Star Trek Reboot Fic: I Didn’t Know I Was Lost
Title: I Didn’t Know I Was Lost
Rating: R/Mature
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Spock, ensemble in bit parts
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: Coffeehouse AU, because that’s exactly what this fandom needs more of; frottage \o/
Word Count: 8,800
Summary: Jim is the worst barista of ever. But really, this story is about Spock trying to find himself. Story inspired by this Tumblr post.
A/N: I don’t know what this is - the first of a series, probably? Also, it’s for amiss/museattack, whose prompts I can never resist.
For Day 2 of my fourth annual Twelve Days of Ficmas Challenge. Title is a lyric from the song “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.
----
“Good morning.”
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk! What can I get you?”
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte.”
“Vulcans like coffee? Really?”
“This Vulcan likes coffee, yes.”
“Coming right up!”
Spock removed himself to the area beside the coffee house’s counter to wait for his drink. It being late morning, the shop was not very busy, so as it happened, the young man who took his order was also fulfilling it.
Attempting to fulfill it.
“Triple shot mocha for the man with the pointy ears!” the barista said with a wink that was probably supposed to be ingratiating or appealing in some way.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I ordered a grande nonfat no-foam latte,” Spock informed him.
“You did?” The proud, pleased expression on the young man’s face faded. “Oh. You sure you don’t want this one anyway?”
Spock waited a beat before replying, “No.”
“Coming right up.”
Spock removed his personal comm device from an inner pocket of his jacket and began to check his messages. Within moments, an alarming, whining sound began, rising rapidly in volume and pitch.
“No, no, no,” the young man said desperately, turning to the espresso machine in a hurry and fiddling with some of its knobs. As he touched one, a pillar of steam shot forth - thankfully not at him, for surely it would have injured him - and the knob itself fell to the stainless steel counter, then to the floor, where it apparently rolled out of sight.
“Crap,” the young man muttered, and a gruff voice from some back office called out, “You’re not breaking that machine again, are you, Jim?”
“Crap!” Jim said rather urgently under his breath as he dropped to the floor to retrieve the knob. “No, Chris, everything’s fine!” he called from the floor, then popped up to his feet, frowning at the dust on the knob. He moved over to the sink and began to rinse it off.
“Apple cider chai coming right up for you, sir,” Jim said to Spock, barely looking at him.
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte,” Spock reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.”
Ten minutes, a spilled half pound of espresso beans, and a frantic search for more milk later, Spock was at last presented with his coffee.
“Here you go, sorry for the delay.”
Spock took his coffee, noted the sheen of sweat on the young man’s face, and reflected that at least he’d gotten a workout in his attempt to produce a single cup of coffee. It was not until he was a block away that he realized the milk was soy.
----
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk! What can I get you?”
“It is you,” Spock said to the blond young man named Jim who had waited on him the day before.
“It is. Me.”
Spock looked around the busy shop - it was 7:35 in the morning and the rush of morning commuters made for a long line of customers, and given the previous day’s performance, he wondered how the young man was coping with the rush.
“And you’re you,” Jim pointed out, looking at Spock expectantly, awaiting his order.
As he appeared not to remember their previous day’s encounter, Spock continued and gave his order, “Grande nonfat no-foam latte.”
Jim pressed some buttons on the screen of the point of sale machine. “That’ll be 187 credits.”
“That cannot be correct.”
“You sure?” Jim frowned at the machine and pressed a few buttons on the screen, canceling the transaction. “4.85, then - how’s that sound?”
“It appears to be accurate.”
“What’s the name? For your order?”
Ten minutes later, Spock left the shop with a cup labeled, “Speck” and, he would learn later, an extra 90 credits in his account.
----
“Excuse me.”
Spock, whose coffee order had just been set atop the counter, stepped aside to allow the red-faced Scotsman room at the coffee house’s counter.
“Yes?”
Spock noticed for the first time that the black-rimmed eyeglasses Jim typically wore were clearly antique. He knew they must be, because near-sightedness in humans had been nearly eradicated 50 years ago through the employment of corrective eyedrops. When Jim raised his head, his eyes were somewhat magnified by the lenses, and Spock was surprised to realize that they were a rather startling shade of blue.
“I dinnae think tha’s soy milk in me coffee,” the Scot said.
“Of course it is, I made it myself.”
“These hives of mine tell a different story, laddie.”
Spock, who had been quietly minding his business, now noted that the Scot’s entire throat, as well as a good part of his jawline, were covered with welts.
“Are you allergic to something?” Jim asked.
“Aye.”
“Did you eat or drink something you’re allergic to?”
The Scot raised both eyebrows and eyed his coffee.
“Are you allergic to milk?”
The Scot tapped the side of his nose. “Got it in three,” he said slowly.
“OH! Did I use milk by mistake?”
“Someone did, and there’s no one else back there.”
“I’m so, so sorry!” Jim exclaimed, jumping into action. He dashed to the opposite end of the counter, realized he’d forgotten something, and then ran back. “Do you need a doctor?” he asked breathlessly. “You… you… you’re not gonna die or, or anything? Oh my God, oh my… God…” Jim clutched at his own chest as his respiration increased disproportionately to the amount of physical exertion he’d just undertaken.
He appeared to be hyperventilating.
“Is there a doctor in here?” Spock called out to the other patrons in the shop.
“I’m a doctor,” said a tall man who’d been seated at a table in the corner; Spock noted that he wore scrubs. “Ah, jeez, what now?”
Jim was now leaning with his back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe. “Bones!” he gasped, pointing at the Scotsman. “He... I… save him!”
The doctor looked at the Scotsman, then at Jim, then back again. “You in need of saving?”
The man shrugged. “I think he’s got it worse at the mo’.”
The doctor rolled his eyes and then made his way behind the counter, grabbing a paper sack from beside the pastry case and moving closer to the stricken barista. “Jim? Jimmy - here,” he said, shoving the bag into the wild-eyed young man’s hands and gently manhandling him to a seated position on the floor.
“There’s nothing in here!” Jim gasped.
“You’re supposed to breathe into it, you numbskull,” the man called Bones explained.
Jim did as bidden, taking great sucking gasps of air into the bag. Spock stood back as the doctor emerged from behind the counter and retrieved a medical kit from his table, administering a hypo of antihistamine for the Scotsman, who was grateful when his hives immediately subsided.
“Just a typical Tuesday around here,” the doctor commented to Spock, then returned to his table and his abandoned muffin and coffee.
Excitement over, Spock left to begin his day. His coffee, when he finally tasted it, was actually Earl Grey tea.
----
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk. What can I get you?”
“You already got me,” the rather large man in Starfleet Academy cadet reds said. “I ordered a decaf, and this is a lemonade.”
Spock sat at a corner table observing the goings-on at the service counter. For reasons that eluded him but that he chose not to ignore, he’d been frequenting this coffee house now for each of the last 22 days and had determined that 33.2% of the customers who were served when Jim was on shift received the wrong coffee orders. He was certain the number was higher than that, as many customers likely left before realizing there was an error, or else were too polite to bring it up.
Jim blinked up at the man. “That’s a lemonade.”
“Right.”
“Didn’t you order a decaf?”
“Are you mental or something?” the man asked, taking a step forward.
“There’s no need to call names, Cupcake,” Jim said, turning around to pour out a cup of coffee that Spock could see from where he was seated was not from the pot reserved for decaffeinated.
“Who’s calling who names?” the large man said, clearly becoming enraged.
Jim turned around, set the coffee on the counter and said, “You are. But hey, that’s OK, because I get that you calling people names makes you feel more empowered or whatever. I get it. No sweat.” Then he smiled encouragingly at the man.
Spock, who’d been raised on a planet where outward displays of emotion were not only frowned upon but conditioned out of existence through years of repressive denial, had, nevertheless, in his travels come to recognize the body language of a supremely enraged being. He calculated a 47.133% probability of a violent encounter resulting.
“That’ll be $3.50,” Jim said.
The probability of violence occurring increased to 84.5%.
Spock stood in case his assistance proved necessary; at this hour of the mid-afternoon, the coffee house was typically very slow, and he and the large man were the sole customers.
“I already paid!”
“For a lemonade,” Jim pointed out.
“Cupcake” grabbed Jim by the front of his shirt. “I ordered the decaf!”
Spock moved forward and was at the counter in under a second. “You must cease this violent outburst at once,” he said.
Cupcake hauled a meaty fist back, intent, Spock believed, on doing Jim harm. “I’ll cease when I’m good and -“
His last words were cut off by the nerve pinch Spock felt forced to administer. “That was regrettable,” he said, neatly sidestepping the man as he fell to the floor.
“Did you just kill him?”
“He is merely stunned.”
“That was awesome!”
“You will help me rearrange his body so he is not uncomfortable,” Spock said, and waited as Jim came out from behind the counter. They each grabbed the man beneath an arm and dragged him to a couch beside the fireplace and laid him down beside it. Spock busied himself with arranging the man’s arms so there would be no danger of circulatory issues, and when he straightened himself up, he found Jim still standing beside him.
“You saved my life,” he said with the type of sincerity Spock found that humans doled out all too readily.
“I merely prevented this much larger man from pummeling you repeatedly with his fists.”
“That’s what I meant.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Your use of hyperbole is, as is typical of your race, wholly unnecessary.”
“Back at ya,” Jim replied, then became suddenly distracted. He went back to the counter and crouched down, disappearing behind it. Emerging a moment later with a PADD in hand, he stood with his back to the shop as he entered something into it with a stylus. Meanwhile, Spock noticed, the lemonade and black coffee that had spilled during their encounter with “Cupcake” had merged on the floor to create a wholly unpleasant, dual-toned effect.
“Back at me?” Spock said to him, stepping around the mess. “That phrase does not apply.”
Jim grunted something unintelligible, erased what he’d written on the PADD and wrote something else.
“I reiterate: the usage of the phrase, ‘back at ya,’ implies a reciprocal response where none exists. How would you turn my observation of the tendency of humans to rely too heavily on overstated metaphor back at me?”
Jim wrote something else then looked up at him, eyes narrowing through his glasses. “You’re a Vulcan,” he replied as if that was an explanation.
Spock had no response, and was annoyed with himself when he blinked at the young man involuntarily.
“You’ve a tendency to point out folks’ shortcomings in order to elucidate for them their obvious flaws in logic or behavior or both. I was making an observation similar to yours.”
Spock blinked again, and this time it was with astonishment. “I meant no insult.”
“I know.” Jim went back to writing, erasing, and re-writing whatever it was he was doing. “Dammit, it’s not working. I’m missing a variable somewhere.” He chewed on the end of the stylus thoughtfully.
Spock watched him for a full minute before his curiosity and frustration got the better of him and he had to ask, “What is it you are doing?”
“I thought I could write a Julia Set to represent the curve of your eyebrows and it’s not working - see?” Jim showed him the PADD.
“You are a mathematician?”
“Not yet.”
Spock looked at the graphic depiction of the formula. “They are not that curly.” Nor as pink, though Spock could allow that perhaps the coloration was applied by the PADD’s plotting program by default.
“I know,” Jim replied, disappointed. He shut the PADD off and held it against his hip. “I’m Jim, by the way.”
“Yes. I know. I have been coming in here for the past 22 days, and have already gleaned that information.”
“This is where you introduce yourself.”
“My name is Spock. You take it every day when I order my coffee.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t been formally introduced. Nice to meet you Spock. I’d shake your hand, but I know you guys aren’t into touching other people.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“See, that’s unfair,” Jim said, pointing at the eyebrow. “Parading my failure in front of me.”
Spock furrowed his eyebrows.
“That’s not much better.”
“I find myself at a loss as to an appropriate response.”
“You’re cute.”
This conversation was getting to be very nonlinear.
“There’s lemonade and coffee on the floor - I should prolly clean it up before my boss gets back and yells at me.” Jim disappeared to the back room, emerging a few minutes later with a mop and bucket. He cleared up the mess fairly efficiently, but then glanced up at Spock. “You’re in the way.”
Spock hastily stepped aside, murmuring an apology.
“It was only a little,” Jim replied. “I don’t want to get your boots messy.”
Spock remained, watching as Jim worked, then as he put the cleaning implements away and returned to his station behind the counter. He could not explain his fascination, or his apparent inability to move at present. For that matter, he could not explain his daily patronage of an establishment where he was regularly given the wrong order and repeatedly charged the incorrect amount.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Jim offered, snapping Spock out of his reverie.
“Dine with me,” Spock blurted, the words leaving his mouth almost on their own. He shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth - where had this impulse come from?
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte, right?”
Spock could feel his face color - had his advances been rejected? “Yes, thank you,” he managed to reply.
Jim turned to make the coffee as Spock’s mind reeled. He had acted impulsively when he’d had almost no indication Jim showed any interest in his companionship. He was trying to “go with what felt right” a phrase his mother utilized on many occasions when speaking of her decision to enter into a relationship with Spock’s father. In the moment, he had felt like pursuing a continued acquaintance with Jim, his fascination with whom he now realized was the sole reason for his continued return to this place. To think he was to be denied this was disappointing, the fact of the disappointment perhaps more distressing. He felt illogically paralyzed by this revelation.
He closed his eyes in frustration - logic had nothing and everything to do with why he was here in the first place. He needed to leave; he turned to collect his bag from the table.
“Here you go,” Jim said, placing a paper cup on the counter. “It’s on the house, on account of your help with Cupcake over there.” He indicated the man in question with his chin.
“He will remain unconscious for only another thirty minutes,” Spock felt compelled to point out.
“My boss will be back by then,” Jim said.
Spock nodded curtly and returned to his table. He set the coffee cup down so he could put on his coat, and it was then he noticed the message scrawled on the outside of the cup: Pick me up at 7:00 - J it said, and an address was included beneath it. Spock lifted the cup and read it more than once, as if his perception might have been compromised, but of course it had not. Closing up the fastenings of the coat and wrapping a scarf securely around his neck, he left the shop with a sense of relief and near-elation that his attempt at securing a “date” with Jim had been successful - the date he hadn’t known he wanted less than an hour before.
Once outside, he took a sip from the cup. Naturally, the beverage inside was a vanilla chai latte.
----
“A Vulcan, eh?”
“I beg your pardon?” Spock found himself brought up short by the appearance at Jim’s door of the doctor who had assisted with the allergic Scotsman two weeks before.
“He has a flair for the exotic, I’ll give Jim that.”
Spock merely raised an eyebrow. The doctor pushed the door open further to allow Spock to enter, then pushed it shut behind them with a casual shove as his long legs carried him back towards the area where Spock assumed the bedrooms lay. “Jimmy! Comp’ny!” the man called before closing himself behind one of the bedroom doors.
The three minutes that Spock stood where he was seemed interminable until finally Jim emerged from the second bedroom with a shoe in each hand. “Right on time,” he greeted with a cursory smile, then took a seat on the shabby-looking couch that was the only piece of furniture in the living area. He pulled a pair of socks from a pocket - Spock noted they were pink with cartoon sushi rolls on them - and began to pull them onto his feet. “Have a seat.”
Spock took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and watched Jim pull his shoes on. “Have you given any thought to where you would like to… do you realize you have two completely different shoes there?” he asked.
Jim looked blankly at the shoe in his hand - a loafer - and the one on his foot, which was called a sneaker, if Spock remembered his local terminology properly; at least they were both black. He snorted a laugh. “God, I was in such a hurry to get out here, I completely missed it.” He dropped the loafer to the floor and put it on anyway. “You were saying?” he said, blinking at Spock through his glasses.
“Do you have a preference for a restaurant for dinner?”
“There’s this really great Andorian-Thai fusion place around the corner if you’re interested?”
“Around the corner” proved to be a ten-block walk, but Spock had taken precautions against the persistent San Francisco chill and worn a scarf this evening. They were seated at a table and given menus; Spock ordered himself a glass of wine, Jim a beer. Spock focused on the items on the menu, trying to decide what he might like to order. When he looked up, Jim was looking at him with a curious expression.
“I thought you Vulcan dudes don’t drink alcohol.”
“We do not get inebriated from alcohol,” Spock corrected. “But I have found, in my recent travels, that I quite enjoy the taste of certain beverages, particularly wines produced from the grape varietal known as Riesling.”
“You like the sweet stuff, huh?”
“The wines do tend to have a higher concentration of sugars,” Spock allowed. “I find them refreshing.”
“I think they taste like grape juice with added sugar.” Jim shuddered. “Sorry.”
“Apology is unnecessary where no offense is taken,” Spock told him. “You were offering your opinion.”
“Bones says my opinion’s worth no more than the paper it’s written on.”
“You have written it nowhere.”
“Exactly.”
“Ah. Who is Bones?”
“My roommate, the doctor. Or - intern, really. He’s still in training.”
“I see. I met him earlier this evening. He commented on your ‘flair for the exotic’ upon seeing that I am a Vulcan.”
“I have no idea what he meant,” Jim replied, and then their drinks arrived and they ordered their food. “Actually, I do know what he meant - he’s a bit xenophobic and I’m trying to break him of it. You can’t get into Starfleet with an attitude like that.” He shook his head.
“Does he want to get into Starfleet?”
“No. He’s also space-o-phobic.”
“Do you want to get into Starfleet?”
A wistful expression crossed Jim’s face, one so nakedly desirous, Spock felt as if he was intruding on something private. “I, um, I can’t.” He unnecessarily pushed his glasses up on his nose. “My eyesight’s too bad - you have to have 20/20 vision to pass the entrance physical.”
“Can you not avail yourself of efficacious corrective medical solutions? I have heard that Retinax is quite a successful solution in humans.”
“In 93.5% of humans,” Jim corrected him. “When they tried it on me, I had such a bad reaction they thought I’d lose some of my sight.” He shivered. “And after that, I can’t get the surgery - or rather I don’t want to. I mean, laser scalpels in your eyeballs?”
“I see. It is unfortunate that you have been thwarted in the pursuit of your desired goals.”
Jim shrugged. “My stepdad says I have other talents to offer, that my brains make up for whatever I may physically lack.”
“If I may be so blunt, you do not appear to physically lack for anything,” Spock said truthfully.
Jim’s skin tone darkened by several shades. “Who said Vulcans don’t know how to flirt?”
“I hazard to say most Vulcans would. Including myself, though I have been making a study of it.”
Jim took a pull at his beer. “Have you? And how’s it going?”
“The vagaries of human reaction to verbal praise are quite fascinating. Just the other day at the coffee house, I observed a young man informing a young lady that she was aesthetically pleasing.”
“He used those words?”
“He used the term, ‘hot,’ which I have learned amounts to the same thing. At any rate, the young woman seemed pleased at this attention, and proceeded to touch his arm no fewer than a dozen times in their ensuing conversation, which did not, as I would have surmised, include negotiations for their eventual sexual congress, but rather included topics as diverse as the weather and local sporting teams’ relative success. They left together soon afterward, ‘to find someplace a little cozier’ as the young lady put it. I only presume she meant for them to engage in coitus, but I have no empirical evidence of that.
“Later, when I attempted to use the same approach on a young woman of similarly pleasing appearance, she seemed alarmed by the attention and relocated her seat on the hoverbus to a location farthest from mine. I was most perplexed.”
“You told a stranger on the bus you thought she was hot, and she freaked out? That’s normal. You probably creeped her out.”
“She used similar terminology though I believe the specific word used was ‘creeper.’”
Jim laughed despite an obvious effort to control it. “Yeah, I kinda don’t blame her.”
“I fail to see the distinction between my attempt and the one I witnessed earlier that day.”
“There are a few.”
“Please explain.”
“Well, first off, you have to look at the context - did the couple you saw know each other already, I mean, even in passing?”
“I have no knowledge of a prior relationship. However, upon reflection, I recall she smiled in greeting when he entered the shop, her eyes widening in what one might attribute to some recognition on her part.”
“So they already knew each other probably, that was one difference. Number two: they were in the coffee house.”
Spock looked at him expectantly, and when no further explanation of the significance of their setting was forthcoming, he asked, “What has being in that specific location got to do with it?”
“Well, some folks think coffee houses are a good place to meet people.”
“So, given that a coffee house is a place where many people congregate, there is an expectation that one might meet others looking to establish a relationship, sexual or otherwise?”
“Correct.”
“There are many people on the cross-town hoverbus.”
“True, but they’re mostly just looking to get from point A to point B, they don’t want to be bothered by a stranger.”
“I do not understand.”
“It goes back to the context I explained earlier. When you’re on a bus, your focus isn’t necessarily on the social aspects of life - you just don’t want to get hassled.”
“Hassled.”
“Bothered - given unwanted attention.”
“Hassled,” Spock repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue pensively.
“So the girl on the bus wasn’t wanting your attention, even if you may have both found each other attractive, and you know - whatever. In those surroundings, she’s not receptive to forming new contacts. Get it?”
“I believe I do.” Spock thought a moment. “But she was exceedingly hot.”
Jim laughed, a very pleasing sound. “I’ll bet she was. What made you want to say that to her in the first place?” He raised his beer bottle to his lips.
“I was in search of a casual sexual encounter.”
Jim coughed and spluttered. “What?”
Spock repeated, this time more loudly and clearly, “I was in search of -“
“Shh! Jeez, I heard you the first time. Why?”
“Is that not what young humans are expected to do? Carelessly distribute uncultivated cereal grains?”
Jim laughed again. “Sew wild oats? Well, I suppose so, yeah, a lot of people would be into that. But you’re not a human, why are you so interested?”
Spock felt his ears coloring with the kind of embarrassment he had thought he had grown beyond, but which typically arose when he was forced to discuss the topic of his mixed heritage. “I am half human.”
“No shit? That’s pretty cool.”
Spock cocked his head to the side. “You think so.”
“You don’t? Don’t you see, you’ve got the best of two whole planets to take advantage of. Wow, it must be pretty great to be you.”
Spock did not answer, for he did not want to “bring the conversation down” in any way by recounting his actual experiences regarding his mixed heritage. Fortunately, their starters arrived, saving him from having to explain further.
“It is an understanding of my human half that has brought me to Earth at this time - and particularly the North American continent. My mother is an American.”
Jim picked up a spring roll and dipped it rather heavily into the sauce that was its accompaniment. “Really? Where’s she from?”
“Connecticut. But she lived for many years here in San Francisco. I have chosen to follow the same route across the country that she did when she was my age - when she came here for her secondary education.”
Jim took a bite out of the spring roll and then grimaced, hunching over his plate and dropping most of it onto his plate. “Hot!” he said, sitting up and fanning what remained in his opened mouth with one of his hands. “Sorry.” Spock watched as he licked at the sauce that had run down his hand; Spock also noted that Jim’s hands were very large, and he tended to gesture with them as he spoke. He’d noticed this trait in many other humans, but in Jim he’d encountered the first person for whom the hands could actually be seen as an integral part of the way he expressed himself. His fingers splayed out when he was excited, and retracted when he was pensive, tips rubbing against his thumb in a repetitive motion.
“That’s a pretty romantic notion - following in your mom’s footsteps,” Jim said to him, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I would think Surakian precepts of logic would frown on such overt expressions of emotion.”
Spock raised his eyebrows in surprise - most humans didn’t bother to understand the source of Vulcans’ cultural adherence to logic, much less had they even heard of Surak or his teachings. His estimation of Jim increased a hundredfold. “Indeed, they would not. But understanding the human half of me - so that I might better integrate it into my own consciousness and world view - was the impetus for my coming here. I realized some time ago that to favor one aspect of my heritage over another is the height of illogic.”
“That is amazingly well-adjusted of you.”
Spock reflected on the pain that led to his decision to leave Vulcan and shook his head, once. “It has been hard-won.”
Jim stared at him thoughtfully for several moments. “You are very interesting,” he pronounced as their entrees arrived.
“I believe the proper etiquette is to thank you, but I am as I am.”
Jim smiled. “See? Interesting.”
----
Spock shivered as they left the restaurant; there was a stiff wind coming in off the bay, and he had still not adjusted to the coolness nor the increased humidity of Northern California.
Jim, however, appeared to find it bracing, though he noticed Spock’s shivering. He smiled. “I guess 50 degrees is cold when you come from a planet where the temperature hits 105 in winter, huh?”
“Indeed, the weather here has proven difficult to acclimate to.”
“Maybe we should get you inside somewhere.”
“My hotel is not far.”
Jim looked away and swallowed.
“It is somewhere we might shelter from the chill, and I would very much like to continue our date.”
Jim’s smile transformed his face, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as the muscle groups moved, the resultant narrowing of the eyes concentrating the lacrimal fluid present, producing the effect that they twinkled. Spock had to wrest his own eyes away, lest he be accused of staring.
“You sure you’re not just trying to get me alone?”
“I have you alone.”
Jim’s face turned a shade of pink Spock found wholly appealing. “I’m not very good at this flirting thing.”
“Are you not?”
Spock turned and began to walk in the direction of his hotel. After several minutes, Spock spoke again, “Jim, a personal query if I may?”
“Sure.”
“You have demonstrated quite a lot of knowledge about Vulcan and Vulcans that is to be commended. Most humans, while not necessarily xenophobic, nevertheless display a lack of interest in other planets and their cultures.”
“We can be very provincial, can’t we?” Jim agreed. “Not me, though. I’ve always been fascinated by other worlds, different places. I was born in space, but I’ll probably never get to go there.” His tone was melancholy, and Spock would have interjected something encouraging, but Jim rushed on, “So I studied a lot about them, particularly Federation members. Almost majored in interplanetary anthropology, actually, except my stepdad thought I should concentrate on something practical. I still did a thesis comparing and contrasting contemporary Romulan and Vulcan socio-political values and gender norms my senior year. You guys have a lot in common, by the way.”
“Indeed? I think most Vulcans would disagree, but we tend to be very provincial ourselves when it comes to such matters. I thought you were studying mathematics.”
“I did. I mean, I am. I’m in for my masters at Stanford. Well, I was until I took this semester off.”
“You are very young to be studying for such an advanced degree,” Spock said before he had a chance to edit himself. Humans who were young, he knew, despised having this pointed out to them, while humans who appeared young never did.
“I’m 19,” Jim defended, predictably. “I kind of skipped a few grades in school. Anyway, the anthropology stuff was just a hobby when I was a kid.”
“You mentioned you were taking the semester off?”
“Yeah - my stepdad got sick, so I’m helping out around the coffee shop until he’s back on his feet.”
“You are close?” Spock thought it quite admirable that Jim would choose to delay the completion of his schooling in order to assist his relative.
“He practically raised me. Used to be in Starfleet himself until my mom died and I had no one to look after me. He cashed in some of his pension to buy the coffee shop - so I’d have some stability, he said. Mostly, it just gave me a caffeine addiction.”
He laughed, a sound Spock was beginning to find infectious, and couldn’t help smiling himself.
Jim stopped walking. “I’ve never seen a Vulcan smile.”
Spock stopped walking as well and turned to face him; they were standing very close. “Contrary to popular belief, it would not kill us,” he said, attempting a joke.
Jim stepped closer to him, his eyes fixated on Spock’s mouth. “Good, because it’s a nice smile and I’d hate to never be able to see it again,” he murmured, and leaned in closer.
Spock turned his head so that their mouths were in very close proximity, close enough that he could smell the garlic and chile from Jim’s dinner on his breath. Jim turned his head to the side, his lips mere millimeters away from Spock’s - all he had to do was purse his own lips for them to meet. He did, their kiss tentative as they each felt the other out. Spock raised a hand, resting his fingertips against Jim’s jaw. A moment later, they parted.
“Your hands are cold,” Jim pointed out.
“I neglected to bring my gloves.”
“Let’s see about warming them up.”
----
Kissing someone who wore thick, black-framed glasses presented a number of logistical difficulties, not least of which was the fact they produced a pain response when jammed against one’s supraorbital process. Spock broke off their kiss and pushed himself off of Jim - they were lying on the bed in Spock’s hotel room - and touched their frame, curious.
“Do you find the presence of your glasses wholly necessary, given our current activities?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry - are they poking you in the eye or something?” Jim removed them and tossed them beside the pillow. When he looked back up at him, Spock was struck again by the stunning color of Jim’s eyes, but also at the way their focus seemed diffuse now, as if the fact they could not see as acutely had forced them to give it up. How odd it must be for him, Spock thought, to have such limits placed on so vital a sense - something he knew a little about but surely not as intimately as Jim did. “That better?”
Spock kissed Jim again and then pulled back. “Yes.”
Jim smiled, craning his neck so that he could kiss Spock again. When his hands drifted under Spock’s shirts to rest over his ribs, Jim gasped with surprise. “Is that your heartbeat?” he asked, pressing his hand against Spock’s side.
“It is.”
A slow smile spread across Jim’s face and he enfolded Spock in his arms, holding him closer on top of himself. He brought his knees up as well, making Spock feel as if he was being completely engulfed by this human; it was not an unpleasant experience. Jim’s lips pressed against the skin just behind Spock’s earlobe, producing a tickling sensation. Spock shivered and moaned at the sensation, combined with the increased, direct contact between their groins that Jim’s shift in position subsequently caused.
“Hmmmmm,” Jim said, half moan, half statement.
“Yes?” Spock was forced by curiosity to ask a moment later, despite the fact Jim’s attention on his ear had rendered him nearly unable to speak.
“We have too many clothes on,” Jim murmured.
It was a measure of exactly how distracted Jim was able to make him that Spock hadn’t even considered this improvement in their situation that removing their clothes represented. Resting his hand beside Jim’s head, he pushed himself up and off of him - thought their legs remained entwined - and pulled the sweater he wore over his head, along with the thermal undershirt he wore. As he was about to reposition himself to do the same with his trousers, Jim reached out with both hands and placed them on Spock’s chest.
“I don’t know why I thought you’d be completely hairless,” Jim said, running his fingertips through the ample hair he found there, causing Spock to shiver.
“What will I find beneath your clothing?”
Jim rolled his eyes. Spock bent over and kissed him while unbuttoning the shirt Jim wore and pushing it aside; he wore a simple white cotton t-shirt beneath it, which Spock pushed up with both hands, repositioning himself so that he could press kisses to Jim’s abdominals as he did. With the shirt up around Jim’s collarbones, Spock paused, sitting up to look down on him. His chest was well-muscled, sparsely covered by the same dark golden hair that was on his head, his belly slightly sunken-in beneath his ribs, his hips slim. Spock was very taken by the sight, “You are most aesthetically pleasing,” Spock said.
Jim colored and looked away. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Unable to resist the impulse, Spock once more covered Jim’s body with his own, kissing him with abandon, his mouth, his throat, his entire face.
“If you keep that up,” Jim panted in between, “I’ll come in my pants.”
“My apologies,” Spock said, pushing off of him again.
Moments later, they were naked and facing each other, kissing, Jim with his hands on Spock’s shoulders. Eventually Jim pushed Spock back so that he was the one on top. He pressed his hips down against Spock’s, the combined heat of their groins bringing Spock’s penis to full hardness. He thrust up against Jim, almost involuntarily. Jim gasped, pushing himself off of Spock with his hands on his chest, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Spock thrust up against him again, and again Jim gasped. With no manual intervention, their erect penises glided and bumped against each other, the drag nearly painful against over-sensitized skin. Spock reached between them, using his hand to spread whatever amounts of pre-ejaculate he could between them. Jim gasped again at Spock’s touch, but did not exhale. Spock thrust his hips up again, the underside of his penis dragging against the length of the underside of Jim’s, their contact facilitated by his hand. With an explosive exhale, Jim bucked against the touch, and with a small cry, orgasmed, ejaculate spilling hot and copiously over Spock’s hand. A moment later, he collapsed atop Spock, face buried against Spock’s shoulder, breath hot in Spock’s ear.
“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered, “that was too quick.”
“Do not be.”
“Here,” he said, reaching down and taking Spock in hand. Aided by the slick from his own orgasm, Jim brought Spock to climax moments later.
“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated in the humid space between Spock’s head and the pillow.
Spock shook his head and turned to face him, catching his mouth in a tender kiss. Jim fell asleep moments later.
----
Spock woke several hours later with Jim’s head still resting on his shoulder, arm thrown across Spock’s chest, their legs tangled together. Looking down, he couldn’t help another smile for the man in his arms; Jim in sleep was almost unspeakably beautiful.
He endeavored to press a kiss to Jim’s head, but the movement caused him to stir. Suddenly, blue eyes looked up at him blearily.
“Good morning,” said Spock.
“Hey.” Jim smiled, then frowned. “What time is it?”
“5:15.”
“Shit, really?” Jim sat up, looking confused. He wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m supposed to open,” he said, and felt around the pillows with his hands, frowning. When he found his glasses, he looked relieved and put them back on. His hair, Spock noted, stood out in all directions, the effect not at all unappealing.
“When are you due at the shop?”
“We open at 6:00. Chris is gonna kill me.” He got out of the bed and Spock felt almost bereft at his absence, even though he was standing right there. He knew this was illogical, and yet he barely gave it a second thought - something he would meditate on later, to be sure.
“There is ample time.”
“I have to shower.”
“The bathroom is over there.”
Jim hurried off in the direction Spock indicated, nearly tripping over the covers on the floor as he gathered up his clothes from the night before. When he’d gone, Spock sat up, contemplating recent events. This was the first time he’d engaged in sex outside the confines of a relationship - he had no idea what the protocols were. He was struck with a momentary feeling of regret for having engaged in the act with Jim - not the fact it had happened, of course, but because there had been no enjoyment of the anticipation that it might. It had happened so fast, he hardly knew what to expect next. One thing he knew was that he wanted to be with Jim again, wanted to get to know him better, to let Jim know him. He knew this was illogical, but he’d abandoned logic when he’d defended Jim the day before, and he found he didn’t necessarily want to find it again.
Jim emerged from the shower minutes later, hair dripping water down his neck into the collar of his shirt. “I have to go,” he said. “Thanks for dinner and… everything. I had a really nice time.”
“As did I,” Spock replied. “For my first encounter with casual sex, I don’t believe I can have found a more appealing partner.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, an odd expression on his face. “You think…?” His voice trailed off oddly.
“I would not be lying if I said my expectations were exceeded.”
“Expectations.”
“Yes. Exemplary.”
“Oh. Good. That’s good.” He bent and retrieved his mismatched shoes. “I’ma go. Then. Yeah.”
Spock rose and approached him. “Is not a farewell kiss traditional?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The kiss began as perfunctory, but as Spock pressed in closer, Jim dropped everything he was holding to the floor and threw his arms around Spock’s neck, clutching at him as urgently as if he were a lifeline. Spock found himself panting when they parted, and slightly dizzy. He swayed slightly as Jim again picked up his belongings. He was out the door a moment later, leaving Spock standing there with his mouth hanging open.
“I believe the human term for this feeling is, ‘Wow,’” he said quietly.
----
Later that morning, Spock arrived at the coffee shop and stood in line; he didn’t see Jim immediately, but he knew he must still be there. He looked forward to speaking with him again already - he wanted to speak with him every day, he thought. He also thought, illogically, that he could still feel Jim’s lips on his own. Absent mindedly, he raised his fingers to his lips, and smiled.
“Next? Hey you, Smiley - you’re next,” a voice said to him.
Startled from his reverie, Spock moved forward. “Is not Jim working? I thought I might see him.”
The young woman - an Orion with a riot of red curls arranged in a ponytail atop her head - regarded him with a kind of near-contempt that was atypical of her species. “Well, he’s not here right now.”
Disappointed, Spock gave his order and paid; the fact he got exactly what he asked for was also a disappointment. He took his coffee to his usual table and settled down with his PADD to read the morning news.
“Oh, it’s you,” another voice interrupted him.
Looking up, Spock saw Jim’s roommate Bones standing over his table. “Good morning, Doctor.”
“It ain’t a good anything,” the doctor sneered. “What did you do to Jim?”
“I -“ Spock paused, his face coloring. “What we did is none of your business.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you know what is my business? Snooty-assed Vulcan studs who blow into town and seduce young boys into their beds only to cast them aside the next morning.”
Vulcan stud?
“Since you’ve made it your business, Doctor, by insulting me, I shall endeavor to correct your several inaccuracies. First, I have not just ‘blown into town.’ Indeed, I have been here, frequenting this very establishment, for more than three weeks. Second, I did not seduce anyone - Jim and I engaged in wholly consensual acts. Third, Jim is hardly a boy as you would term him - he is a remarkably mature and deep-thinking man. And finally, I did not cast him aside. I am here, am I not?”
His last rebuke seemed to placate the angry doctor somewhat. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth, “you want to see him again, I get that. But what for? He told me you said all you wanted was casual sex. Is that what he is to you - a quick and meaningless lay?”
Spock sat with his mouth hanging open, the reply he was about to deliver freezing on his lips. “Is that his recollection of last night’s events?”
“Of course, what else is he supposed to think? I thought you Vulcans were supposed to be pretty smart?”
“Clearly not,” Spock said, standing. “Clearly, I have been very, very stupid.”
“You’ll get no disagreement from me.”
“I must speak to Jim - to apologize for this misunderstanding. Can you tell me where I may find him?”
Bones regarded Spock for a long moment, his hard brown eyes seeming to look right through him; Spock felt not unlike a medical cadaver about to be carved into. At last, Bones looked away, gesturing towards the back of the store. “He’s in the storeroom.” Bones stepped aside, but as Spock moved past him, he laid a hand on his arm to stay him. “Hurt him, and I will end you,” the doctor said quietly.
“I have no doubt of that, nor that you will know exactly how to make my untimely death look like an accident.”
“As long as we understand each other.”
----
Spock found Jim sitting atop a stack of cardboard cartons, fiddling with his PADD with a frown on his face. “Jim.”
Jim’s face was open and almost hopeful until he seemed to think better of it. “Hello, Spock.”
“I have spoken with your roommate Doctor Bones and he has brought something to my attention. I believe I may owe you an apology.”
“Oh?” Jim nervously pushed his glasses up his nose.
“No, I most definitely owe you an apology. You left my hotel this morning under the misapprehension that I considered our encounter a casual thing, a one night stand, I believe the term is.”
“Wasn’t it? I mean, you said last night that you were looking for casual sex with that girl. I thought that’s why you came here - to sew your wild Vulcan oats?”
“I came here…” Spock sighed. Of course Jim would think this after their conversation the night before. He thought it was time for him to admit why he’d really come to Earth. “I came here because I could no longer consider Vulcan my home.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed, clearly confused by Spock’s response. “Oh. Why?”
Spock sighed again. “May I take a seat?”
Jim nodded and Spock seated himself on the stack of cartons to Jim’s left. He thought a moment, considering where to begin. “I have always been considered an outsider by my peers on Vulcan, who took great satisfaction, I believe, in reminding me of that fact every day of my youth. As I got older, I made the conscious choice to honor the Vulcan way of my father, to embrace Surak’s teachings and all that they represented. I was determined to excel at this and everything else.”
“You wanted to out-Vulcan all the Vulcans?”
“Essentially. As I grew older, the taunts of my peers faded away, and I wrongfully assumed it was because I had finally proven myself to them, so I applied myself even more enthusiastically to my studies. Eventually, I applied to and was accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy before my 16th birthday, a full two years younger than any who came before me - and I passed the entry examination with the highest score yet achieved. I spent five long years there, perfecting my Vulcan mind, and pursuing research in my chosen area of study. Last year, I graduated with their highest honors.”
“Sounds pretty great for you, Spock, but I don’t understand why that meant you had to leave.”
“My apologies for being more circumspect than called for in this situation - it was not my intention. One more fact only then: on the day of my graduation, as I stood before the VSA trustees to accept my certification, they saw fit to disabuse me of the notion that my mistaken assumptions, and said that it was truly remarkable that I had achieved so much despite the handicap of my human heritage.”
Jim winced as Spock recalled the painful memory. “Assholes.”
“Quite. After all I had done, all I had strived for… the one thing I could not control - my biology - was still the only thing they saw when they looked at me, and the contempt on their faces-“ He closed his eyes, unable to quell the painful memory.
“Not very logical.”
Spock cleared his throat. “Indeed not. From that day, I determined I would embrace my human half, and so I decided to come here, to live amongst my mother’s people and learn all I could, to try to accept that part of me the Vulcans had conditioned me to hate.
“And it has not been easy; in fact, you might say it has been one of the most difficult things I have attempted in my life.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Spock?”
“When I originally arrived here, I had only intended to stay in San Francisco for a week when I arrived. I was going to see the notable landmarks, visit Starfleet Headquarters, and then move on, but I stayed. I found I did not wish to leave. Do you know why, Jim?”
“No.”
“I did not either until yesterday.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “Humans are not, as a rule, a very tolerant species, but at least they are very open about that. I have met many people in my travels, but none that have made me feel…” he paused, at a loss for the right word suddenly, but then he realized he’d already said it.
He took Jim’s hand and was grateful that he did not it pull away. “None that have made me feel. Until I met you. To admit to having feelings is hard for a Vulcan. To admit to wanting them nearly impossible. Jim, I find I like the way I feel when I am with you.”
Spock looked up then, into Jim’s face, and watched with wonder as a smile slowly appeared, like dawn breaking after a stormy night. Spock felt something clench in his side - probably a rush of adrenaline being squeezed from his kidneys, but he illogically chose to believe it was his heart.
“That’s kind of the corniest thing I’ve ever heard, Spock,” Jim said, leaning forward. He reached out and slung his arm around Spock’s neck. “Never stop being corny, OK?”
“I am unsure of the meaning of that colloquialism, Jim, but I shall endeavor to embrace it,” Spock replied, but whatever else he was about to say was muffled by the kiss they shared.
Jim leaned forward more, and Spock pulled him closer, but unfortunately the shift in their weight caused the stack of cartons Jim sat upon to shift, and he fell against Spock, whose own stack toppled backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him with a thud.
“Oof!” Jim said. “Did the earth just move?”
“The planet’s orbital speed averages 30 kilometers per second.”
“God, you’re weird. I like it. Hey - let me make you a cup of coffee, OK?”
“Certainly.”
Jim hopped down and took Spock’s hand, leading him through to the front of the shop. “Grande nonfat no-foam latte, right?”
“That is my usual order, though you have never gotten it right, not once since I began to come here.”
Jim grinned back at him. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s you that never gets it right, Spock. You never know what you need until you have it. So I give you what you do.”
Spock was about to correct him - who else would know his mind better than Spock himself? Except the young man clutching his hand represented exactly that.
Exactly what he needed.
----
Thank you for your time.
Here's lovely art inspired by this story by the talented sanwall
Author’s Notes
• For this AU, I was very taken by this description of his teenaged self that Chris Pine offered in a recent interview: "I was kind of a lost, shy kid in need of encouragement. Scared, pimply-faced, geeky, in huge coke-bottle glasses and a hat.” D’aww! Source
• Ever since reading Waldorph’s excellent Illogical series, I have accepted as canon that Jim is a math genius, so I owe her a tremendous debt. I, alas, am not a math genius, so whatever little math you find in here is likely wrong and/or incorrectly applied. I regret nothing.
Rating: R/Mature
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Spock, ensemble in bit parts
Spoilers: None
Content Notice: Coffeehouse AU, because that’s exactly what this fandom needs more of; frottage \o/
Word Count: 8,800
Summary: Jim is the worst barista of ever. But really, this story is about Spock trying to find himself. Story inspired by this Tumblr post.
A/N: I don’t know what this is - the first of a series, probably? Also, it’s for amiss/museattack, whose prompts I can never resist.
For Day 2 of my fourth annual Twelve Days of Ficmas Challenge. Title is a lyric from the song “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.
----
“Good morning.”
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk! What can I get you?”
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte.”
“Vulcans like coffee? Really?”
“This Vulcan likes coffee, yes.”
“Coming right up!”
Spock removed himself to the area beside the coffee house’s counter to wait for his drink. It being late morning, the shop was not very busy, so as it happened, the young man who took his order was also fulfilling it.
Attempting to fulfill it.
“Triple shot mocha for the man with the pointy ears!” the barista said with a wink that was probably supposed to be ingratiating or appealing in some way.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I ordered a grande nonfat no-foam latte,” Spock informed him.
“You did?” The proud, pleased expression on the young man’s face faded. “Oh. You sure you don’t want this one anyway?”
Spock waited a beat before replying, “No.”
“Coming right up.”
Spock removed his personal comm device from an inner pocket of his jacket and began to check his messages. Within moments, an alarming, whining sound began, rising rapidly in volume and pitch.
“No, no, no,” the young man said desperately, turning to the espresso machine in a hurry and fiddling with some of its knobs. As he touched one, a pillar of steam shot forth - thankfully not at him, for surely it would have injured him - and the knob itself fell to the stainless steel counter, then to the floor, where it apparently rolled out of sight.
“Crap,” the young man muttered, and a gruff voice from some back office called out, “You’re not breaking that machine again, are you, Jim?”
“Crap!” Jim said rather urgently under his breath as he dropped to the floor to retrieve the knob. “No, Chris, everything’s fine!” he called from the floor, then popped up to his feet, frowning at the dust on the knob. He moved over to the sink and began to rinse it off.
“Apple cider chai coming right up for you, sir,” Jim said to Spock, barely looking at him.
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte,” Spock reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.”
Ten minutes, a spilled half pound of espresso beans, and a frantic search for more milk later, Spock was at last presented with his coffee.
“Here you go, sorry for the delay.”
Spock took his coffee, noted the sheen of sweat on the young man’s face, and reflected that at least he’d gotten a workout in his attempt to produce a single cup of coffee. It was not until he was a block away that he realized the milk was soy.
----
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk! What can I get you?”
“It is you,” Spock said to the blond young man named Jim who had waited on him the day before.
“It is. Me.”
Spock looked around the busy shop - it was 7:35 in the morning and the rush of morning commuters made for a long line of customers, and given the previous day’s performance, he wondered how the young man was coping with the rush.
“And you’re you,” Jim pointed out, looking at Spock expectantly, awaiting his order.
As he appeared not to remember their previous day’s encounter, Spock continued and gave his order, “Grande nonfat no-foam latte.”
Jim pressed some buttons on the screen of the point of sale machine. “That’ll be 187 credits.”
“That cannot be correct.”
“You sure?” Jim frowned at the machine and pressed a few buttons on the screen, canceling the transaction. “4.85, then - how’s that sound?”
“It appears to be accurate.”
“What’s the name? For your order?”
Ten minutes later, Spock left the shop with a cup labeled, “Speck” and, he would learn later, an extra 90 credits in his account.
----
“Excuse me.”
Spock, whose coffee order had just been set atop the counter, stepped aside to allow the red-faced Scotsman room at the coffee house’s counter.
“Yes?”
Spock noticed for the first time that the black-rimmed eyeglasses Jim typically wore were clearly antique. He knew they must be, because near-sightedness in humans had been nearly eradicated 50 years ago through the employment of corrective eyedrops. When Jim raised his head, his eyes were somewhat magnified by the lenses, and Spock was surprised to realize that they were a rather startling shade of blue.
“I dinnae think tha’s soy milk in me coffee,” the Scot said.
“Of course it is, I made it myself.”
“These hives of mine tell a different story, laddie.”
Spock, who had been quietly minding his business, now noted that the Scot’s entire throat, as well as a good part of his jawline, were covered with welts.
“Are you allergic to something?” Jim asked.
“Aye.”
“Did you eat or drink something you’re allergic to?”
The Scot raised both eyebrows and eyed his coffee.
“Are you allergic to milk?”
The Scot tapped the side of his nose. “Got it in three,” he said slowly.
“OH! Did I use milk by mistake?”
“Someone did, and there’s no one else back there.”
“I’m so, so sorry!” Jim exclaimed, jumping into action. He dashed to the opposite end of the counter, realized he’d forgotten something, and then ran back. “Do you need a doctor?” he asked breathlessly. “You… you… you’re not gonna die or, or anything? Oh my God, oh my… God…” Jim clutched at his own chest as his respiration increased disproportionately to the amount of physical exertion he’d just undertaken.
He appeared to be hyperventilating.
“Is there a doctor in here?” Spock called out to the other patrons in the shop.
“I’m a doctor,” said a tall man who’d been seated at a table in the corner; Spock noted that he wore scrubs. “Ah, jeez, what now?”
Jim was now leaning with his back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe. “Bones!” he gasped, pointing at the Scotsman. “He... I… save him!”
The doctor looked at the Scotsman, then at Jim, then back again. “You in need of saving?”
The man shrugged. “I think he’s got it worse at the mo’.”
The doctor rolled his eyes and then made his way behind the counter, grabbing a paper sack from beside the pastry case and moving closer to the stricken barista. “Jim? Jimmy - here,” he said, shoving the bag into the wild-eyed young man’s hands and gently manhandling him to a seated position on the floor.
“There’s nothing in here!” Jim gasped.
“You’re supposed to breathe into it, you numbskull,” the man called Bones explained.
Jim did as bidden, taking great sucking gasps of air into the bag. Spock stood back as the doctor emerged from behind the counter and retrieved a medical kit from his table, administering a hypo of antihistamine for the Scotsman, who was grateful when his hives immediately subsided.
“Just a typical Tuesday around here,” the doctor commented to Spock, then returned to his table and his abandoned muffin and coffee.
Excitement over, Spock left to begin his day. His coffee, when he finally tasted it, was actually Earl Grey tea.
----
“Welcome to Pike’s Perk. What can I get you?”
“You already got me,” the rather large man in Starfleet Academy cadet reds said. “I ordered a decaf, and this is a lemonade.”
Spock sat at a corner table observing the goings-on at the service counter. For reasons that eluded him but that he chose not to ignore, he’d been frequenting this coffee house now for each of the last 22 days and had determined that 33.2% of the customers who were served when Jim was on shift received the wrong coffee orders. He was certain the number was higher than that, as many customers likely left before realizing there was an error, or else were too polite to bring it up.
Jim blinked up at the man. “That’s a lemonade.”
“Right.”
“Didn’t you order a decaf?”
“Are you mental or something?” the man asked, taking a step forward.
“There’s no need to call names, Cupcake,” Jim said, turning around to pour out a cup of coffee that Spock could see from where he was seated was not from the pot reserved for decaffeinated.
“Who’s calling who names?” the large man said, clearly becoming enraged.
Jim turned around, set the coffee on the counter and said, “You are. But hey, that’s OK, because I get that you calling people names makes you feel more empowered or whatever. I get it. No sweat.” Then he smiled encouragingly at the man.
Spock, who’d been raised on a planet where outward displays of emotion were not only frowned upon but conditioned out of existence through years of repressive denial, had, nevertheless, in his travels come to recognize the body language of a supremely enraged being. He calculated a 47.133% probability of a violent encounter resulting.
“That’ll be $3.50,” Jim said.
The probability of violence occurring increased to 84.5%.
Spock stood in case his assistance proved necessary; at this hour of the mid-afternoon, the coffee house was typically very slow, and he and the large man were the sole customers.
“I already paid!”
“For a lemonade,” Jim pointed out.
“Cupcake” grabbed Jim by the front of his shirt. “I ordered the decaf!”
Spock moved forward and was at the counter in under a second. “You must cease this violent outburst at once,” he said.
Cupcake hauled a meaty fist back, intent, Spock believed, on doing Jim harm. “I’ll cease when I’m good and -“
His last words were cut off by the nerve pinch Spock felt forced to administer. “That was regrettable,” he said, neatly sidestepping the man as he fell to the floor.
“Did you just kill him?”
“He is merely stunned.”
“That was awesome!”
“You will help me rearrange his body so he is not uncomfortable,” Spock said, and waited as Jim came out from behind the counter. They each grabbed the man beneath an arm and dragged him to a couch beside the fireplace and laid him down beside it. Spock busied himself with arranging the man’s arms so there would be no danger of circulatory issues, and when he straightened himself up, he found Jim still standing beside him.
“You saved my life,” he said with the type of sincerity Spock found that humans doled out all too readily.
“I merely prevented this much larger man from pummeling you repeatedly with his fists.”
“That’s what I meant.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Your use of hyperbole is, as is typical of your race, wholly unnecessary.”
“Back at ya,” Jim replied, then became suddenly distracted. He went back to the counter and crouched down, disappearing behind it. Emerging a moment later with a PADD in hand, he stood with his back to the shop as he entered something into it with a stylus. Meanwhile, Spock noticed, the lemonade and black coffee that had spilled during their encounter with “Cupcake” had merged on the floor to create a wholly unpleasant, dual-toned effect.
“Back at me?” Spock said to him, stepping around the mess. “That phrase does not apply.”
Jim grunted something unintelligible, erased what he’d written on the PADD and wrote something else.
“I reiterate: the usage of the phrase, ‘back at ya,’ implies a reciprocal response where none exists. How would you turn my observation of the tendency of humans to rely too heavily on overstated metaphor back at me?”
Jim wrote something else then looked up at him, eyes narrowing through his glasses. “You’re a Vulcan,” he replied as if that was an explanation.
Spock had no response, and was annoyed with himself when he blinked at the young man involuntarily.
“You’ve a tendency to point out folks’ shortcomings in order to elucidate for them their obvious flaws in logic or behavior or both. I was making an observation similar to yours.”
Spock blinked again, and this time it was with astonishment. “I meant no insult.”
“I know.” Jim went back to writing, erasing, and re-writing whatever it was he was doing. “Dammit, it’s not working. I’m missing a variable somewhere.” He chewed on the end of the stylus thoughtfully.
Spock watched him for a full minute before his curiosity and frustration got the better of him and he had to ask, “What is it you are doing?”
“I thought I could write a Julia Set to represent the curve of your eyebrows and it’s not working - see?” Jim showed him the PADD.
“You are a mathematician?”
“Not yet.”
Spock looked at the graphic depiction of the formula. “They are not that curly.” Nor as pink, though Spock could allow that perhaps the coloration was applied by the PADD’s plotting program by default.
“I know,” Jim replied, disappointed. He shut the PADD off and held it against his hip. “I’m Jim, by the way.”
“Yes. I know. I have been coming in here for the past 22 days, and have already gleaned that information.”
“This is where you introduce yourself.”
“My name is Spock. You take it every day when I order my coffee.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t been formally introduced. Nice to meet you Spock. I’d shake your hand, but I know you guys aren’t into touching other people.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“See, that’s unfair,” Jim said, pointing at the eyebrow. “Parading my failure in front of me.”
Spock furrowed his eyebrows.
“That’s not much better.”
“I find myself at a loss as to an appropriate response.”
“You’re cute.”
This conversation was getting to be very nonlinear.
“There’s lemonade and coffee on the floor - I should prolly clean it up before my boss gets back and yells at me.” Jim disappeared to the back room, emerging a few minutes later with a mop and bucket. He cleared up the mess fairly efficiently, but then glanced up at Spock. “You’re in the way.”
Spock hastily stepped aside, murmuring an apology.
“It was only a little,” Jim replied. “I don’t want to get your boots messy.”
Spock remained, watching as Jim worked, then as he put the cleaning implements away and returned to his station behind the counter. He could not explain his fascination, or his apparent inability to move at present. For that matter, he could not explain his daily patronage of an establishment where he was regularly given the wrong order and repeatedly charged the incorrect amount.
“Can I get you a coffee?” Jim offered, snapping Spock out of his reverie.
“Dine with me,” Spock blurted, the words leaving his mouth almost on their own. He shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth - where had this impulse come from?
“Grande nonfat no-foam latte, right?”
Spock could feel his face color - had his advances been rejected? “Yes, thank you,” he managed to reply.
Jim turned to make the coffee as Spock’s mind reeled. He had acted impulsively when he’d had almost no indication Jim showed any interest in his companionship. He was trying to “go with what felt right” a phrase his mother utilized on many occasions when speaking of her decision to enter into a relationship with Spock’s father. In the moment, he had felt like pursuing a continued acquaintance with Jim, his fascination with whom he now realized was the sole reason for his continued return to this place. To think he was to be denied this was disappointing, the fact of the disappointment perhaps more distressing. He felt illogically paralyzed by this revelation.
He closed his eyes in frustration - logic had nothing and everything to do with why he was here in the first place. He needed to leave; he turned to collect his bag from the table.
“Here you go,” Jim said, placing a paper cup on the counter. “It’s on the house, on account of your help with Cupcake over there.” He indicated the man in question with his chin.
“He will remain unconscious for only another thirty minutes,” Spock felt compelled to point out.
“My boss will be back by then,” Jim said.
Spock nodded curtly and returned to his table. He set the coffee cup down so he could put on his coat, and it was then he noticed the message scrawled on the outside of the cup: Pick me up at 7:00 - J it said, and an address was included beneath it. Spock lifted the cup and read it more than once, as if his perception might have been compromised, but of course it had not. Closing up the fastenings of the coat and wrapping a scarf securely around his neck, he left the shop with a sense of relief and near-elation that his attempt at securing a “date” with Jim had been successful - the date he hadn’t known he wanted less than an hour before.
Once outside, he took a sip from the cup. Naturally, the beverage inside was a vanilla chai latte.
----
“A Vulcan, eh?”
“I beg your pardon?” Spock found himself brought up short by the appearance at Jim’s door of the doctor who had assisted with the allergic Scotsman two weeks before.
“He has a flair for the exotic, I’ll give Jim that.”
Spock merely raised an eyebrow. The doctor pushed the door open further to allow Spock to enter, then pushed it shut behind them with a casual shove as his long legs carried him back towards the area where Spock assumed the bedrooms lay. “Jimmy! Comp’ny!” the man called before closing himself behind one of the bedroom doors.
The three minutes that Spock stood where he was seemed interminable until finally Jim emerged from the second bedroom with a shoe in each hand. “Right on time,” he greeted with a cursory smile, then took a seat on the shabby-looking couch that was the only piece of furniture in the living area. He pulled a pair of socks from a pocket - Spock noted they were pink with cartoon sushi rolls on them - and began to pull them onto his feet. “Have a seat.”
Spock took a seat at the opposite end of the couch and watched Jim pull his shoes on. “Have you given any thought to where you would like to… do you realize you have two completely different shoes there?” he asked.
Jim looked blankly at the shoe in his hand - a loafer - and the one on his foot, which was called a sneaker, if Spock remembered his local terminology properly; at least they were both black. He snorted a laugh. “God, I was in such a hurry to get out here, I completely missed it.” He dropped the loafer to the floor and put it on anyway. “You were saying?” he said, blinking at Spock through his glasses.
“Do you have a preference for a restaurant for dinner?”
“There’s this really great Andorian-Thai fusion place around the corner if you’re interested?”
“Around the corner” proved to be a ten-block walk, but Spock had taken precautions against the persistent San Francisco chill and worn a scarf this evening. They were seated at a table and given menus; Spock ordered himself a glass of wine, Jim a beer. Spock focused on the items on the menu, trying to decide what he might like to order. When he looked up, Jim was looking at him with a curious expression.
“I thought you Vulcan dudes don’t drink alcohol.”
“We do not get inebriated from alcohol,” Spock corrected. “But I have found, in my recent travels, that I quite enjoy the taste of certain beverages, particularly wines produced from the grape varietal known as Riesling.”
“You like the sweet stuff, huh?”
“The wines do tend to have a higher concentration of sugars,” Spock allowed. “I find them refreshing.”
“I think they taste like grape juice with added sugar.” Jim shuddered. “Sorry.”
“Apology is unnecessary where no offense is taken,” Spock told him. “You were offering your opinion.”
“Bones says my opinion’s worth no more than the paper it’s written on.”
“You have written it nowhere.”
“Exactly.”
“Ah. Who is Bones?”
“My roommate, the doctor. Or - intern, really. He’s still in training.”
“I see. I met him earlier this evening. He commented on your ‘flair for the exotic’ upon seeing that I am a Vulcan.”
“I have no idea what he meant,” Jim replied, and then their drinks arrived and they ordered their food. “Actually, I do know what he meant - he’s a bit xenophobic and I’m trying to break him of it. You can’t get into Starfleet with an attitude like that.” He shook his head.
“Does he want to get into Starfleet?”
“No. He’s also space-o-phobic.”
“Do you want to get into Starfleet?”
A wistful expression crossed Jim’s face, one so nakedly desirous, Spock felt as if he was intruding on something private. “I, um, I can’t.” He unnecessarily pushed his glasses up on his nose. “My eyesight’s too bad - you have to have 20/20 vision to pass the entrance physical.”
“Can you not avail yourself of efficacious corrective medical solutions? I have heard that Retinax is quite a successful solution in humans.”
“In 93.5% of humans,” Jim corrected him. “When they tried it on me, I had such a bad reaction they thought I’d lose some of my sight.” He shivered. “And after that, I can’t get the surgery - or rather I don’t want to. I mean, laser scalpels in your eyeballs?”
“I see. It is unfortunate that you have been thwarted in the pursuit of your desired goals.”
Jim shrugged. “My stepdad says I have other talents to offer, that my brains make up for whatever I may physically lack.”
“If I may be so blunt, you do not appear to physically lack for anything,” Spock said truthfully.
Jim’s skin tone darkened by several shades. “Who said Vulcans don’t know how to flirt?”
“I hazard to say most Vulcans would. Including myself, though I have been making a study of it.”
Jim took a pull at his beer. “Have you? And how’s it going?”
“The vagaries of human reaction to verbal praise are quite fascinating. Just the other day at the coffee house, I observed a young man informing a young lady that she was aesthetically pleasing.”
“He used those words?”
“He used the term, ‘hot,’ which I have learned amounts to the same thing. At any rate, the young woman seemed pleased at this attention, and proceeded to touch his arm no fewer than a dozen times in their ensuing conversation, which did not, as I would have surmised, include negotiations for their eventual sexual congress, but rather included topics as diverse as the weather and local sporting teams’ relative success. They left together soon afterward, ‘to find someplace a little cozier’ as the young lady put it. I only presume she meant for them to engage in coitus, but I have no empirical evidence of that.
“Later, when I attempted to use the same approach on a young woman of similarly pleasing appearance, she seemed alarmed by the attention and relocated her seat on the hoverbus to a location farthest from mine. I was most perplexed.”
“You told a stranger on the bus you thought she was hot, and she freaked out? That’s normal. You probably creeped her out.”
“She used similar terminology though I believe the specific word used was ‘creeper.’”
Jim laughed despite an obvious effort to control it. “Yeah, I kinda don’t blame her.”
“I fail to see the distinction between my attempt and the one I witnessed earlier that day.”
“There are a few.”
“Please explain.”
“Well, first off, you have to look at the context - did the couple you saw know each other already, I mean, even in passing?”
“I have no knowledge of a prior relationship. However, upon reflection, I recall she smiled in greeting when he entered the shop, her eyes widening in what one might attribute to some recognition on her part.”
“So they already knew each other probably, that was one difference. Number two: they were in the coffee house.”
Spock looked at him expectantly, and when no further explanation of the significance of their setting was forthcoming, he asked, “What has being in that specific location got to do with it?”
“Well, some folks think coffee houses are a good place to meet people.”
“So, given that a coffee house is a place where many people congregate, there is an expectation that one might meet others looking to establish a relationship, sexual or otherwise?”
“Correct.”
“There are many people on the cross-town hoverbus.”
“True, but they’re mostly just looking to get from point A to point B, they don’t want to be bothered by a stranger.”
“I do not understand.”
“It goes back to the context I explained earlier. When you’re on a bus, your focus isn’t necessarily on the social aspects of life - you just don’t want to get hassled.”
“Hassled.”
“Bothered - given unwanted attention.”
“Hassled,” Spock repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue pensively.
“So the girl on the bus wasn’t wanting your attention, even if you may have both found each other attractive, and you know - whatever. In those surroundings, she’s not receptive to forming new contacts. Get it?”
“I believe I do.” Spock thought a moment. “But she was exceedingly hot.”
Jim laughed, a very pleasing sound. “I’ll bet she was. What made you want to say that to her in the first place?” He raised his beer bottle to his lips.
“I was in search of a casual sexual encounter.”
Jim coughed and spluttered. “What?”
Spock repeated, this time more loudly and clearly, “I was in search of -“
“Shh! Jeez, I heard you the first time. Why?”
“Is that not what young humans are expected to do? Carelessly distribute uncultivated cereal grains?”
Jim laughed again. “Sew wild oats? Well, I suppose so, yeah, a lot of people would be into that. But you’re not a human, why are you so interested?”
Spock felt his ears coloring with the kind of embarrassment he had thought he had grown beyond, but which typically arose when he was forced to discuss the topic of his mixed heritage. “I am half human.”
“No shit? That’s pretty cool.”
Spock cocked his head to the side. “You think so.”
“You don’t? Don’t you see, you’ve got the best of two whole planets to take advantage of. Wow, it must be pretty great to be you.”
Spock did not answer, for he did not want to “bring the conversation down” in any way by recounting his actual experiences regarding his mixed heritage. Fortunately, their starters arrived, saving him from having to explain further.
“It is an understanding of my human half that has brought me to Earth at this time - and particularly the North American continent. My mother is an American.”
Jim picked up a spring roll and dipped it rather heavily into the sauce that was its accompaniment. “Really? Where’s she from?”
“Connecticut. But she lived for many years here in San Francisco. I have chosen to follow the same route across the country that she did when she was my age - when she came here for her secondary education.”
Jim took a bite out of the spring roll and then grimaced, hunching over his plate and dropping most of it onto his plate. “Hot!” he said, sitting up and fanning what remained in his opened mouth with one of his hands. “Sorry.” Spock watched as he licked at the sauce that had run down his hand; Spock also noted that Jim’s hands were very large, and he tended to gesture with them as he spoke. He’d noticed this trait in many other humans, but in Jim he’d encountered the first person for whom the hands could actually be seen as an integral part of the way he expressed himself. His fingers splayed out when he was excited, and retracted when he was pensive, tips rubbing against his thumb in a repetitive motion.
“That’s a pretty romantic notion - following in your mom’s footsteps,” Jim said to him, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I would think Surakian precepts of logic would frown on such overt expressions of emotion.”
Spock raised his eyebrows in surprise - most humans didn’t bother to understand the source of Vulcans’ cultural adherence to logic, much less had they even heard of Surak or his teachings. His estimation of Jim increased a hundredfold. “Indeed, they would not. But understanding the human half of me - so that I might better integrate it into my own consciousness and world view - was the impetus for my coming here. I realized some time ago that to favor one aspect of my heritage over another is the height of illogic.”
“That is amazingly well-adjusted of you.”
Spock reflected on the pain that led to his decision to leave Vulcan and shook his head, once. “It has been hard-won.”
Jim stared at him thoughtfully for several moments. “You are very interesting,” he pronounced as their entrees arrived.
“I believe the proper etiquette is to thank you, but I am as I am.”
Jim smiled. “See? Interesting.”
----
Spock shivered as they left the restaurant; there was a stiff wind coming in off the bay, and he had still not adjusted to the coolness nor the increased humidity of Northern California.
Jim, however, appeared to find it bracing, though he noticed Spock’s shivering. He smiled. “I guess 50 degrees is cold when you come from a planet where the temperature hits 105 in winter, huh?”
“Indeed, the weather here has proven difficult to acclimate to.”
“Maybe we should get you inside somewhere.”
“My hotel is not far.”
Jim looked away and swallowed.
“It is somewhere we might shelter from the chill, and I would very much like to continue our date.”
Jim’s smile transformed his face, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as the muscle groups moved, the resultant narrowing of the eyes concentrating the lacrimal fluid present, producing the effect that they twinkled. Spock had to wrest his own eyes away, lest he be accused of staring.
“You sure you’re not just trying to get me alone?”
“I have you alone.”
Jim’s face turned a shade of pink Spock found wholly appealing. “I’m not very good at this flirting thing.”
“Are you not?”
Spock turned and began to walk in the direction of his hotel. After several minutes, Spock spoke again, “Jim, a personal query if I may?”
“Sure.”
“You have demonstrated quite a lot of knowledge about Vulcan and Vulcans that is to be commended. Most humans, while not necessarily xenophobic, nevertheless display a lack of interest in other planets and their cultures.”
“We can be very provincial, can’t we?” Jim agreed. “Not me, though. I’ve always been fascinated by other worlds, different places. I was born in space, but I’ll probably never get to go there.” His tone was melancholy, and Spock would have interjected something encouraging, but Jim rushed on, “So I studied a lot about them, particularly Federation members. Almost majored in interplanetary anthropology, actually, except my stepdad thought I should concentrate on something practical. I still did a thesis comparing and contrasting contemporary Romulan and Vulcan socio-political values and gender norms my senior year. You guys have a lot in common, by the way.”
“Indeed? I think most Vulcans would disagree, but we tend to be very provincial ourselves when it comes to such matters. I thought you were studying mathematics.”
“I did. I mean, I am. I’m in for my masters at Stanford. Well, I was until I took this semester off.”
“You are very young to be studying for such an advanced degree,” Spock said before he had a chance to edit himself. Humans who were young, he knew, despised having this pointed out to them, while humans who appeared young never did.
“I’m 19,” Jim defended, predictably. “I kind of skipped a few grades in school. Anyway, the anthropology stuff was just a hobby when I was a kid.”
“You mentioned you were taking the semester off?”
“Yeah - my stepdad got sick, so I’m helping out around the coffee shop until he’s back on his feet.”
“You are close?” Spock thought it quite admirable that Jim would choose to delay the completion of his schooling in order to assist his relative.
“He practically raised me. Used to be in Starfleet himself until my mom died and I had no one to look after me. He cashed in some of his pension to buy the coffee shop - so I’d have some stability, he said. Mostly, it just gave me a caffeine addiction.”
He laughed, a sound Spock was beginning to find infectious, and couldn’t help smiling himself.
Jim stopped walking. “I’ve never seen a Vulcan smile.”
Spock stopped walking as well and turned to face him; they were standing very close. “Contrary to popular belief, it would not kill us,” he said, attempting a joke.
Jim stepped closer to him, his eyes fixated on Spock’s mouth. “Good, because it’s a nice smile and I’d hate to never be able to see it again,” he murmured, and leaned in closer.
Spock turned his head so that their mouths were in very close proximity, close enough that he could smell the garlic and chile from Jim’s dinner on his breath. Jim turned his head to the side, his lips mere millimeters away from Spock’s - all he had to do was purse his own lips for them to meet. He did, their kiss tentative as they each felt the other out. Spock raised a hand, resting his fingertips against Jim’s jaw. A moment later, they parted.
“Your hands are cold,” Jim pointed out.
“I neglected to bring my gloves.”
“Let’s see about warming them up.”
----
Kissing someone who wore thick, black-framed glasses presented a number of logistical difficulties, not least of which was the fact they produced a pain response when jammed against one’s supraorbital process. Spock broke off their kiss and pushed himself off of Jim - they were lying on the bed in Spock’s hotel room - and touched their frame, curious.
“Do you find the presence of your glasses wholly necessary, given our current activities?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry - are they poking you in the eye or something?” Jim removed them and tossed them beside the pillow. When he looked back up at him, Spock was struck again by the stunning color of Jim’s eyes, but also at the way their focus seemed diffuse now, as if the fact they could not see as acutely had forced them to give it up. How odd it must be for him, Spock thought, to have such limits placed on so vital a sense - something he knew a little about but surely not as intimately as Jim did. “That better?”
Spock kissed Jim again and then pulled back. “Yes.”
Jim smiled, craning his neck so that he could kiss Spock again. When his hands drifted under Spock’s shirts to rest over his ribs, Jim gasped with surprise. “Is that your heartbeat?” he asked, pressing his hand against Spock’s side.
“It is.”
A slow smile spread across Jim’s face and he enfolded Spock in his arms, holding him closer on top of himself. He brought his knees up as well, making Spock feel as if he was being completely engulfed by this human; it was not an unpleasant experience. Jim’s lips pressed against the skin just behind Spock’s earlobe, producing a tickling sensation. Spock shivered and moaned at the sensation, combined with the increased, direct contact between their groins that Jim’s shift in position subsequently caused.
“Hmmmmm,” Jim said, half moan, half statement.
“Yes?” Spock was forced by curiosity to ask a moment later, despite the fact Jim’s attention on his ear had rendered him nearly unable to speak.
“We have too many clothes on,” Jim murmured.
It was a measure of exactly how distracted Jim was able to make him that Spock hadn’t even considered this improvement in their situation that removing their clothes represented. Resting his hand beside Jim’s head, he pushed himself up and off of him - thought their legs remained entwined - and pulled the sweater he wore over his head, along with the thermal undershirt he wore. As he was about to reposition himself to do the same with his trousers, Jim reached out with both hands and placed them on Spock’s chest.
“I don’t know why I thought you’d be completely hairless,” Jim said, running his fingertips through the ample hair he found there, causing Spock to shiver.
“What will I find beneath your clothing?”
Jim rolled his eyes. Spock bent over and kissed him while unbuttoning the shirt Jim wore and pushing it aside; he wore a simple white cotton t-shirt beneath it, which Spock pushed up with both hands, repositioning himself so that he could press kisses to Jim’s abdominals as he did. With the shirt up around Jim’s collarbones, Spock paused, sitting up to look down on him. His chest was well-muscled, sparsely covered by the same dark golden hair that was on his head, his belly slightly sunken-in beneath his ribs, his hips slim. Spock was very taken by the sight, “You are most aesthetically pleasing,” Spock said.
Jim colored and looked away. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Unable to resist the impulse, Spock once more covered Jim’s body with his own, kissing him with abandon, his mouth, his throat, his entire face.
“If you keep that up,” Jim panted in between, “I’ll come in my pants.”
“My apologies,” Spock said, pushing off of him again.
Moments later, they were naked and facing each other, kissing, Jim with his hands on Spock’s shoulders. Eventually Jim pushed Spock back so that he was the one on top. He pressed his hips down against Spock’s, the combined heat of their groins bringing Spock’s penis to full hardness. He thrust up against Jim, almost involuntarily. Jim gasped, pushing himself off of Spock with his hands on his chest, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Spock thrust up against him again, and again Jim gasped. With no manual intervention, their erect penises glided and bumped against each other, the drag nearly painful against over-sensitized skin. Spock reached between them, using his hand to spread whatever amounts of pre-ejaculate he could between them. Jim gasped again at Spock’s touch, but did not exhale. Spock thrust his hips up again, the underside of his penis dragging against the length of the underside of Jim’s, their contact facilitated by his hand. With an explosive exhale, Jim bucked against the touch, and with a small cry, orgasmed, ejaculate spilling hot and copiously over Spock’s hand. A moment later, he collapsed atop Spock, face buried against Spock’s shoulder, breath hot in Spock’s ear.
“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered, “that was too quick.”
“Do not be.”
“Here,” he said, reaching down and taking Spock in hand. Aided by the slick from his own orgasm, Jim brought Spock to climax moments later.
“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated in the humid space between Spock’s head and the pillow.
Spock shook his head and turned to face him, catching his mouth in a tender kiss. Jim fell asleep moments later.
----
Spock woke several hours later with Jim’s head still resting on his shoulder, arm thrown across Spock’s chest, their legs tangled together. Looking down, he couldn’t help another smile for the man in his arms; Jim in sleep was almost unspeakably beautiful.
He endeavored to press a kiss to Jim’s head, but the movement caused him to stir. Suddenly, blue eyes looked up at him blearily.
“Good morning,” said Spock.
“Hey.” Jim smiled, then frowned. “What time is it?”
“5:15.”
“Shit, really?” Jim sat up, looking confused. He wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m supposed to open,” he said, and felt around the pillows with his hands, frowning. When he found his glasses, he looked relieved and put them back on. His hair, Spock noted, stood out in all directions, the effect not at all unappealing.
“When are you due at the shop?”
“We open at 6:00. Chris is gonna kill me.” He got out of the bed and Spock felt almost bereft at his absence, even though he was standing right there. He knew this was illogical, and yet he barely gave it a second thought - something he would meditate on later, to be sure.
“There is ample time.”
“I have to shower.”
“The bathroom is over there.”
Jim hurried off in the direction Spock indicated, nearly tripping over the covers on the floor as he gathered up his clothes from the night before. When he’d gone, Spock sat up, contemplating recent events. This was the first time he’d engaged in sex outside the confines of a relationship - he had no idea what the protocols were. He was struck with a momentary feeling of regret for having engaged in the act with Jim - not the fact it had happened, of course, but because there had been no enjoyment of the anticipation that it might. It had happened so fast, he hardly knew what to expect next. One thing he knew was that he wanted to be with Jim again, wanted to get to know him better, to let Jim know him. He knew this was illogical, but he’d abandoned logic when he’d defended Jim the day before, and he found he didn’t necessarily want to find it again.
Jim emerged from the shower minutes later, hair dripping water down his neck into the collar of his shirt. “I have to go,” he said. “Thanks for dinner and… everything. I had a really nice time.”
“As did I,” Spock replied. “For my first encounter with casual sex, I don’t believe I can have found a more appealing partner.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, an odd expression on his face. “You think…?” His voice trailed off oddly.
“I would not be lying if I said my expectations were exceeded.”
“Expectations.”
“Yes. Exemplary.”
“Oh. Good. That’s good.” He bent and retrieved his mismatched shoes. “I’ma go. Then. Yeah.”
Spock rose and approached him. “Is not a farewell kiss traditional?” he asked.
“Sure.”
The kiss began as perfunctory, but as Spock pressed in closer, Jim dropped everything he was holding to the floor and threw his arms around Spock’s neck, clutching at him as urgently as if he were a lifeline. Spock found himself panting when they parted, and slightly dizzy. He swayed slightly as Jim again picked up his belongings. He was out the door a moment later, leaving Spock standing there with his mouth hanging open.
“I believe the human term for this feeling is, ‘Wow,’” he said quietly.
----
Later that morning, Spock arrived at the coffee shop and stood in line; he didn’t see Jim immediately, but he knew he must still be there. He looked forward to speaking with him again already - he wanted to speak with him every day, he thought. He also thought, illogically, that he could still feel Jim’s lips on his own. Absent mindedly, he raised his fingers to his lips, and smiled.
“Next? Hey you, Smiley - you’re next,” a voice said to him.
Startled from his reverie, Spock moved forward. “Is not Jim working? I thought I might see him.”
The young woman - an Orion with a riot of red curls arranged in a ponytail atop her head - regarded him with a kind of near-contempt that was atypical of her species. “Well, he’s not here right now.”
Disappointed, Spock gave his order and paid; the fact he got exactly what he asked for was also a disappointment. He took his coffee to his usual table and settled down with his PADD to read the morning news.
“Oh, it’s you,” another voice interrupted him.
Looking up, Spock saw Jim’s roommate Bones standing over his table. “Good morning, Doctor.”
“It ain’t a good anything,” the doctor sneered. “What did you do to Jim?”
“I -“ Spock paused, his face coloring. “What we did is none of your business.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you know what is my business? Snooty-assed Vulcan studs who blow into town and seduce young boys into their beds only to cast them aside the next morning.”
Vulcan stud?
“Since you’ve made it your business, Doctor, by insulting me, I shall endeavor to correct your several inaccuracies. First, I have not just ‘blown into town.’ Indeed, I have been here, frequenting this very establishment, for more than three weeks. Second, I did not seduce anyone - Jim and I engaged in wholly consensual acts. Third, Jim is hardly a boy as you would term him - he is a remarkably mature and deep-thinking man. And finally, I did not cast him aside. I am here, am I not?”
His last rebuke seemed to placate the angry doctor somewhat. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth, “you want to see him again, I get that. But what for? He told me you said all you wanted was casual sex. Is that what he is to you - a quick and meaningless lay?”
Spock sat with his mouth hanging open, the reply he was about to deliver freezing on his lips. “Is that his recollection of last night’s events?”
“Of course, what else is he supposed to think? I thought you Vulcans were supposed to be pretty smart?”
“Clearly not,” Spock said, standing. “Clearly, I have been very, very stupid.”
“You’ll get no disagreement from me.”
“I must speak to Jim - to apologize for this misunderstanding. Can you tell me where I may find him?”
Bones regarded Spock for a long moment, his hard brown eyes seeming to look right through him; Spock felt not unlike a medical cadaver about to be carved into. At last, Bones looked away, gesturing towards the back of the store. “He’s in the storeroom.” Bones stepped aside, but as Spock moved past him, he laid a hand on his arm to stay him. “Hurt him, and I will end you,” the doctor said quietly.
“I have no doubt of that, nor that you will know exactly how to make my untimely death look like an accident.”
“As long as we understand each other.”
----
Spock found Jim sitting atop a stack of cardboard cartons, fiddling with his PADD with a frown on his face. “Jim.”
Jim’s face was open and almost hopeful until he seemed to think better of it. “Hello, Spock.”
“I have spoken with your roommate Doctor Bones and he has brought something to my attention. I believe I may owe you an apology.”
“Oh?” Jim nervously pushed his glasses up his nose.
“No, I most definitely owe you an apology. You left my hotel this morning under the misapprehension that I considered our encounter a casual thing, a one night stand, I believe the term is.”
“Wasn’t it? I mean, you said last night that you were looking for casual sex with that girl. I thought that’s why you came here - to sew your wild Vulcan oats?”
“I came here…” Spock sighed. Of course Jim would think this after their conversation the night before. He thought it was time for him to admit why he’d really come to Earth. “I came here because I could no longer consider Vulcan my home.”
Jim cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed, clearly confused by Spock’s response. “Oh. Why?”
Spock sighed again. “May I take a seat?”
Jim nodded and Spock seated himself on the stack of cartons to Jim’s left. He thought a moment, considering where to begin. “I have always been considered an outsider by my peers on Vulcan, who took great satisfaction, I believe, in reminding me of that fact every day of my youth. As I got older, I made the conscious choice to honor the Vulcan way of my father, to embrace Surak’s teachings and all that they represented. I was determined to excel at this and everything else.”
“You wanted to out-Vulcan all the Vulcans?”
“Essentially. As I grew older, the taunts of my peers faded away, and I wrongfully assumed it was because I had finally proven myself to them, so I applied myself even more enthusiastically to my studies. Eventually, I applied to and was accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy before my 16th birthday, a full two years younger than any who came before me - and I passed the entry examination with the highest score yet achieved. I spent five long years there, perfecting my Vulcan mind, and pursuing research in my chosen area of study. Last year, I graduated with their highest honors.”
“Sounds pretty great for you, Spock, but I don’t understand why that meant you had to leave.”
“My apologies for being more circumspect than called for in this situation - it was not my intention. One more fact only then: on the day of my graduation, as I stood before the VSA trustees to accept my certification, they saw fit to disabuse me of the notion that my mistaken assumptions, and said that it was truly remarkable that I had achieved so much despite the handicap of my human heritage.”
Jim winced as Spock recalled the painful memory. “Assholes.”
“Quite. After all I had done, all I had strived for… the one thing I could not control - my biology - was still the only thing they saw when they looked at me, and the contempt on their faces-“ He closed his eyes, unable to quell the painful memory.
“Not very logical.”
Spock cleared his throat. “Indeed not. From that day, I determined I would embrace my human half, and so I decided to come here, to live amongst my mother’s people and learn all I could, to try to accept that part of me the Vulcans had conditioned me to hate.
“And it has not been easy; in fact, you might say it has been one of the most difficult things I have attempted in my life.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Spock?”
“When I originally arrived here, I had only intended to stay in San Francisco for a week when I arrived. I was going to see the notable landmarks, visit Starfleet Headquarters, and then move on, but I stayed. I found I did not wish to leave. Do you know why, Jim?”
“No.”
“I did not either until yesterday.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “Humans are not, as a rule, a very tolerant species, but at least they are very open about that. I have met many people in my travels, but none that have made me feel…” he paused, at a loss for the right word suddenly, but then he realized he’d already said it.
He took Jim’s hand and was grateful that he did not it pull away. “None that have made me feel. Until I met you. To admit to having feelings is hard for a Vulcan. To admit to wanting them nearly impossible. Jim, I find I like the way I feel when I am with you.”
Spock looked up then, into Jim’s face, and watched with wonder as a smile slowly appeared, like dawn breaking after a stormy night. Spock felt something clench in his side - probably a rush of adrenaline being squeezed from his kidneys, but he illogically chose to believe it was his heart.
“That’s kind of the corniest thing I’ve ever heard, Spock,” Jim said, leaning forward. He reached out and slung his arm around Spock’s neck. “Never stop being corny, OK?”
“I am unsure of the meaning of that colloquialism, Jim, but I shall endeavor to embrace it,” Spock replied, but whatever else he was about to say was muffled by the kiss they shared.
Jim leaned forward more, and Spock pulled him closer, but unfortunately the shift in their weight caused the stack of cartons Jim sat upon to shift, and he fell against Spock, whose own stack toppled backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him with a thud.
“Oof!” Jim said. “Did the earth just move?”
“The planet’s orbital speed averages 30 kilometers per second.”
“God, you’re weird. I like it. Hey - let me make you a cup of coffee, OK?”
“Certainly.”
Jim hopped down and took Spock’s hand, leading him through to the front of the shop. “Grande nonfat no-foam latte, right?”
“That is my usual order, though you have never gotten it right, not once since I began to come here.”
Jim grinned back at him. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s you that never gets it right, Spock. You never know what you need until you have it. So I give you what you do.”
Spock was about to correct him - who else would know his mind better than Spock himself? Except the young man clutching his hand represented exactly that.
Exactly what he needed.
----
Thank you for your time.
Here's lovely art inspired by this story by the talented sanwall
Author’s Notes
• For this AU, I was very taken by this description of his teenaged self that Chris Pine offered in a recent interview: "I was kind of a lost, shy kid in need of encouragement. Scared, pimply-faced, geeky, in huge coke-bottle glasses and a hat.” D’aww! Source
• Ever since reading Waldorph’s excellent Illogical series, I have accepted as canon that Jim is a math genius, so I owe her a tremendous debt. I, alas, am not a math genius, so whatever little math you find in here is likely wrong and/or incorrectly applied. I regret nothing.