Dinner in Spock's quarters (Spock and Spock, private, at least for a while)
The room seemed quite empty without Leonard's presence and Spock better understood the impulse that had led Jim to take them to his quarters last night
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And then, finally, he woke.
It was not the regular morning routine of mechanically getting up, showering, dressing, habit accompanied by thoughts and predictions that grew more complicated with each passing minute. This was a slow spiral out of sleep, reaching out through liquids of weakening viscosities until he emerged into open air. He waited for his mind to compose itself before he dared to open his eyes. The immediate sense of him pressed between two bodies, was an odd one-especially in a room that he did not recognize as his own.
Secondly, he did not immediately recognize the body he curled against, whose arm he hugged loosely to his chest. It was not the warm Vulcan physique of his counterpart, but a man with a broader chest, a green tunic, and tanner skin-the elder Jim. Spock blinked. How did this happen? By the heat he could feel pressed against his back, his counterpart was still here. It was not outside the realm of reality to think that the man’s t’hy’la would join them.
He swerved his gaze around to his side. Here, he could see his other hand curled over Kirk’s stomach, but he could see the pale arm of his counterpart as well, stretched out over his arm and-he almost felt the urge to blush over the sight-fingers intertwined with those of Kirk’s other hand (the one not captured in his own hold). It was this connection between them that kept him trapped between (as far as he could tell, with a mild mental search) their still-sleeping bodies. But it was not so much trapped; that implied it was against his will. This was more-secured.
Reluctant to wake them, hesitant to break this-all of this-he said nothing, and simply closed his eyes again. He took advantage of the silence, punctuated only by the alternating breaths of the other men, to meditate. He dug up what he had been given, and enjoyed all of it-the sky, the let’theiri, and the love.
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He woke slowly, the sense of the room and the mind near him solidifying into something familiar. Spock's room, the larger bed which had seen their (their? his?) pon farr, a pleasant buzz where their fingers touched and a less pleasant but not yet urgent pressure in his bladder and a certain soreness he recalled the reason for with some fondness and--
It was not Leonard in bed with them, naturally, though the body was slight. It was too warm, however, and the hand trapping his other arm did not feel like McCoy's.
Spock.
The previous evening came back to him, then, stealing quietly and manifesting largely as a great tenderness. Jim Kirk had been feeling rather a lot and doing rather little of late, and this was no exception. He did not have to open his eyes to have a vision--imaginary, not the bond--of the younger Vulcan asleep between them, curled innocently around both of them in his sleep and vulnerable and if this was what he needed, if this helped, by god Jim was going to give it to him.
The head could wait.
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Today, he was pressed against the warmth of his young counterpart, with an arm stretched across him to intertwine fingers with Jim.
This was an acceptable position in which to awake.
He sharpened his senses: Spock awake but meditating, Jim awake but holding himself there as needed.
"And so we arrive at the morning."
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Jim opened his eyes, finally, to take in the scene. It would be dishonest to say that the combined factors of two Spocks plus one bed didn't suggest something to his mind, but it was a fleeting and idle thought.
He wondered if Spock was privy to all such, now. And how that made him feel.
"Good morning," he said, seeing no sign of embarrassment on the younger Spock's features at finding him here. The last thing he wished to do was make the man--clearly somewhat more on edge than his older counterpart--uneasy.
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Spock was almost reluctant to move. The bed was warm and the comfortable press of bodies was a physical reassurance that his counterpart would be healed.
He flexed his fingers lightly in Jim's grip, a subtle good morning kiss.
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The kid did look better.
Reluctantly, Jim disengaged from Spock's hand, not wanting to disturb the other overmuch.
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"Do you plan to beam down to Risa today? My mates and I would be gratified to share a meal with you and your Nyota during this period of shore leave."
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"We would," he confirmed.
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Damn, he was sore. Sleeping in one position, held there by two needy Vulcans, hadn't helped matters any. Not that he minded, much.
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Tilek svi'khaf-spol t'vathu - tilek svi'sha'veh.
I do not believe the words of Surak have achieved such a literal meaning prior to these events. You are no intruder to me and thus not to mine.
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He felt Spock's reassurance of the other, through the bond. Something had happened last night. Something... not like what had occurred between himself and Jim. But Spock was not Jim. And Jim didn't exactly expect everyone to react the same way to meeting one's younger/older double.
As consumed as he was by the new bond, by worry for Bones, for Spock, Jim needed something to do. And Spock's concern for the younger one offered that. If he was allowed. But whatever Spock was saying to him--Jim could not hear, and only feel the meaning when he concentrated--he agreed.
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