. Which is why, after an hour of following Daim deeper into the woods, stopping occasionally to admire the view (especially when the path narrows and Spock's walking in front of him), he's a little bit slow to react to the sudden oppressive silence when they step into another clearing.
One minute the pulse is thrumming around them, a pleasant vibration in the air, the next-- nothing. Spock's already going for his phaser when Jim twigs to the sense of wrong. The forest around them erupts into a cloud of tiny, winged creatures - pitching and heaving like an angry sea. Their cries are shrill, pitched just this side of ear-bleeding and Jim can't make sense of what he's seeing. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of sparrow sized mad men dart past his head, scratching and clawing at his face, tangling in his hair, screeching all the while.
He swats and tries for his phaser, but they seem to be aware of what the weapon is for and every time his hand closes on the grip, he's buffeted by another swarm until he's forced to release it and swipe ineffectually at the air around him.
Spock's facing him, his phaser actually clear of its holster, though he has yet to fire. His brows are drawn in tight, and he bats furiously with his right hand as he tries to clear a field so that he can take aim and disrupt the frenzied throng.
Daim's nowhere to be seen, but there's an itch at the back of Jim's neck like he's being watched. A flash of movement to his left, bigger, more threatening than the clouds of diminutive bloodthirsty flying fuckers, is all he registers before he's jumping at Spock, tackling him to the ground and shielding his body with his own.
They hit hard, the loss of air as it's knocked out of his lungs paralyzes Jim. Spock oofs beneath him, similarly stunned.
It's quiet again. The screaming cuts off as abruptly as it began. Even the breeze seems to have stopped.
He lifts his head and sees Spock.
Their faces are only a breath apart. Spock's eyes are startled and wide. Every point of contact is hot and solid and perfectly realized. He's dreamed this before. Well, minus the threat of unknown assailants. And the distinct burn of pain radiating from his ass.
Wait.
"Shit. Shit. Shit."
"Jim? Jim, what's wrong?"
"I'm hit. Fuck!"
He scrambles a bit, trying to look back and see the injury, hissing as his jerky movements aggravate the wound. Spock wraps an arm around his back, effectively pinning him in place.
"Cease. You will only injure yourself further."
Jim bites his lip and looks back into Spock's eyes, forcing himself to still at the obvious concern. He breathes out shakily and nods. "You're right. Of course." He braces his arms on the ground and tries to shift his weight to his uninjured side.
Spock's grip loosens and he carefully raises his head to peer over Jim's shoulder, down the length of his body. Jim's blaming the throbbing pain for his urge to giggle at the fact that Spock is legitimately staring at his ass. Clearly, he's delirious.
He shakes his head to clear it. Crisis. Right. People are shooting at him. Someone has already shot him. In the ass.
"Are they still here?" he mumbles, teeth gritted against the pain.
Spock shakes his head, soft hair brushing against Jim's cheek. It kind of tingles. "No. They seem to have fled."
Jim huffs a laugh. "So they came out just to shoot me in the ass and run away? That's new."
"Indeed."
"Any sign of Daim?"
Spock's grip tightens again, immobilizing Jim. There's a rustle of fabric and some really nice friction Jim does his best to ignore. He catches a glimpse of flashing red out of the corner of his eye, but he's too distracted by the warmth of Spock's body and the little line between his brows to pay it much notice. A vague thrill of unease twists in his stomach, but it feels too far away to be bothered with right now.
"My tricorder is no longer functioning. The area appears to be clear, however."
"Communicator?"
Another rustle, this one pushes Spock's chest harder into Jim's and makes him shiver.
"Spock to Enterprise."
Nothing. Spock cycles through the channels calmly. More nothing. It's like they're being blocked, somehow.
Jim grunts and wedges his hand between them, straining for the uncomfortable lump digging into his left hip. He works it free with a hiss as it jostles the whatever-the-fuck is embedded in his ass and pushes it towards Spock. "Try mine."
Spock repeats the calls, alternating channels after a full five seconds as per SOP. "There appears to be no signal, though both units seem functional."
Jim nods. It figures. He wanted to spend some time with Spock today, so why not do it injured and stranded? Fucking destiny. He shifts a bit, the resulting twinge of pain cutting through his lethargy. It's weird, definitely not a phaser burn or even an old-fashioned bullet, wasn't hot enough for that. The pain throbs, radiating out from the source in unhappy ripples. Almost like a...
"So, you gonna tell me what's lodged in my ass?"
There's a bare pause before Spock says: "It appears to be a crude form of an arrow, Jim. The fletching bears a remarkable similarity to an iconic heart."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"No."
"Can you pull it out?"
"I do not believe that would be wise."
Jim tries to be bothered by this, but he's getting kind of fuzzy again. He twitches and whimpers a little, but it's a manly whimper. Spock runs a careful hand down his side as if to soothe him and Jim melts helplessly into it. He wonders absently if he and Uhura ever lie like this...
The figurative klaxons chime red alert, in time for a thrilling bout of nausea. This is wrong. "Spock?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"I think there was something on the arrow. Like a drug, or something."
Spock stiffens beneath him. "I will need to examine the wound immediately. I am going to attempt to move you, Jim."
Jim tries to lift his head, but the way the world's spinning discourages him from the effort. He nods into Spock's neck and braces himself for pain. "S'okay. Do it."
Spock shifts and grips Jim's biceps, which Jim finds pretty nice, all things considered. He has a second to marvel at the show of strength when Spock straight lifts him before his leg spasms and his muscles clench around the arrow, drowning all the warm fuzzies in a wave of agony.
He might have passed out for a second there, cause he's blinking away dirt and various forms of forest detritus before he realizes he's face down in the stuff.
"Spock?" he tries, and though it's muffled and more like a "Spourh?", he figures his message got across.
"I believe that I should attempt to remove the arrow, Jim."
His reply is muffled by the dirt again and he's a bit embarrassed when he finally realizes that he can turn his head. Just a bit though, mostly he's relieved he doesn't have to keep spitting sod. He turns and repeats himself: "No shit. Sorry."
There's a tearing sound beside him.
"Spock? Are you tearing off your clothes in a fit of passion? 'Cause while I applaud the sentiment, really, now is not the time."
The pause that follows is heavy with all sorts of implications and Jim's maybe a little bit mortified when Spock coughs and says, in the soothing kind of voice reserved for small, frightened animals: "I will need to bind the wound once I remove the arrow. My undershirt remains clean enough for the task."
Undershirt...
Whoa. Whoa. Does that mean Spock is topless.
He almost gives himself whiplash in his effort to sneak a peek. It's wasted when Spock pins him with one steady hand on the center of his back.
"Be still, Jim," Spock says, gently. "This will hurt."
Jim obeys without comment. Mostly. "Kinky Vulcan."
Another pause. Jim amuses himself for a second by imagining that all of the things he could say to fill the awkward silence have come to life and are battling it out around them.
"I Love You" would totally kick "So, How About That Local Sports Team?"'s ass.
It's probably for the best that Spock chooses that particular instant to yank.
Jim arches with pain, colouring the air in the clearing with a litany of "Fuck! Shit! OW!" as his skin tears. The arrowhead catches on his pants and he can hear them ripping wider.
The pain ebbs and subsides, leaving him shaking in the dirt. Tracks of tears cool on the side of his face exposed to the air. He feels a brush of something at his hips and cranes his neck weakly to look.
He can see Spock now, working quickly to bind the sluggish flow of blood. His pants are lowered to his thighs, leaving his ass exposed so Spock can treat the wound. He wants to giggle but it seems like too much effort at the moment. He settles back to enjoy the view, instead. He was right, before. Spock is topless, all of that pale skin is gleaming in the sunlight that filters through the trees. He's got better tone than his slight frame would suggest, the lean muscle bunches and ripples through his torso as he works. Dark hair covers his chest, tapering down to a neat line before disappearing into his pants. Jim's mouth waters with the urge to follow it. With his tongue.
So beautiful.
Spock catches Jim staring and offers a solemn nod.
"I'm sorry, Jim."
Jim smiles loosely. "S'OK. S'all better now."
Spock's disbelief is evident in the arch of an eyebrow, but Jim figures he can probably get away with a little white lie under the circumstances. Spock finishes with the wrapping, efficient hands tucking the folds of the improvised bandage tightly into each other before tying the ends off at Jim's hip. His fingers slide along Jim's skin as he carefully pulls his pants back over the bandaging. Jim stifles a moan. Hopefully Spock chalks it up to the pain, but he can't be too badly off if he's getting a stiffy from emergency First Aid.
Spock takes the arrow and wraps it in another strip of his undershirt, tucking it into a pocket for later analysis.
Jim focuses on his breathing and the not entirely unpleasant warmth running through his veins. His erection flags as he relaxes inch by inch. The dappled sunlight is nice, Spock smells good, and the world is taking on a thick haze that makes worrying seem silly and pointless.
He tries to say as much to Spock but his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth, rendering the words garbled and incoherent.
He drifts a little longer.
"Jim! You must remain conscious!"
He doesn't like the edge of worry in Spock's voice. Spock shouldn't sound worried. Spock should be happy. Like he is.
He opens his eyes and Spock's face is right in front of his. He's on his back and that seems odd, but it's OK because that means he can reach up and run a finger over the arch of Spock's cheekbone. He's been wanting to do that for ages and it's just as soft and warm as he imagined, maybe even better, because he never could quite picture what Spock's reaction would be if he ever followed through and did it.
Spock's pupils dilate and little patches of green flood in under Jim's touch. It's perfect, so perfect.
"You're pretty." He says it simply. Wonderingly. Why didn't he say that before?
Spock inhales sharply. "You've been drugged, Jim."
"Yup," he agrees, because he has. He said that already.
Spock's looking freaked out again. Jim tries to smooth the frown away with his hand but it's kind of floppy and hard to control. He giggles when he smushes Spock's nose flat by accident.
"We must return to the ship. Doctor McCoy can find an antidote."
Jim blinks. Why would they want to leave? It's so nice here!
"If I help you stand, do you think you will be able to walk?"
Pfft. Walking's nothing. He can probably fly right now, he feels so light. "OK."
Spock holds out a hand and Jim grabs for it. He misses the first time, which is so hilarious he has to curl into himself to contain the laughter. He tries again and connects, threading his fingers through Spock's and relishing the feeling. They're holding hands. It's amazing. Spock's fingers are paler than his. Longer, more elegant, but still strong. Spock pulls up and Jim follows the motion bonelessly.
He stumbles. His leg's not working right. It's OK though, Spock's chest is a perfectly agreeable place to rest. He buries his face in Spock's tunic, nosing at the curl of black hair sticking out from the v-neck. "You smell good," he says. "Why'd you put your shirt back on? D'ya want me to take mine off?"
Spock shudders against him, but doesn't answer right away. It's still good. All shuddery, like just before a really good orgasm.
"Can you walk?" Spock's voice is suffocated. Jim glances up and sees the flush of green has spread to the tips of Spock's pointy ears. He leans up to trace it with the tip of his tongue.
Spock startles back, upsetting Jim's precarious balance. His leg won't support his full weight and he crumples to his knees. Spock looks so cute and confused standing over him that Jim's laughing helplessly again.
When he manages to catch his breath, Spock's face is carefully blank. His typically smooth cap of hair is dishevelled. Jim's fingers itch to card through it, brush it back off his forehead so he can see his entire face without its interference.
"If you are unable to walk, will you permit me to carry you? I do not think our communicators will function as long as we remain in this area."
Jim crosses his eyes at the idea. This day just keeps getting better! He nods eagerly and throws his arms open. "That sounds fun!"
Spock's lips twitch like he really wants to say something but is resisting the urge. He stares down at Jim for a moment before sighing and crouching so they're at eye level. Jim automatically leans forward a tiny bit.
"Please try to remain still, Jim." Spock's warm hands grip Jim by the waist and he lifts, slinging Jim over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
It's not exactly what he had in mind, but Jim's not going to complain. Especially when he gets to see the muscles of Spock's ass tighten, up close and personal, as he stands. His arms flop loosely over his head and he tries to sway them in time with Spock's stride.
"Please stop making this difficult, Jim." Spock says on the occasion of his second stumble when Jim gets distracted by the good things going on in Spock's pants and loses the rhythm.
"Can't help it, Spock. It's like we're dancing." His voice sounds better when he's talking to Spock's ass and not to the ground. It's kind of husky, like his Sexy Voice, but lighter, 'cause he's feeling so good.
Spock hitches his shoulder and settles Jim back into place. "I fail to see the similarity." Spock's voice is always so serious. He likes it though. It's deep and sometimes, when he's alone at night, he imagines it in his ear when he's jerking off.
What were they talking about, again? Right, dancing!
"It's 'cause you're too literal. You're moving. I'm moving. We're moving together. That's what happens when you're dancing."
"Or fighting."
"Aw, I don't wanna fight with you, Spock. I'd rather dance."
Spock grips Jim’s waist a little tighter for a second. "Indeed."
That settled, Jim goes back to staring at Spock's ass. It's hypnotic. Bouncing up and down as his long legs eat up the ground. It's so close, pressing tightly against his uniform pants. All Jim would have to do to pinch it is lift his hand a tiny little bit.
"Jim!"
Spock halts abruptly and tugs Jim back over his shoulder. He sets him on his feet, supporting him with one outstretched arm, and takes a deep, steadying breath before shooting him a baleful look. Jim sways on his feet and makes grabby hands for Spock's shirt, because he misses the full body contact. Spock sees him coming and attempts to sidestep, the neat dodge ruined by Jim's uncoordinated flailing. They go down together in a tangle of limbs.
Jim cries out as the hurting comes back. It sings all over him and he whimpers with it, ruining the otherwise goodgoodgood feeling of Spock's weight bearing down on him.
Spock scrambles to get his feet back under him, crouching beside Jim until the spasms subside. He's back to looking worried and Jim tries to smile and reassure him but he hurts too bad to be convincing. Spock reaches down and runs a hand down Jim's face, soothing him.
"Jim..." Spock says his name in an achy, quiet voice. "Your condition appears to be worsening."
"It hurts, Spock," Jim agrees. "Really bad."
"So I see." He pauses. "There is a method I could employ to attempt to alleviate some of the symptoms..."
"Are you going to use your Vulcan voodoo on me?" Jim asks when Spock doesn't continue. "That's what Bones calls it. Vulcan Voodoo. Isn't Bones funny? He's pretty too, but not like you. Nobody's as pretty as you, Spock." He nods to show Spock he's in earnest.
Spock's lips twitch in an almost smile and Jim's back to feeling warm all over.
"I like it when you smile at me."
"I shall endeavour to do so more regularly," Spock promises.
"OK," Jim says happily. "Are you going to do the voodoo, now? I think you have to touch me, don't you? Cave Spock touched me on the face when he showed me how him and other me used to be."
"Cave Spock?" Spock asks. "Never mind. Yes. It is a type of meld where I can attempt to block or take on some of your pain."
"Vulcans are so cool," Jim says.
"I assume that means I have your permission?"
"Indeed," Jim says in his best mock-Spock voice. It's a pretty good impression, just not as deep and growly.
Spock lifts an eyebrow and makes no comment, but he's kind of smiling again. Jim wishes he was close enough to kiss.
Spock reaches for his face, fingers splayed in an echo of the meld Cave Spock performed on Delta Vega. They stare into each others' eyes for a moment, Spock likely thinking thinky thoughts while Jim's just enjoying the pressure and the intimacy and counting eyelashes. Spock's breaths are quiet and measured and it's not long before Jim's breathing in synch.
"My mind to your mind," Spock murmurs, finally. "My thoughts to your thoughts."
Jim's brain is a pretty big brain, he thinks, even when it's being an utter bastard and he feels like he'll burst with everything he keeps locked in it. He remembers Iowa and the golden fields of wheat at sunset. He remembers what it's like to feel so hollow from lack of food that even waking drains him. He knows that the intermix formula in standard matter/antimatter warp drives should never exceed a 1:1 ratio. His mother was born on 2210.89. In another universe, Cave Spock will die promising his alternate future self that they will always be friends. Then he'll come back and his other self will have to remind him of why. His Spock always rests his spoon at a 45º angle to his tray when he's not holding it. The molecular weight of titanium is 47.88gm. He knows six different words for revenge in the Klingon language, but only one for love. There's a lot of information. A lot of memories. It's a big brain, but sometimes it feels too full.
When Cave Spock melded with him, the overload was like a rapid expansion of gasses in a limited space. It leaked out in his tears because he couldn't cope with the overflow of emotion, memories and the strange duality of experience in the pressure hot vastness of their combined lives. Jim's a little bit anxious that melding with his Spock will be the same. He doesn't think he can hold the three of them.
But he trusts his Spock.
He relaxes his death grip on his self and lets Spock in.
Spock's brain, rather than shove its way forward and displace Jim's information, seems to bind to it instead. It's like every fragment that makes up Jim is enhanced, shared. He's walking through a collection of memories and it's like Spock has been with him through it all. Jim and Spock witness a man order the deaths of half a colony to spare the rest. Jim and Spock watch his mom leave for something more exciting than motherhood. Jim and Spock throw Captain Pike's challenge in his face and dare him to keep up. It's exhilarating and Jim struggles to hold onto this simple feeling as long as he can.
For once in his life, he's not alone, and he wants to cry with relief.
Spock's presence is humming around him, inserting layers between Jim and the pain wracking his body. It fades to almost nothing.
He can sense Spock's pleasure at the accomplishment.
I believe this should suffice. How do you feel?
Warmsafehappystay?
A rich laugh bubbles up from beneath his childhood memories. I cannot. We must return to the Enterprise. You are still wounded.
It doesn't hurt here. It's hard, so hard, to force his thoughts into words when all he wants to do is blanket himself in Spock's presence and bask.
I am glad. Come, Jim. Return with me.
Just a little longer?
We can do this again after you've been to sickbay.
Promise?
Yes.
Fine.
I am stopping the meld now.
He feels Spock's mind detach from his own even as his fingertips leave the meld points on his face. He opens his eyes and Spock's right there, dark eyes scanning Jim's face for signs of distress. He finds nothing because the pain has faded to inconsequential in light of the lingering sense of well being that followed them out of the meld.
It's the easiest thing in the world to stretch up and kiss him.
Spock's lips are soft against his own. He tastes like tea and candy.
He's kissing back.
Jim groans and licks into Spock's mouth, tracing the line of his teeth with his tongue. It's good, so good, to finally know what this feels like. He can't remember why they haven't done this already but it doesn't matter because they're doing it now, and it's perfect.
Spock's hands are in his hair, tugging him closer. Jim goes easily, deepening the kiss. He reaches up and sneaks his hands under Spock's tunic, feeling the smooth muscle and crinkle of hair against his palms. He strokes and grips greedily, desperate to map out every inch of skin he's imagined touching until he knows it better than his own.
Spock pulls back and presses a series of soft kisses down Jim's jaw and onto his neck. He breathes in deeply and murmurs appreciative noises into Jim's throat. He shifts until his full weight is pressing Jim into the soft grass, the sharp scent mixing with the tang of their sweat and the richer earth.
"Spock. Spock. Spock." Jim's voice is shattered and needy. He grinds up and gasps when his dick brushes Spock's, hard heat obvious even through their clothing. He does it again, and Spock picks up the rhythm.
Spock's hands are completing their own survey, tracing Jim's hips and up his sides before skimming back down and caressing a thigh. Everywhere he touches tingles in the aftermath until Jim's body feels like it's electrified, one long, hot pulse of pure energy.
Jim wraps himself around Spock, writhing and winding until their tremors resonate and amplify. They're so close. Almost as close as they were in the meld. Heat and want and need collide within Jim until he embodies them. His teeth latch into the column of Spock's throat and he bites, hard, revelling in Spock's rough moan.
"Jim-" Spock's voice shudders and catches on his name, stretching it into a treatise on burning.
Jim bucks his hips and arches his back, trying to crawl into him. He licks a path up to Spock's ear and pours every moment of frustrated longing, every hope and dream and fear he's ever harboured into one soft sigh.
"Spock," he says brokenly as his orgasm shivers through him. "Spock."
***
His ass hurts again, but it's nothing compared to the realization that he and Spock are spooning. On the ground. In the middle of a mission. He wants to scream, to kick and curse and flail--maybe call Destiny down from the cosmos and rip her a new one. Or, maybe, he just wants to hide, curl into himself until he disappears so he doesn't have to look in the mirror tomorrow and see the face of a broken man who couldn't keep it in his goddamn pants.
Ah, metaphorically speaking, that is. He shifts slightly in Spock's arms, acutely aware from the rapidly drying mess at his crotch that his pants had been very much on throughout.
Oh. Shit.
The first thing Jim's going to do when he sees Daim again is punch her, right in her fucking cute little muzzle. Immediately following that he's going to figure out exactly how far he can run before Uhura finds him and guts him like the pig he is.
He figures if he gets enough of a head start he can probably live out his twilight years as an exotic dancer in some out of the way system until she catches up to him.
Emotional transference is an effect of the meld...
He remembers his pithy reply to Cave Spock on Delta Vega. He imagines this is some sort of sick cosmic karma.
Fucking Destiny can kiss his throbbing, angry ass.
"Jim?" Spock says softly, right in his ear. He suppresses the pleased shiver that wants to crawl up his spine.
"Yeah, Spock. I'm back."
"It appears the effect of the drug has been burned out by our physical activity."
Physical activity. Well, that's one way to put it. "I noticed." Jim gives himself a full second to pretend that this was real and not just the side effect of some wacky cupid mojo before asking: "You felt it too? After the meld?"
Spock hesitates, and Jim feels sick at the thought of his friend trying to phrase a delicate reply. His stomach sinks further when Spock finally answers, "Indeed. The effects were quite overwhelming."
Somewhere, in another universe maybe, some cosmic entity and Jim's entire roster of exes are killing themselves laughing over this. Jim kind of wishes he were there instead. "Right. Well. We should probably get back to the ship."
He can feel it when Spock nods solemnly, and he turns back to meet his eyes for the first time since...
Well, at least the Klingon story will have some good company in the sealed archives. He blinks and turns away, wiggling out from under Spock's arm awkwardly.
Spock rises with enviable grace and offers Jim a hand up. He waves it aside and lurches to his feet. His ass is throbbing viciously, which is a great complement to the emotional trauma he's going to be repressing for the rest of his life.
"Are you still in pain?" Spock's concern is like a knife to the heart.
"I'll deal," Jim bites out shortly. He regrets it immediately because while Spock's face is neutral, the hurt is still there, lurking behind his dark eyes.
"Sorry, Spock. It's... It's not your fault, OK?"
Spock doesn't answer. Jim's shoulders sag.
"Let's just go home."
He leads the way, limping slightly, out of the clearing.
They make decent progress by the light of the sun, but to Jim it feels like an eternity of agonized silence before the crystal towers of the main resort are visible on the horizon. He can safely say he's got a pretty good grasp on the concept of relativity now.
Jim's just about to reassure himself that things can't get much worse when Bones and Sulu appear at the top of the hill. And, even better, Uhura and Daim are right behind them.
"Captain Kirk! Mister Spock!" Daim greets, her ears are twitching happily, but her eyes are casting between them nervously. "I'm so glad you're safe."
"Are you now?" Jim asks flatly. He still wants to punch her, and it probably shows. She's smart enough to be standing behind Uhura who Jim pretty much wants to avoid forever. He's conflicted.
"Of course she is, Jim!" Uhura says with a frown.
"She just fetched us and said y'all were taking longer than you should," Bones says, frowning as he takes in their dishevelled appearance. "What happened? You look a sight." He reaches for his tricorder and is scanning them both before he finishes speaking.
Jim doesn't even know where to start. Blurting out: 'I got shot in the ass by this planet's version of cupid, only with more teeth and claws, and then I fucked Uhura's boyfriend on the ground after the most emotionally intimate experience of my sad, sad life' seems crass. Lucky for all of them, Spock's got no such qualms, and much better manners.
"We were attacked by a group of unknown aliens approximately 5.7 kilometers East of here," he says smoothly. "Jim was wounded and there were some complications related to his injury that required immediate treatment, which accounts for our delay." He reaches into his pocket and offers the bundled arrow to Bones. "Doctor, if you analyze this you will find traces of a chemical compound that induces euphoria and heightened sensations in humanoids."
Bones unwraps the arrow. "If that don't beat all!" He holds the shaft aloft, angling it so the light gleams off the stylized heart at the crown. Daim makes a strangled noise that is largely ignored by everyone but Jim. He glares at her until she looks away. "Jim," says Bones, with a laugh, "d'y'realize you got shot by a love dart on Valentine's Day?"
Bones's teasing grin dies when Jim's face crumples. "I noticed, yeah. It's not as much fun as the legends make out."
Spock stiffens beside him and he winces. Right. Save the breakdown for later, or, better yet, make later happen now.
"Look. Guys." Jim stares at them blankly. He has no idea what he can possibly say. "I'm sorry. I just gotta... I gotta go. Back to the ship."
He limps over to Uhura and puts his hands on her shoulders. Looking into her worried eyes is the hardest thing he's ever done. "Nyota," he says, seriously. "It wasn't his fault. I'm sorry." His calm facade cracks a little, along with his voice. "I'm so fucking sorry."
He rounds on Daim then, righteous fury straightening his spine. She stumbles back nervously. "As for you," he says with icy contempt. "If I find out you had any hand in this, there will be charges brought against your entire government. In the meantime, stay the fuck away from my crew."
Daim's ears pin back in terror, her mouth opening and closing like she's trying to speak but can't find the words. "But-" she finally squeaks. "But, it was destiny!"
"Oh, fuck you." Jim says bitterly before he turns away.
He doesn't look back.
Can't bear to look back, though he can feel Spock's stare burning into him.
Bones walks up beside him and offers a shoulder. He leans into it gratefully.
"Here now, Jim. Let's go home."
They leave.
***
Some high dosage painkillers and a run with a dermal regenerator later, Jim's back in his quarters, flat on his back and staring at the wall. His dad's portrait is still crooked, so he's mostly trying to straighten it with his mind and not think about anything else.
Bones, bless his bristly, belligerent heart, didn't push him for the explanations he's not ready to give. He had offered brandy and an ear, but let Jim back down with the weak excuse of needing to rest.
It'll all come out in the report, anyway. He had laughed the first time he saw that there was an actual form for filing reports on 'Crew Interactions : Activities Motivated by Toxic Drug Influence'. He hadn't noticed the checkbox for "Requires Counselling?" then. Good old Starfleet thinks of everything.
He picks up his PADD and sets it down again.
He stares at the wall some more.
He's on the third round of attempted telekinesis when the door chimes. He swallows the dread and tells himself to man the fuck up already. Shuffling over to the edge of the bed, he sits up before calling: "Enter."
Spock steps through the door and into the room. He's had a shower and a turn with a dermal regenerator himself, all of the little nicks and bruises from their mission have vanished. Jim's heart squeezes painfully in his chest as he braces himself.
"Hey, Spock." He shouldn't sound so defeated. Blatant emotionalism is probably the last thing Spock needs from him. "How are you feeling?" There. Better. He almost sounded steady.
"I would ask you the same," Spock says without inflection.
Jim winces. "Well, you know. Other than completely terrified that I've ruined everything? I'm good."
"What, precisely, is it that you feel you have 'ruined'?"
Jim should have expected this too, he guesses. He certainly deserves it, though he'd kind of hoped Spock wouldn't be so cruel as to make him actually spell it out. "Our friendship?" he offers sadly, when he can finally speak past the lump in his throat. "Your relationship with Uhura? Any chance of keeping you from finding out that I'm desperately in love with you? Pick one, any one. They're all true."
Spock stiffens and inhales sharply, the first obvious emotion he's shown since he entered Jim's quarters. "Jim," he starts uncertainly, then stops, as if reconsidering. He takes a step closer to where Jim's perched on the end of his bed, then another, until he's standing only a few feet away. Close enough to touch if Jim had that right.
Spock lifts a hand. "Jim," he says again, stronger this time. "Meld with me."
Jim aches. How much worse can this whole shit show actually get before he's allowed to just break, already? It isn't enough to hear Spock's rejection? Now he gets to feel it too?
"Please, Jim."
Jim lets out a tiny, suffocated breath. He doesn't want to cry in front of Spock, so he avoids meeting his eyes. "Not yet. Just... Tell me about what happened after Bones and I left."
Spock's hand falls back to his side. "Very well, Captain."
Jim tries not to flinch at his title. He remembers how proud he was the day he got his ship and it's still the last thing he wants to be called right now.
"After you and the Doctor departed, Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu and I questioned Daim about the nature of the questing ritual and her claims of destiny." He pauses. "I find I can harbour no fondness for that word."
Jim laughs despite himself. "You and me both," he says with feeling. "You and me both."
"Indeed. She initially restated the claim that questing candidates were those chosen by destiny, by which means she could not disclose, to travel to the heart of Elaphe to find their true path. The pulse we detected over subspace was allegedly the form taken by destiny's call."
Jim nods. "Yeah, that's the line she fed us when we first met her. So, why us? Really."
"We were merely the first to respond. The Elaphian government has long purported that their planet is the source of love. It would appear that they have recently constructed a device to bolster that claim."
"I knew it! I figured it was something like that when the delegates were so eager to send us out there."
"Why did you not voice your suspicions at that time?"
Jim swallows. "I was curious?"
Spock frowns. "We will discuss your tendency towards unhealthy curiosity at another time, Jim."
A tiny thread of hope winds through Jim at this. Maybe the situation isn't completely untenable if Spock's still willing to lecture him on his recklessness. He risks a glance up and sees that Spock is watching him closely. He flushes and looks back down at his shuffling feet, before he gestures for Spock to continue.
"Once we obtained Daim's confession that there was a device creating the signal, it was a simple matter to deduce that once the targeted questing pair reached the clearing a jamming sequence was initiated, effectively stranding them in an idyllic surrounding until they acted on their desires. Commander Scott has dispatched a team of engineers to verify this."
Jim nods. "Good, good." He considers the events in the clearing as dispassionately as he can, avoiding staring directly at his actions and trying instead to picture their surroundings. "So, just in case they don't act quickly enough when they realize they're stranded, the Elaphians supply an army of cupid-beasts armed with aphrodisiac ammo to speed things along."
"Precisely," says Spock approvingly. "Only it would seem that the cupid-beasts, as you call them, happened to be executing a mass escape just as we were arriving. The actual scheme only called for one such creature to be released."
Jim facepalms. "Okay, first off - how the fuck is that fair? Why did they have to choose that exact moment to escape?"
Spock's eyebrow twitches, he's either very amused or very angry. Jim's not really up to speculating on which, so he keeps talking:
"And secondly? At what point did the Elaphians decide that grievous bodily harm was romantic? Without the meld," he stutters as the memories rush back. He coughs and tries again: "If you hadn't been able to block my pain, I don't think anything would have happened. Except maybe some really bad poetry as the euphoria built up."
"Poetry?"
"Uh, later." Never.
Spock arches a brow in a silent promise to collect on that later. Jim's stomach flips between excitement and terrified nausea.
"I posed that question to Daim as well," Spock continues after a long, significant look. "Regarding the arrow, that is, not the relative justice in the timing of the escape attempt. The creatures were originally armed with small, needle-like projectiles, easily removed and unlikely to cause any significant physical discomfort."
"Just mental and emotional discomfort after drugging two people into acting on a manufactured attraction?!" Jim says with some bitterness.
Spock shoots him another look. "This is the point we could not get Daim to abandon. She insisted that the compound would only activate in the presence of genuine regard."
Jim coughs uncomfortably. "Well, we can't really disprove that by me. I-" he starts, then slumps. "By now it's obvious that what I was feeling was real. And you said yourself that you picked it up from the meld. I guess she must have seen it and that's why she picked us instead of Rico or Flores."
"She did mention that she noticed our closeness when she initially observed us. She said she could read our hearts in our eyes."
"Cliche much?" Jim scoffs, rolling his own--decidedly not heart-filled--eyes.
Wait.
Our eyes?
"Our eyes?" he echoes softly. It hurts how much he wants this to be real.
Spock’s smile is gentle when he lifts his hand again. "Meld with me?"
Jim nods shakily, hope and fear and desperate longing roiling in the pit of his gut. Spock's fingers slide over his face to his meld points like he's tracing a well known path.
Jim's whole body shudders when their eyes lock. The full force of Spock's intensity is directed at him and it's almost overwhelming after the fucking day he's had.
"One more question?" he asks carefully, before Spock can say the ritual words to initiate the meld.
"Ask," Spock says, as patient as ever.
"Uhura?"
"Has been, and will always be, my dear friend. We ended our romantic involvement 2.7 months past." Spock ducks his head slightly before murmuring: "I had thought you to be aware."
Jim shakes his head slowly, as he reflects on their relationship in light of this new information. Stars, he is such an idiot sometimes. Some of the ache that's been crushing his heart eases. A genuine smile spreads across his face, the first in what feels like eons. "Do it," he says urgently. "Show me."
Spock does.
***
Jim emerges from their second meld with the same sense of ease as from their first. Only this time, when he leans up to press his lips against Spock's, he does it with the full knowledge that not only does he love, completely, absolutely, but he is loved in return.
It's headier than any drug.
***
One Year Later
Destiny is a bitch.
Jim knows this, he thinks as he gapes in abject horror at the bouquet of writhing purple flowers being thrust at him by the smiling Klingon ambassador. He knows he knows this.
So why is it always such a fucking surprise?
The smiling Klingon ambassador bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain portrait in a certain sealed file that is Not To Be Spoken Of. Ever. By order of the Captain. Jim hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd been instructed to ferry the Klingon delegation to the Laurentian system for the upcoming peace talks, but it sure as hell wasn't a familiar face in formal robes, bearing a clutch of carnivorous posies.
"Captain Kirk," the-Ambassador-who-cannot-possibly-be-who-Jim-thinks-he-is-because-even-the-universe-isn't-that-fucking-cruel says with a wide smile, the kind that shows all of his snaggled, crooked teeth. "I was most pleased when the High Council selected me as the liaison for the conference with the Federation."
"Yeah, I understand it's quite an honour," Jim says nervously. He takes two quick steps back when the Ambassador offers up the bouquet again. He's never had to dodge flowers before but these ones are alive. And toothy. And hungry, if the way that they're snapping at Jim and the Ambassador and any flicker of movement means anything. There is no fucking way he's getting anywhere near those things.
The Ambassador inclines his head gravely, ignoring Jim's hasty dodge. "The highest of honours," he agrees. "I can only hope to live up to their expectations. I was also pleasantly surprised when I discovered that the illustrious Captain Kirk was to be my escort. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance." He leers at Jim, and shamelessly eye-fucks him, right in the middle of the transporter room.
Right in front of Spock.
The trilling pulse of a phaser set to stun fills the room, effectively halting all respective leering and backpedalling from the Ambassador and Jim. Mixed scents of ozone discharge and burning plant matter mingle in the air.
"I apologize," Spock says, breaking the stunned silence smoothly. He doesn't re-holster his phaser. "The vix vir luguolis was preparing to strike, Ambassador. I had to act quickly."
The Ambassador's eyes narrow, darting from Jim to Spock to the possessive hand Spock has placed on Jim's shoulder. He smooths his expression to a neutral diplomatic mask and bows to Spock. "I thank you then, Vulcan, for your timely intervention."
Spock nods gravely. "It is my duty, as First Officer aboard the Enterprise, to identify potential threats and handle them accordingly. No thanks are required, Ambassador, for I take my duty very seriously." His hand flexes on Jim's shoulder.
The Ambassador pales slightly as the implications sink home. "I understand," he says, finally. "We Klingons admire a warrior who will defend what is his." He casts one last regretful look at Jim's crotch and steps back. "Captain Kirk, if you would be so kind as to beam up the rest of my party?"
Jim smiles broadly. "Of course, Ambassador. Commander Scott, if you would?"
"Aye," Scotty says agreeably, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.
"Mister Spock, I need to speak with you immediately. In my quarters."
"Of course, Captain."
They exit the transporter room, side-by-side.
It's their anniversary tomorrow. The Federation is taking the first steps toward reaching a lasting peace with the Klingon Empire. His ship is scheduled for a warp drive upgrade that's making Scotty drool in anticipation.
Destiny's a bitch, true. But he figures he and Spock can take her.
Finis
Deleted scene between the second meld and the epilogue now exists for everyone who wondered why there wasn't more sex XD
SOOOPER SPESHUL BONUS ART:
ENDLESS LOVE AND BLATHER: And we're done. Finally XD (I, uh, may have finished writing this about an hour ago. Shhh. It's not procrastination, it's time management ;) )
I owe the fact that this is readable to the following group of people:
janice_lester was my partner in crime, the bringer of logic and coherency, the light in the darkness. Thank you so much, bb. This would not have happened without you.
Thank you to AngelBaby1 for being on standby for my breakdown last night with some soothing squee and great advice. (You're also getting a finger wag for inflicting THIS on me. All fucking day. IN MY HEAD. Where's my screen door shield, huh?)
anoncomment7 - your preemptive squee was revisited often when this thing started hurting me. Thank you for reminding me that I like writing XD.
Thanks to ashleyj28 and awarrington for doing such a great job with the community and letting me be a part of it.
You guys are amazing~!
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
***
So: tempting fate, mocking destiny, ignoring Spock's warnings and dismissing the rest of the landing party. Jim had managed, in the space of five minutes, to create ideal conditions for shit to go seriously awry.
There's no excuse, really, for him not to have seen it coming.
He didn't, though. Which is why, after an hour of following Daim deeper into the woods, stopping occasionally to admire the view (especially when the path narrows and Spock's walking in front of him), he's a little bit slow to react to the sudden oppressive silence when they step into another clearing.
One minute the pulse is thrumming around them, a pleasant vibration in the air, the next-- nothing. Spock's already going for his phaser when Jim twigs to the sense of wrong. The forest around them erupts into a cloud of tiny, winged creatures - pitching and heaving like an angry sea. Their cries are shrill, pitched just this side of ear-bleeding and Jim can't make sense of what he's seeing. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of sparrow sized mad men dart past his head, scratching and clawing at his face, tangling in his hair, screeching all the while.
He swats and tries for his phaser, but they seem to be aware of what the weapon is for and every time his hand closes on the grip, he's buffeted by another swarm until he's forced to release it and swipe ineffectually at the air around him.
Spock's facing him, his phaser actually clear of its holster, though he has yet to fire. His brows are drawn in tight, and he bats furiously with his right hand as he tries to clear a field so that he can take aim and disrupt the frenzied throng.
Daim's nowhere to be seen, but there's an itch at the back of Jim's neck like he's being watched. A flash of movement to his left, bigger, more threatening than the clouds of diminutive bloodthirsty flying fuckers, is all he registers before he's jumping at Spock, tackling him to the ground and shielding his body with his own.
They hit hard, the loss of air as it's knocked out of his lungs paralyzes Jim. Spock oofs beneath him, similarly stunned.
It's quiet again. The screaming cuts off as abruptly as it began. Even the breeze seems to have stopped.
He lifts his head and sees Spock.
Their faces are only a breath apart. Spock's eyes are startled and wide. Every point of contact is hot and solid and perfectly realized. He's dreamed this before. Well, minus the threat of unknown assailants. And the distinct burn of pain radiating from his ass.
Wait.
"Shit. Shit. Shit."
"Jim? Jim, what's wrong?"
"I'm hit. Fuck!"
He scrambles a bit, trying to look back and see the injury, hissing as his jerky movements aggravate the wound. Spock wraps an arm around his back, effectively pinning him in place.
"Cease. You will only injure yourself further."
Jim bites his lip and looks back into Spock's eyes, forcing himself to still at the obvious concern. He breathes out shakily and nods. "You're right. Of course." He braces his arms on the ground and tries to shift his weight to his uninjured side.
Spock's grip loosens and he carefully raises his head to peer over Jim's shoulder, down the length of his body. Jim's blaming the throbbing pain for his urge to giggle at the fact that Spock is legitimately staring at his ass. Clearly, he's delirious.
He shakes his head to clear it. Crisis. Right. People are shooting at him. Someone has already shot him. In the ass.
"Are they still here?" he mumbles, teeth gritted against the pain.
Spock shakes his head, soft hair brushing against Jim's cheek. It kind of tingles. "No. They seem to have fled."
Jim huffs a laugh. "So they came out just to shoot me in the ass and run away? That's new."
"Indeed."
"Any sign of Daim?"
Spock's grip tightens again, immobilizing Jim. There's a rustle of fabric and some really nice friction Jim does his best to ignore. He catches a glimpse of flashing red out of the corner of his eye, but he's too distracted by the warmth of Spock's body and the little line between his brows to pay it much notice. A vague thrill of unease twists in his stomach, but it feels too far away to be bothered with right now.
"My tricorder is no longer functioning. The area appears to be clear, however."
"Communicator?"
Another rustle, this one pushes Spock's chest harder into Jim's and makes him shiver.
"Spock to Enterprise."
Nothing. Spock cycles through the channels calmly. More nothing. It's like they're being blocked, somehow.
Jim grunts and wedges his hand between them, straining for the uncomfortable lump digging into his left hip. He works it free with a hiss as it jostles the whatever-the-fuck is embedded in his ass and pushes it towards Spock. "Try mine."
Spock repeats the calls, alternating channels after a full five seconds as per SOP. "There appears to be no signal, though both units seem functional."
Jim nods. It figures. He wanted to spend some time with Spock today, so why not do it injured and stranded? Fucking destiny. He shifts a bit, the resulting twinge of pain cutting through his lethargy. It's weird, definitely not a phaser burn or even an old-fashioned bullet, wasn't hot enough for that. The pain throbs, radiating out from the source in unhappy ripples. Almost like a...
"So, you gonna tell me what's lodged in my ass?"
There's a bare pause before Spock says: "It appears to be a crude form of an arrow, Jim. The fletching bears a remarkable similarity to an iconic heart."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"No."
"Can you pull it out?"
"I do not believe that would be wise."
Jim tries to be bothered by this, but he's getting kind of fuzzy again. He twitches and whimpers a little, but it's a manly whimper. Spock runs a careful hand down his side as if to soothe him and Jim melts helplessly into it. He wonders absently if he and Uhura ever lie like this...
The figurative klaxons chime red alert, in time for a thrilling bout of nausea. This is wrong. "Spock?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"I think there was something on the arrow. Like a drug, or something."
Spock stiffens beneath him. "I will need to examine the wound immediately. I am going to attempt to move you, Jim."
Jim tries to lift his head, but the way the world's spinning discourages him from the effort. He nods into Spock's neck and braces himself for pain. "S'okay. Do it."
Spock shifts and grips Jim's biceps, which Jim finds pretty nice, all things considered. He has a second to marvel at the show of strength when Spock straight lifts him before his leg spasms and his muscles clench around the arrow, drowning all the warm fuzzies in a wave of agony.
He might have passed out for a second there, cause he's blinking away dirt and various forms of forest detritus before he realizes he's face down in the stuff.
"Spock?" he tries, and though it's muffled and more like a "Spourh?", he figures his message got across.
"I believe that I should attempt to remove the arrow, Jim."
His reply is muffled by the dirt again and he's a bit embarrassed when he finally realizes that he can turn his head. Just a bit though, mostly he's relieved he doesn't have to keep spitting sod. He turns and repeats himself: "No shit. Sorry."
There's a tearing sound beside him.
"Spock? Are you tearing off your clothes in a fit of passion? 'Cause while I applaud the sentiment, really, now is not the time."
The pause that follows is heavy with all sorts of implications and Jim's maybe a little bit mortified when Spock coughs and says, in the soothing kind of voice reserved for small, frightened animals: "I will need to bind the wound once I remove the arrow. My undershirt remains clean enough for the task."
Undershirt...
Whoa. Whoa. Does that mean Spock is topless.
He almost gives himself whiplash in his effort to sneak a peek. It's wasted when Spock pins him with one steady hand on the center of his back.
"Be still, Jim," Spock says, gently. "This will hurt."
Jim obeys without comment. Mostly. "Kinky Vulcan."
Another pause. Jim amuses himself for a second by imagining that all of the things he could say to fill the awkward silence have come to life and are battling it out around them.
"I Love You" would totally kick "So, How About That Local Sports Team?"'s ass.
It's probably for the best that Spock chooses that particular instant to yank.
Jim arches with pain, colouring the air in the clearing with a litany of "Fuck! Shit! OW!" as his skin tears. The arrowhead catches on his pants and he can hear them ripping wider.
The pain ebbs and subsides, leaving him shaking in the dirt. Tracks of tears cool on the side of his face exposed to the air. He feels a brush of something at his hips and cranes his neck weakly to look.
He can see Spock now, working quickly to bind the sluggish flow of blood. His pants are lowered to his thighs, leaving his ass exposed so Spock can treat the wound. He wants to giggle but it seems like too much effort at the moment. He settles back to enjoy the view, instead. He was right, before. Spock is topless, all of that pale skin is gleaming in the sunlight that filters through the trees. He's got better tone than his slight frame would suggest, the lean muscle bunches and ripples through his torso as he works. Dark hair covers his chest, tapering down to a neat line before disappearing into his pants. Jim's mouth waters with the urge to follow it. With his tongue.
So beautiful.
Spock catches Jim staring and offers a solemn nod.
"I'm sorry, Jim."
Jim smiles loosely. "S'OK. S'all better now."
Spock's disbelief is evident in the arch of an eyebrow, but Jim figures he can probably get away with a little white lie under the circumstances. Spock finishes with the wrapping, efficient hands tucking the folds of the improvised bandage tightly into each other before tying the ends off at Jim's hip. His fingers slide along Jim's skin as he carefully pulls his pants back over the bandaging. Jim stifles a moan. Hopefully Spock chalks it up to the pain, but he can't be too badly off if he's getting a stiffy from emergency First Aid.
Spock takes the arrow and wraps it in another strip of his undershirt, tucking it into a pocket for later analysis.
Jim focuses on his breathing and the not entirely unpleasant warmth running through his veins. His erection flags as he relaxes inch by inch. The dappled sunlight is nice, Spock smells good, and the world is taking on a thick haze that makes worrying seem silly and pointless.
He tries to say as much to Spock but his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth, rendering the words garbled and incoherent.
He drifts a little longer.
"Jim! You must remain conscious!"
He doesn't like the edge of worry in Spock's voice. Spock shouldn't sound worried. Spock should be happy. Like he is.
He opens his eyes and Spock's face is right in front of his. He's on his back and that seems odd, but it's OK because that means he can reach up and run a finger over the arch of Spock's cheekbone. He's been wanting to do that for ages and it's just as soft and warm as he imagined, maybe even better, because he never could quite picture what Spock's reaction would be if he ever followed through and did it.
Spock's pupils dilate and little patches of green flood in under Jim's touch. It's perfect, so perfect.
"You're pretty." He says it simply. Wonderingly. Why didn't he say that before?
Spock inhales sharply. "You've been drugged, Jim."
"Yup," he agrees, because he has. He said that already.
Spock's looking freaked out again. Jim tries to smooth the frown away with his hand but it's kind of floppy and hard to control. He giggles when he smushes Spock's nose flat by accident.
"We must return to the ship. Doctor McCoy can find an antidote."
Jim blinks. Why would they want to leave? It's so nice here!
"If I help you stand, do you think you will be able to walk?"
Pfft. Walking's nothing. He can probably fly right now, he feels so light. "OK."
Spock holds out a hand and Jim grabs for it. He misses the first time, which is so hilarious he has to curl into himself to contain the laughter. He tries again and connects, threading his fingers through Spock's and relishing the feeling. They're holding hands. It's amazing. Spock's fingers are paler than his. Longer, more elegant, but still strong. Spock pulls up and Jim follows the motion bonelessly.
He stumbles. His leg's not working right. It's OK though, Spock's chest is a perfectly agreeable place to rest. He buries his face in Spock's tunic, nosing at the curl of black hair sticking out from the v-neck. "You smell good," he says. "Why'd you put your shirt back on? D'ya want me to take mine off?"
Spock shudders against him, but doesn't answer right away. It's still good. All shuddery, like just before a really good orgasm.
"Can you walk?" Spock's voice is suffocated. Jim glances up and sees the flush of green has spread to the tips of Spock's pointy ears. He leans up to trace it with the tip of his tongue.
Spock startles back, upsetting Jim's precarious balance. His leg won't support his full weight and he crumples to his knees. Spock looks so cute and confused standing over him that Jim's laughing helplessly again.
When he manages to catch his breath, Spock's face is carefully blank. His typically smooth cap of hair is dishevelled. Jim's fingers itch to card through it, brush it back off his forehead so he can see his entire face without its interference.
"If you are unable to walk, will you permit me to carry you? I do not think our communicators will function as long as we remain in this area."
Jim crosses his eyes at the idea. This day just keeps getting better! He nods eagerly and throws his arms open. "That sounds fun!"
Spock's lips twitch like he really wants to say something but is resisting the urge. He stares down at Jim for a moment before sighing and crouching so they're at eye level. Jim automatically leans forward a tiny bit.
"Please try to remain still, Jim." Spock's warm hands grip Jim by the waist and he lifts, slinging Jim over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
It's not exactly what he had in mind, but Jim's not going to complain. Especially when he gets to see the muscles of Spock's ass tighten, up close and personal, as he stands. His arms flop loosely over his head and he tries to sway them in time with Spock's stride.
"Please stop making this difficult, Jim." Spock says on the occasion of his second stumble when Jim gets distracted by the good things going on in Spock's pants and loses the rhythm.
"Can't help it, Spock. It's like we're dancing." His voice sounds better when he's talking to Spock's ass and not to the ground. It's kind of husky, like his Sexy Voice, but lighter, 'cause he's feeling so good.
Spock hitches his shoulder and settles Jim back into place. "I fail to see the similarity." Spock's voice is always so serious. He likes it though. It's deep and sometimes, when he's alone at night, he imagines it in his ear when he's jerking off.
What were they talking about, again? Right, dancing!
"It's 'cause you're too literal. You're moving. I'm moving. We're moving together. That's what happens when you're dancing."
"Or fighting."
"Aw, I don't wanna fight with you, Spock. I'd rather dance."
Spock grips Jim’s waist a little tighter for a second. "Indeed."
That settled, Jim goes back to staring at Spock's ass. It's hypnotic. Bouncing up and down as his long legs eat up the ground. It's so close, pressing tightly against his uniform pants. All Jim would have to do to pinch it is lift his hand a tiny little bit.
"Jim!"
Spock halts abruptly and tugs Jim back over his shoulder. He sets him on his feet, supporting him with one outstretched arm, and takes a deep, steadying breath before shooting him a baleful look. Jim sways on his feet and makes grabby hands for Spock's shirt, because he misses the full body contact. Spock sees him coming and attempts to sidestep, the neat dodge ruined by Jim's uncoordinated flailing. They go down together in a tangle of limbs.
Jim cries out as the hurting comes back. It sings all over him and he whimpers with it, ruining the otherwise goodgoodgood feeling of Spock's weight bearing down on him.
Spock scrambles to get his feet back under him, crouching beside Jim until the spasms subside. He's back to looking worried and Jim tries to smile and reassure him but he hurts too bad to be convincing. Spock reaches down and runs a hand down Jim's face, soothing him.
"Jim..." Spock says his name in an achy, quiet voice. "Your condition appears to be worsening."
"It hurts, Spock," Jim agrees. "Really bad."
"So I see." He pauses. "There is a method I could employ to attempt to alleviate some of the symptoms..."
"Are you going to use your Vulcan voodoo on me?" Jim asks when Spock doesn't continue. "That's what Bones calls it. Vulcan Voodoo. Isn't Bones funny? He's pretty too, but not like you. Nobody's as pretty as you, Spock." He nods to show Spock he's in earnest.
Spock's lips twitch in an almost smile and Jim's back to feeling warm all over.
"I like it when you smile at me."
"I shall endeavour to do so more regularly," Spock promises.
"OK," Jim says happily. "Are you going to do the voodoo, now? I think you have to touch me, don't you? Cave Spock touched me on the face when he showed me how him and other me used to be."
"Cave Spock?" Spock asks. "Never mind. Yes. It is a type of meld where I can attempt to block or take on some of your pain."
"Vulcans are so cool," Jim says.
"I assume that means I have your permission?"
"Indeed," Jim says in his best mock-Spock voice. It's a pretty good impression, just not as deep and growly.
Spock lifts an eyebrow and makes no comment, but he's kind of smiling again. Jim wishes he was close enough to kiss.
Spock reaches for his face, fingers splayed in an echo of the meld Cave Spock performed on Delta Vega. They stare into each others' eyes for a moment, Spock likely thinking thinky thoughts while Jim's just enjoying the pressure and the intimacy and counting eyelashes. Spock's breaths are quiet and measured and it's not long before Jim's breathing in synch.
"My mind to your mind," Spock murmurs, finally. "My thoughts to your thoughts."
Jim's brain is a pretty big brain, he thinks, even when it's being an utter bastard and he feels like he'll burst with everything he keeps locked in it. He remembers Iowa and the golden fields of wheat at sunset. He remembers what it's like to feel so hollow from lack of food that even waking drains him. He knows that the intermix formula in standard matter/antimatter warp drives should never exceed a 1:1 ratio. His mother was born on 2210.89. In another universe, Cave Spock will die promising his alternate future self that they will always be friends. Then he'll come back and his other self will have to remind him of why. His Spock always rests his spoon at a 45º angle to his tray when he's not holding it. The molecular weight of titanium is 47.88gm. He knows six different words for revenge in the Klingon language, but only one for love. There's a lot of information. A lot of memories. It's a big brain, but sometimes it feels too full.
When Cave Spock melded with him, the overload was like a rapid expansion of gasses in a limited space. It leaked out in his tears because he couldn't cope with the overflow of emotion, memories and the strange duality of experience in the pressure hot vastness of their combined lives. Jim's a little bit anxious that melding with his Spock will be the same. He doesn't think he can hold the three of them.
But he trusts his Spock.
He relaxes his death grip on his self and lets Spock in.
Spock's brain, rather than shove its way forward and displace Jim's information, seems to bind to it instead. It's like every fragment that makes up Jim is enhanced, shared. He's walking through a collection of memories and it's like Spock has been with him through it all. Jim and Spock witness a man order the deaths of half a colony to spare the rest. Jim and Spock watch his mom leave for something more exciting than motherhood. Jim and Spock throw Captain Pike's challenge in his face and dare him to keep up. It's exhilarating and Jim struggles to hold onto this simple feeling as long as he can.
For once in his life, he's not alone, and he wants to cry with relief.
Spock's presence is humming around him, inserting layers between Jim and the pain wracking his body. It fades to almost nothing.
He can sense Spock's pleasure at the accomplishment.
I believe this should suffice. How do you feel?
Warmsafehappystay?
A rich laugh bubbles up from beneath his childhood memories. I cannot. We must return to the Enterprise. You are still wounded.
It doesn't hurt here. It's hard, so hard, to force his thoughts into words when all he wants to do is blanket himself in Spock's presence and bask.
I am glad. Come, Jim. Return with me.
Just a little longer?
We can do this again after you've been to sickbay.
Promise?
Yes.
Fine.
I am stopping the meld now.
He feels Spock's mind detach from his own even as his fingertips leave the meld points on his face. He opens his eyes and Spock's right there, dark eyes scanning Jim's face for signs of distress. He finds nothing because the pain has faded to inconsequential in light of the lingering sense of well being that followed them out of the meld.
It's the easiest thing in the world to stretch up and kiss him.
Spock's lips are soft against his own. He tastes like tea and candy.
He's kissing back.
Jim groans and licks into Spock's mouth, tracing the line of his teeth with his tongue. It's good, so good, to finally know what this feels like. He can't remember why they haven't done this already but it doesn't matter because they're doing it now, and it's perfect.
Spock's hands are in his hair, tugging him closer. Jim goes easily, deepening the kiss. He reaches up and sneaks his hands under Spock's tunic, feeling the smooth muscle and crinkle of hair against his palms. He strokes and grips greedily, desperate to map out every inch of skin he's imagined touching until he knows it better than his own.
Spock pulls back and presses a series of soft kisses down Jim's jaw and onto his neck. He breathes in deeply and murmurs appreciative noises into Jim's throat. He shifts until his full weight is pressing Jim into the soft grass, the sharp scent mixing with the tang of their sweat and the richer earth.
"Spock. Spock. Spock." Jim's voice is shattered and needy. He grinds up and gasps when his dick brushes Spock's, hard heat obvious even through their clothing. He does it again, and Spock picks up the rhythm.
Spock's hands are completing their own survey, tracing Jim's hips and up his sides before skimming back down and caressing a thigh. Everywhere he touches tingles in the aftermath until Jim's body feels like it's electrified, one long, hot pulse of pure energy.
Jim wraps himself around Spock, writhing and winding until their tremors resonate and amplify. They're so close. Almost as close as they were in the meld. Heat and want and need collide within Jim until he embodies them. His teeth latch into the column of Spock's throat and he bites, hard, revelling in Spock's rough moan.
"Jim-" Spock's voice shudders and catches on his name, stretching it into a treatise on burning.
Jim bucks his hips and arches his back, trying to crawl into him. He licks a path up to Spock's ear and pours every moment of frustrated longing, every hope and dream and fear he's ever harboured into one soft sigh.
"Spock," he says brokenly as his orgasm shivers through him. "Spock."
***
His ass hurts again, but it's nothing compared to the realization that he and Spock are spooning. On the ground. In the middle of a mission. He wants to scream, to kick and curse and flail--maybe call Destiny down from the cosmos and rip her a new one. Or, maybe, he just wants to hide, curl into himself until he disappears so he doesn't have to look in the mirror tomorrow and see the face of a broken man who couldn't keep it in his goddamn pants.
Ah, metaphorically speaking, that is. He shifts slightly in Spock's arms, acutely aware from the rapidly drying mess at his crotch that his pants had been very much on throughout.
Oh. Shit.
The first thing Jim's going to do when he sees Daim again is punch her, right in her fucking cute little muzzle. Immediately following that he's going to figure out exactly how far he can run before Uhura finds him and guts him like the pig he is.
He figures if he gets enough of a head start he can probably live out his twilight years as an exotic dancer in some out of the way system until she catches up to him.
Emotional transference is an effect of the meld...
He remembers his pithy reply to Cave Spock on Delta Vega. He imagines this is some sort of sick cosmic karma.
Fucking Destiny can kiss his throbbing, angry ass.
"Jim?" Spock says softly, right in his ear. He suppresses the pleased shiver that wants to crawl up his spine.
"Yeah, Spock. I'm back."
"It appears the effect of the drug has been burned out by our physical activity."
Physical activity. Well, that's one way to put it. "I noticed." Jim gives himself a full second to pretend that this was real and not just the side effect of some wacky cupid mojo before asking: "You felt it too? After the meld?"
Spock hesitates, and Jim feels sick at the thought of his friend trying to phrase a delicate reply. His stomach sinks further when Spock finally answers, "Indeed. The effects were quite overwhelming."
Somewhere, in another universe maybe, some cosmic entity and Jim's entire roster of exes are killing themselves laughing over this. Jim kind of wishes he were there instead. "Right. Well. We should probably get back to the ship."
He can feel it when Spock nods solemnly, and he turns back to meet his eyes for the first time since...
Well, at least the Klingon story will have some good company in the sealed archives. He blinks and turns away, wiggling out from under Spock's arm awkwardly.
Spock rises with enviable grace and offers Jim a hand up. He waves it aside and lurches to his feet. His ass is throbbing viciously, which is a great complement to the emotional trauma he's going to be repressing for the rest of his life.
"Are you still in pain?" Spock's concern is like a knife to the heart.
"I'll deal," Jim bites out shortly. He regrets it immediately because while Spock's face is neutral, the hurt is still there, lurking behind his dark eyes.
"Sorry, Spock. It's... It's not your fault, OK?"
Spock doesn't answer. Jim's shoulders sag.
"Let's just go home."
He leads the way, limping slightly, out of the clearing.
They make decent progress by the light of the sun, but to Jim it feels like an eternity of agonized silence before the crystal towers of the main resort are visible on the horizon. He can safely say he's got a pretty good grasp on the concept of relativity now.
Jim's just about to reassure himself that things can't get much worse when Bones and Sulu appear at the top of the hill. And, even better, Uhura and Daim are right behind them.
"Captain Kirk! Mister Spock!" Daim greets, her ears are twitching happily, but her eyes are casting between them nervously. "I'm so glad you're safe."
"Are you now?" Jim asks flatly. He still wants to punch her, and it probably shows. She's smart enough to be standing behind Uhura who Jim pretty much wants to avoid forever. He's conflicted.
"Of course she is, Jim!" Uhura says with a frown.
"She just fetched us and said y'all were taking longer than you should," Bones says, frowning as he takes in their dishevelled appearance. "What happened? You look a sight." He reaches for his tricorder and is scanning them both before he finishes speaking.
Jim doesn't even know where to start. Blurting out: 'I got shot in the ass by this planet's version of cupid, only with more teeth and claws, and then I fucked Uhura's boyfriend on the ground after the most emotionally intimate experience of my sad, sad life' seems crass. Lucky for all of them, Spock's got no such qualms, and much better manners.
"We were attacked by a group of unknown aliens approximately 5.7 kilometers East of here," he says smoothly. "Jim was wounded and there were some complications related to his injury that required immediate treatment, which accounts for our delay." He reaches into his pocket and offers the bundled arrow to Bones. "Doctor, if you analyze this you will find traces of a chemical compound that induces euphoria and heightened sensations in humanoids."
Bones unwraps the arrow. "If that don't beat all!" He holds the shaft aloft, angling it so the light gleams off the stylized heart at the crown. Daim makes a strangled noise that is largely ignored by everyone but Jim. He glares at her until she looks away. "Jim," says Bones, with a laugh, "d'y'realize you got shot by a love dart on Valentine's Day?"
Bones's teasing grin dies when Jim's face crumples. "I noticed, yeah. It's not as much fun as the legends make out."
Spock stiffens beside him and he winces. Right. Save the breakdown for later, or, better yet, make later happen now.
"Look. Guys." Jim stares at them blankly. He has no idea what he can possibly say. "I'm sorry. I just gotta... I gotta go. Back to the ship."
He limps over to Uhura and puts his hands on her shoulders. Looking into her worried eyes is the hardest thing he's ever done. "Nyota," he says, seriously. "It wasn't his fault. I'm sorry." His calm facade cracks a little, along with his voice. "I'm so fucking sorry."
He rounds on Daim then, righteous fury straightening his spine. She stumbles back nervously. "As for you," he says with icy contempt. "If I find out you had any hand in this, there will be charges brought against your entire government. In the meantime, stay the fuck away from my crew."
Daim's ears pin back in terror, her mouth opening and closing like she's trying to speak but can't find the words. "But-" she finally squeaks. "But, it was destiny!"
"Oh, fuck you." Jim says bitterly before he turns away.
He doesn't look back.
Can't bear to look back, though he can feel Spock's stare burning into him.
Bones walks up beside him and offers a shoulder. He leans into it gratefully.
"Here now, Jim. Let's go home."
They leave.
***
Some high dosage painkillers and a run with a dermal regenerator later, Jim's back in his quarters, flat on his back and staring at the wall. His dad's portrait is still crooked, so he's mostly trying to straighten it with his mind and not think about anything else.
Bones, bless his bristly, belligerent heart, didn't push him for the explanations he's not ready to give. He had offered brandy and an ear, but let Jim back down with the weak excuse of needing to rest.
It'll all come out in the report, anyway. He had laughed the first time he saw that there was an actual form for filing reports on 'Crew Interactions : Activities Motivated by Toxic Drug Influence'. He hadn't noticed the checkbox for "Requires Counselling?" then. Good old Starfleet thinks of everything.
He picks up his PADD and sets it down again.
He stares at the wall some more.
He's on the third round of attempted telekinesis when the door chimes. He swallows the dread and tells himself to man the fuck up already. Shuffling over to the edge of the bed, he sits up before calling: "Enter."
Spock steps through the door and into the room. He's had a shower and a turn with a dermal regenerator himself, all of the little nicks and bruises from their mission have vanished. Jim's heart squeezes painfully in his chest as he braces himself.
"Hey, Spock." He shouldn't sound so defeated. Blatant emotionalism is probably the last thing Spock needs from him. "How are you feeling?" There. Better. He almost sounded steady.
"I would ask you the same," Spock says without inflection.
Jim winces. "Well, you know. Other than completely terrified that I've ruined everything? I'm good."
"What, precisely, is it that you feel you have 'ruined'?"
Jim should have expected this too, he guesses. He certainly deserves it, though he'd kind of hoped Spock wouldn't be so cruel as to make him actually spell it out. "Our friendship?" he offers sadly, when he can finally speak past the lump in his throat. "Your relationship with Uhura? Any chance of keeping you from finding out that I'm desperately in love with you? Pick one, any one. They're all true."
Spock stiffens and inhales sharply, the first obvious emotion he's shown since he entered Jim's quarters. "Jim," he starts uncertainly, then stops, as if reconsidering. He takes a step closer to where Jim's perched on the end of his bed, then another, until he's standing only a few feet away. Close enough to touch if Jim had that right.
Spock lifts a hand. "Jim," he says again, stronger this time. "Meld with me."
Jim aches. How much worse can this whole shit show actually get before he's allowed to just break, already? It isn't enough to hear Spock's rejection? Now he gets to feel it too?
"Please, Jim."
Jim lets out a tiny, suffocated breath. He doesn't want to cry in front of Spock, so he avoids meeting his eyes. "Not yet. Just... Tell me about what happened after Bones and I left."
Spock's hand falls back to his side. "Very well, Captain."
Jim tries not to flinch at his title. He remembers how proud he was the day he got his ship and it's still the last thing he wants to be called right now.
"After you and the Doctor departed, Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu and I questioned Daim about the nature of the questing ritual and her claims of destiny." He pauses. "I find I can harbour no fondness for that word."
Jim laughs despite himself. "You and me both," he says with feeling. "You and me both."
"Indeed. She initially restated the claim that questing candidates were those chosen by destiny, by which means she could not disclose, to travel to the heart of Elaphe to find their true path. The pulse we detected over subspace was allegedly the form taken by destiny's call."
Jim nods. "Yeah, that's the line she fed us when we first met her. So, why us? Really."
"We were merely the first to respond. The Elaphian government has long purported that their planet is the source of love. It would appear that they have recently constructed a device to bolster that claim."
"I knew it! I figured it was something like that when the delegates were so eager to send us out there."
"Why did you not voice your suspicions at that time?"
Jim swallows. "I was curious?"
Spock frowns. "We will discuss your tendency towards unhealthy curiosity at another time, Jim."
A tiny thread of hope winds through Jim at this. Maybe the situation isn't completely untenable if Spock's still willing to lecture him on his recklessness. He risks a glance up and sees that Spock is watching him closely. He flushes and looks back down at his shuffling feet, before he gestures for Spock to continue.
"Once we obtained Daim's confession that there was a device creating the signal, it was a simple matter to deduce that once the targeted questing pair reached the clearing a jamming sequence was initiated, effectively stranding them in an idyllic surrounding until they acted on their desires. Commander Scott has dispatched a team of engineers to verify this."
Jim nods. "Good, good." He considers the events in the clearing as dispassionately as he can, avoiding staring directly at his actions and trying instead to picture their surroundings. "So, just in case they don't act quickly enough when they realize they're stranded, the Elaphians supply an army of cupid-beasts armed with aphrodisiac ammo to speed things along."
"Precisely," says Spock approvingly. "Only it would seem that the cupid-beasts, as you call them, happened to be executing a mass escape just as we were arriving. The actual scheme only called for one such creature to be released."
Jim facepalms. "Okay, first off - how the fuck is that fair? Why did they have to choose that exact moment to escape?"
Spock's eyebrow twitches, he's either very amused or very angry. Jim's not really up to speculating on which, so he keeps talking:
"And secondly? At what point did the Elaphians decide that grievous bodily harm was romantic? Without the meld," he stutters as the memories rush back. He coughs and tries again: "If you hadn't been able to block my pain, I don't think anything would have happened. Except maybe some really bad poetry as the euphoria built up."
"Poetry?"
"Uh, later." Never.
Spock arches a brow in a silent promise to collect on that later. Jim's stomach flips between excitement and terrified nausea.
"I posed that question to Daim as well," Spock continues after a long, significant look. "Regarding the arrow, that is, not the relative justice in the timing of the escape attempt. The creatures were originally armed with small, needle-like projectiles, easily removed and unlikely to cause any significant physical discomfort."
"Just mental and emotional discomfort after drugging two people into acting on a manufactured attraction?!" Jim says with some bitterness.
Spock shoots him another look. "This is the point we could not get Daim to abandon. She insisted that the compound would only activate in the presence of genuine regard."
Jim coughs uncomfortably. "Well, we can't really disprove that by me. I-" he starts, then slumps. "By now it's obvious that what I was feeling was real. And you said yourself that you picked it up from the meld. I guess she must have seen it and that's why she picked us instead of Rico or Flores."
"She did mention that she noticed our closeness when she initially observed us. She said she could read our hearts in our eyes."
"Cliche much?" Jim scoffs, rolling his own--decidedly not heart-filled--eyes.
Wait.
Our eyes?
"Our eyes?" he echoes softly. It hurts how much he wants this to be real.
Spock’s smile is gentle when he lifts his hand again. "Meld with me?"
Jim nods shakily, hope and fear and desperate longing roiling in the pit of his gut. Spock's fingers slide over his face to his meld points like he's tracing a well known path.
Jim's whole body shudders when their eyes lock. The full force of Spock's intensity is directed at him and it's almost overwhelming after the fucking day he's had.
"One more question?" he asks carefully, before Spock can say the ritual words to initiate the meld.
"Ask," Spock says, as patient as ever.
"Uhura?"
"Has been, and will always be, my dear friend. We ended our romantic involvement 2.7 months past." Spock ducks his head slightly before murmuring: "I had thought you to be aware."
Jim shakes his head slowly, as he reflects on their relationship in light of this new information. Stars, he is such an idiot sometimes. Some of the ache that's been crushing his heart eases. A genuine smile spreads across his face, the first in what feels like eons. "Do it," he says urgently. "Show me."
Spock does.
***
Jim emerges from their second meld with the same sense of ease as from their first. Only this time, when he leans up to press his lips against Spock's, he does it with the full knowledge that not only does he love, completely, absolutely, but he is loved in return.
It's headier than any drug.
***
One Year Later
Destiny is a bitch.
Jim knows this, he thinks as he gapes in abject horror at the bouquet of writhing purple flowers being thrust at him by the smiling Klingon ambassador. He knows he knows this.
So why is it always such a fucking surprise?
The smiling Klingon ambassador bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain portrait in a certain sealed file that is Not To Be Spoken Of. Ever. By order of the Captain. Jim hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd been instructed to ferry the Klingon delegation to the Laurentian system for the upcoming peace talks, but it sure as hell wasn't a familiar face in formal robes, bearing a clutch of carnivorous posies.
"Captain Kirk," the-Ambassador-who-cannot-possibly-be-who-Jim-thinks-he-is-because-even-the-universe-isn't-that-fucking-cruel says with a wide smile, the kind that shows all of his snaggled, crooked teeth. "I was most pleased when the High Council selected me as the liaison for the conference with the Federation."
"Yeah, I understand it's quite an honour," Jim says nervously. He takes two quick steps back when the Ambassador offers up the bouquet again. He's never had to dodge flowers before but these ones are alive. And toothy. And hungry, if the way that they're snapping at Jim and the Ambassador and any flicker of movement means anything. There is no fucking way he's getting anywhere near those things.
The Ambassador inclines his head gravely, ignoring Jim's hasty dodge. "The highest of honours," he agrees. "I can only hope to live up to their expectations. I was also pleasantly surprised when I discovered that the illustrious Captain Kirk was to be my escort. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance." He leers at Jim, and shamelessly eye-fucks him, right in the middle of the transporter room.
Right in front of Spock.
The trilling pulse of a phaser set to stun fills the room, effectively halting all respective leering and backpedalling from the Ambassador and Jim. Mixed scents of ozone discharge and burning plant matter mingle in the air.
"I apologize," Spock says, breaking the stunned silence smoothly. He doesn't re-holster his phaser. "The vix vir luguolis was preparing to strike, Ambassador. I had to act quickly."
The Ambassador's eyes narrow, darting from Jim to Spock to the possessive hand Spock has placed on Jim's shoulder. He smooths his expression to a neutral diplomatic mask and bows to Spock. "I thank you then, Vulcan, for your timely intervention."
Spock nods gravely. "It is my duty, as First Officer aboard the Enterprise, to identify potential threats and handle them accordingly. No thanks are required, Ambassador, for I take my duty very seriously." His hand flexes on Jim's shoulder.
The Ambassador pales slightly as the implications sink home. "I understand," he says, finally. "We Klingons admire a warrior who will defend what is his." He casts one last regretful look at Jim's crotch and steps back. "Captain Kirk, if you would be so kind as to beam up the rest of my party?"
Jim smiles broadly. "Of course, Ambassador. Commander Scott, if you would?"
"Aye," Scotty says agreeably, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.
"Mister Spock, I need to speak with you immediately. In my quarters."
"Of course, Captain."
They exit the transporter room, side-by-side.
It's their anniversary tomorrow. The Federation is taking the first steps toward reaching a lasting peace with the Klingon Empire. His ship is scheduled for a warp drive upgrade that's making Scotty drool in anticipation.
Destiny's a bitch, true. But he figures he and Spock can take her.
Finis
Deleted scene between the second meld and the epilogue now exists for everyone who wondered why there wasn't more sex XD
SOOOPER SPESHUL BONUS ART:
ENDLESS LOVE AND BLATHER: And we're done. Finally XD (I, uh, may have finished writing this about an hour ago. Shhh. It's not procrastination, it's time management ;) )
I owe the fact that this is readable to the following group of people:
janice_lester was my partner in crime, the bringer of logic and coherency, the light in the darkness. Thank you so much, bb. This would not have happened without you.
Thank you to AngelBaby1 for being on standby for my breakdown last night with some soothing squee and great advice. (You're also getting a finger wag for inflicting THIS on me. All fucking day. IN MY HEAD. Where's my screen door shield, huh?)
anoncomment7 - your preemptive squee was revisited often when this thing started hurting me. Thank you for reminding me that I like writing XD.
Thanks to ashleyj28 and awarrington for doing such a great job with the community and letting me be a part of it.
You guys are amazing~!
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!