Star Trek XI -- "A Little TLC"
This is a pinch-hit for help_chile, written for a friend of kamiyo. They asked for a story where Spock is kidnapped and someone hurts and drugs him, and then Jim saves the day (carries semi conscious Spock in his arms, saying that he is here and that everything will be alright, etc.), and they have lots of TLC and sex while Spock is recovering, with bonus points for the bad guys being Romulans and having hots for Spock.
This fic is unbetaed.
This is Jim's least favorite part of being captain.
A Little TLC | NC-17 | 4565 words | complete
“Tell me again why I’m not coming on this away mission?” Jim asked irritably, pacing Spock down the Enterprise’s corridors. It was ship’s night, but Jim had been on his usual evening walk, and he’d bumped into Spock leaving his lab on the way.
“It is never appropriate for both the Captain and First Officer to go on away missions, except when diplomatic circumstances necessitate it,” Spock said. The hint of a curl to his lip said that he knew he was pulling Jim’s leg. “Regulation--”
“I know the rules,” Jim fired back, but he was smiling. “I mean this specific mission, Spock.”
“Admiral Pike wishes to speak with you directly at 0853 ship’s time tomorrow,” Spock said. “This will coincide with the second hour of the away mission. As it is purely scientific in nature, there is no need to delay the mission.”
Jim ignored the pang of hurt at Spock’s words. He was following protocol, not saying he didn’t want Jim’s company. Jim was being irrational. Man, have I got it bad, he thought. “Logical as ever, Mr. Spock.” They had reached Spock’s quarters by this point, and Jim had to quash the urge to lean in for a goodnight kiss. “See you in the morning.”
“Sleep well, Captain.”
“Jim, Spock.”
“Jim.”
Jim ignored the flutter in his belly at Spock using his name and forced himself to turn around and walk to his own quarters. He undressed and got into bed, staring at the ceiling for a some time before he fell asleep, dreaming of Spock’s disapproving eyebrows.
*
“I think that’s about it, Jim,” Pike said, “You have anything else for me?”
“Nope,” Jim said, relieved. He liked getting a chance to talk to Pike, but he hated the bureaucracy that came with being captain; it was his least favorite part of the job. “It’s always great talking to you, sir.”
Pike shook his head, smiling sardonically, and Jim knew Pike could see right through him. “Dismissed, kid.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jim waited until the admiral’s image was replaced by the Starfleet insignia and then stood, leaving the conference room and heading down the corridor to the turbolift. He was prepared to say something flippant when he stepped out, but the doors opened and he could feel the tension on the bridge. “Sulu, status report.”
“The away team missed their check-in,” Sulu said, vacating the captain’s chair. “We were just about to call you.”
“Spock always checks in on time,” Jim said, sitting down. “Uhura, hail the away team.”
“I’ve been trying, Captain,” she replied, expression tense. “There’s no response.”
Jim pressed a button on the chair’s arm. “Transporter room, get a lock on the away team. Beam them out.”
“I can’t get a lock.” Scotty’s voice was apologetic. “This planet experiences instability in the ionosphere at regular intervals. The next clear window isn’t for another three hours or so.”
“At least give me their location,” Jim said.
“That, I can do,” Scotty said. “They’re about a kilometer away from the beam-down point. Their signals are weak, not strong enough to get a lock even without the interference.”
“How long is the safe beam-down window?”
“About half an hour.”
Jim frowned. “What about the shuttle craft?”
“I wouldn’t risk it, Captain.”
“Fine,” Jim said, hating the feeling of not being able to do anything. He pushed another button on his console. “Giotto, I’ll be beaming down with a security team as soon as there’s a safe window. Have them ready and waiting.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jim collapsed back in his chair, sprawling fitfully. He thought of his crewmen, of Spock, trapped on the surface, in who knew what kind of trouble, and realized he had to amend his earlier thought: this was his least favorite part of being captain.
*
Two hours and forty-seven minutes later, Jim was standing on the transporter platform, phaser at his side and a security team at his back. He tried to rein in his impatience; it wasn’t his crew’s fault they couldn’t beam down quite yet. But his brain had spent the intervening time coming up with more and more outlandish explanations for why the away team hadn’t responded, why their signals were so weak. At least, Jim consoled himself, they hadn’t actually lost any of them.
Yet.
“Ready to beam down in sixty seconds,” Scotty warned, and Jim snapped out of his reverie. Sulu was in command on the bridge, and Jim had every confidence in them, but that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that something terrible was happening to Spock--to the away team.
“Put us down at the away team’s beam-down point,” Jim said. “We’ll use scanners to track them.” Jim pulled out his phaser and heard the rest of the security team doing the same. He counted the seconds in his head, and then there was the shivery sensation of beaming and he was standing on the surface of the planet.
They’d beamed down into a clearing in a heavily wooded area, the grey-green trees so tall they blocked out the planet’s sun. The blueish grass was torn up; it was clear there had been a struggle. Flashlights would give them away in the twilight-like dimness, but Jim cursed the darkness anyway. “What direction are we heading in, Simmons?”
“This way, sir,” the lieutenant with the scanner said, pointing to the southwest, through a slight opening in the trees. “Signals haven’t moved. They’re about a kilometer away.”
“Stay together and keep quiet,” Jim instructed the away team. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with.” He saw the team nod, faces lit blue from their phasers, and then he turned away and headed in the direction the lieutenant had indicated.
They followed a rough path that it was clear another group had traveled: bent and broken branches, the occasional damage to the soft bark of a tree. And--Jim was slightly sick to his stomach to realize--there were occasional traces of blood--red and green, just barely visible in the light from the scanner--that spattered the undergrowth. Jim found himself quickening his pace, stopping when he could see light up ahead. “How much further?” he asked quietly.
“Four meters,” Simmons said. Jim nodded, and the lieutenant put away his scanner.
Jim crept forward, the security team on his heels. They had reached another clearing, this one clearly occupied. There were crude tents and unfamiliar equipment scattered around, and in the center, a group of figures. Romulans, if the ears and tattoos were anything to go by.
Jim made a few gestures and the security team spread out in a crescent around the edge of the clearing, just far enough back that they were still in shadow. Jim could see the figures more clearly now, and frowned. His team was outnumbered at least two to one and, based on the fact that the away team laying in a heap on the ground, Jim knew they wouldn’t be of much help.
All, that is, but Spock.
Spock was kneeling in front of the Romulan that was obviously the leader, hands bound behind his back. Spock was swaying slightly but was managing to stay upright. The Romulan leader put a hand under his chin and forced Spock’s head up, and Jim bit back a growl.
“The drugs in your system will loosen your tongue,” the Romulan said. His hand moved, thumb stroking over Spock’s lips, and Spock shuddered. “You have a pretty mouth, Vulcan. It would look good around my cock.”
Jim lost it.
He rand forward, only the element of surprise keeping him from getting shot. He tackled the Romulan leader to the ground and attacked him, phaser forgotten on the ground as he punched the Romulan in the face. The rest of the world seemed to go away for a while, until someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away. Jim swung around, fists raised, but it was Simmons. The Romulans were all on the ground, and two of the security team were helping the scientists sit up. Distantly, Jim realized his hands hurt, but that was immediately forgotten when he saw Spock.
The Vulcan’s face was covered in cuts and dark green bruises, and there was a phaser burn in his right shoulder. He started to list to one side and Jim caught him, surprised at the deceptively wiry Vulcan’s weight. Spock let out a shuddering gasp but didn’t pull away. “Jim,” he said softly.
“It’s ok, I’m here,” Jim said, resettling himself so that he could wrap both arms around his friend. “You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” He brushed Spock’s hair back from his face, the usually immaculate strands messy and clotted with dried blood. “Spinoza, call the ship, get us out of here.”
Spinoza nodded and pulled out his communicator. But his expression fell after only a few seconds. “We’ve missed the window,” he said regretfully. “Engineer Scott says it’ll be another two point five hours before he can beam us up.”
“Tell them we have wounded,” Jim said, arms tightening around Spock, who was mumbling something Jim didn’t understand. “See if he thinks we can risk a shuttle.”
Spock shivered and turned his head, pressing his face into Jim’s neck. Spock, who abhorred touching other beings. And was drugged out of his mind, Jim reminded himself, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing. Jim forced himself to wait patiently for Scotty’s answer, but he let one hand stroke over Spock’s hair.
Unfortunately, Spinoza shook his head. “He says the turbulence in the atmosphere is too great.”
Jim nodded unhappily. “Spinoza, see if you can find what they drugged Spock with. McCoy will want a sample. The rest of you, secure the Romulans. We don’t need them getting loose.” Then he focused his attention on Spock. “Spock? You still with me?”
Spock nodded weakly. His mouth worked, but he’d stopped forming words, Standard or Vulcan. But, Jim was shocked to see, Spock reached across Jim’s lap and took his hand in a bruising grip. “I’m here, Spock, I’m not going anywhere,” Jim said. “We’ll get you home soon, and then Bones will gives us both a good talking to. You’ll see. It’s all going to be fine.” Unsure what else to do, Jim wrapped his free arm around Spock’s shoulders, holding him close. The Vulcan was fever-hot, but Jim thought that was normal. He hoped.
“Jim, ashayam,” Spock whispered, fingers tightening around Jim’s.
“I’m here,” he replied, but Spock didn’t seem to be talking to him directly. He was clearly out of it. Jim mentally cursed the Romulans, ionospheric interference, even his own chief engineer. He needed to get Spock home now. “I’m here, Spock, it’s all going to be alright.”
*
The wait was thankfully uneventful, but of course Jim counted the minutes. He didn’t take a deep breath until they were beamed directly to sickbay, and even then it was difficult to let go of Spock and allow Bones and his staff to work. He let a nurse run a dermal regenerator over his hands and afterwards he loitered, waiting for Bones to come out of the operating room they’d wheeled Spock into. He ignored the glances his way; he needed to know that Spock was going to be ok.
It seemed like hours before Bones reappeared, his surgical scrubs bloodstained but with a satisfied expression on his face. Jim followed him into his office and collapsed into a chair. “The hobgoblin’s going to be fine,” Bones said, and Jim realized he’d been holding his breath. “We’ve been able to flush the drugs from his system. There was some internal bleeding, a few broken ribs, but no permanent damage. He’s in a healing trance right now, and I want to keep him overnight for observation, but he should be fine to take a few days bedrest in his quarters and then light duties for a week.”
“How are the others?” Jim asked, but he was only listening with half an ear. Spock was going to be fine. “Can I see him?”
Bones frowned, and Jim realized he’d interrupted him. “Just for a few minutes. He’s not going to look great, but realize it’s just that green blood of his.”
Jim stuck his tongue out at Bones, but followed him out of the office and across the sickbay to the private rooms. Spock looked grey and too still, but Jim took comfort in the strong pulse beeping away on the biobed screen. He pulled up a chair and sat at Spock’s side. Impulsively, he reached out to take Spock’s hand, and the warm fingers tightened around his own. Jim sat this way until Bones came to retrieve him, ignoring his friend’s knowing look.
*
Jim busied himself with the rest of his bridge shift and paperwork, filling out a mission report as best he could. He would have to wait for Spock to wake up to complete it, and while it didn’t take his mind off his First Officer, at least it kept him occupied.
He visited sickbay again before gamma shift, sitting with Spock’s still form until Bones came to drag him to dinner. He poked at his food, eating only because his friend badgered him, and then went back to his quarters. He went to bed early, but slept poorly, and was staring at the ceiling when his alarm rang the next morning. He sent a message to Bones, asking to be informed when Spock was released to his quarters, and then got ready for his shift.
Bones, the bastard, didn’t let Jim know that Spock had been released until the Vulcan was already back in his quarters and Jim was in the middle of a department meeting. Jim forced himself to focus on the meeting, and then on the rest of his shift, but as soon as alpha shift was over he hurried down to Spock’s quarters, stopping only to go by the mess hall to pick up a bowl of soup and some crackers. Happily, the door opened on the first chime, and Jim was greeted with the sight of a pale but upright Spock, leaning against a stack of pillows and reading a PADD.
“I thought Bones told you not to work,” Jim admonished, shifting the tray to one hand to clear the few objects from the top of Spock’s bedside table.
“I am reading a scientific journal,” Spock said, sounding ever so slightly put out. There was a dark green slash on one side of his face, and the outline of his shirt was distorted, probably from bandages. “What is this?”
“Tomato soup,” Jim said, grinning. “I know you eat it after particularly trying missions.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Observant, Captain. Thank you.” Spock took the bowl, cupping it in one large hand. “Is there not a nurse available to bring me food?”
Jim shrugged, smile slipping. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
“Due to Doctor McCoy’s expertise, I will be--I believe the phrase he used was ‘right as rain’. Illogical, since rain is a phenomenon that does not exist in space, nor is it necessarily ‘right’ compared to other weather patterns.”
Jim laughed, sitting down on the edge of Spock’s bed. “Never change, Spock. I’m glad you’re ok,” he added softly.
“As, I am forced to admit, am I,” Spock said. “I am told you stayed with me on the planet’s surface.”
“Yes,” Jim said slowly. “You don’t remember?”
“Only parts,” Spock said, and Jim was surprised to see a green flush color his cheeks. “I wish to apologize for my behavior. It was inappropriate for me to conduct myself in such a manner.”
“Wait, what?” Jim said. “You didn’t do anything. Anyway, you were drugged out of your mind and in pain, you’re allowed to do whatever you want.” He frowned. “What was so inappropriate, anyway?”
Spock’s cheeks went even darker, and he looked away. “The touching of hands is considered...intimate, due to unique aspects of our physiology. It was highly inappropriate of me to initiate contact in this manner.”
“Intimate how?” Jim asked, surprised to hear that his voice had gone low and breathless.
“Such contact is reserved for betrothed couples and bonded pairs,” Spock said. Jim could tell from the flatness of his voice that he was trying hard to force down some emotion.
Slowly, Jim reached out and took Spock’s free hand, tangling their fingers together. Spock gasped softly. “Am I reading this right?” Jim asked.
Spock unsteadily put the bowl of soup down on its tray. “It is impossible to tell without direct inquiry,” he said. “Do you...?”
“Very much so,” Jim said, pulling all of his affection and desire for Spock into the front of his mind. He was gratified when Spock gasped and squeezed his fingers. “For a long time, too.”
Spock reached up and stroked his fingers over the side of Jim’s face, and there was a sizzle of alien heat in his mind. “And I you, Jim.” Spock began to lean forward but stopped suddenly, and Jim remembered all the damage he’d read about in Bones’ formal report.
“Lay back, you,” Jim said, gently pressing Spock’s uninjured shoulder until the Vulcan was once again ensconced in his pillows. Jim pressed a gentle kiss to Spock’s forehead, and Spock’s eyes closed. “You are still much too injured to do anything other than sit in this bed and eat your soup.” Jim squeezed Spock’s hand one more time and then let go, picking up the bowl of soup again and placing it in Spock’s hands. “Anything else can wait a few days until you’re better.”
Spock nodded once, and Jim moved to get up. “Stay with me, Jim?” Spock asked softly, and Jim’s heart melted. He sat back down, cupping one hand over Spock’s knee.
“Always.”
*
Spock’s recovery seemed to go excruciatingly slowly to Jim, but Bones seemed satisfied. Jim brought Spock his meals and stayed with him whenever he had the chance, which wasn’t very often since Jim had to pick up slack for a lot of the things Bones said Spock wasn’t allowed to do. Luckily, their mission was charting star systems--Jim was convinced Pike had pulled some strings--which meant at least Jim was able to focus on paperwork while three people from the science department rotated through Spock’s position on the bridge. And if Jim and Spock held hands while they played chess each night, no one had to know but them.
Jim accompanied Spock to sickbay the day he was scheduled to get his bandages off for good, purposely tweaking the schedule so that he had a day off. “This is unnecessary, Jim,” Spock had said when Jim told him, but the slightly surprised tilt of Spock’s eyebrow told Jim he’d done the right thing.
Bones was silently laughing at him when they appeared in sickbay for Spock’s appointment, but Jim ignored him. He sat on spare biobed while Spock carefully removed his sweater so that Bones and Nurse Chapel could take apart the complicated construction of bandages, straps, and things Jim didn’t even recognize that were immobilizing Spock’s shoulder and bandaging his ribs.
There was a livid green mark on his shoulder from the phaser burn, and his chest was covered in fading bruises. Jim sucked in a breath, and jumped when Bones laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It looks worse than it is,” he said softly. “We can run a regenerator over those bruises now that the bones have finished healing. His shoulder is just going to take time.”
Jim nodded, knowing that if Bones said it, it was true. He watched while Chapel ran the regenerator over Spock’ chest, one bruise at a time, moving on as the green and yellow patches disappeared. Modern medical technology was amazing, even if it didn’t always get along with Jim’s physiology.
“Alright, you’re all done, Spock,” Bones said eventually, finishing applying a clean bandage to the wound on Spock’s shoulder. “You know the drill: keep the bandage clean and dry, don’t overexert yourself. You’ll be on light duties for a week, starting tomorrow, and then you should be recovered enough to return to the bridge.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said, pulling his sweater back on.
Jim pushed himself off the biobed and up onto his feet. “Celebratory stir-fry in the mess hall?” he suggested. “My treat.”
“The food in the mess hall is free to all aboard the ship,” Spock said, but from the twinkle in his eyes Jim could tell he was joking.
“I’m a cheap date, then,” Jim said. Checking to see that no one was looking, he trailed two fingers down Spock’s hand and then headed toward the sickbay doors. “Don’t dawdle, Mr. Spock, you and I have a conversation to have after lunch.”
Spock raised one eyebrow. “Vulcans do not...dawdle.”
*
Dinner was a quiet, flirty affair. Jim tried his best to remain casual, but Spock kept shooting him these smoldering looks and Jim could barely contain himself. He managed to resist until they'd walked back to Spock's quarters, but as soon as the door closed behind them, they were kissing, one of Jim's hands buried in Spock's hair, the other grasping his fingers. Spock made a soft sound against his lips and opened his mouth, and Jim let his tongue explore, tracing over the swell of Spock's lips before sneaking between them to find his tongue. They kissed languidly for long, sweet minutes, unhurried now that they were alone. The heat in Jim's blood matched the warmth of Spock's body pressed against him.
Jim pulled back when he started running out of air, smiling brightly. "Bed?" he asked softly.
Spock nodded, but seemed hesitant. "Jim, I...am not as experienced in these matters as I believe you to be," he said, with a hesitancy like it hurt him to admit it.
Jim laughed brightly. "You're a quick study, though," he said, kissing Spock's mouth and then tugging him toward the bed. "Lay down, ok?"
Spock did as he was told, settling on his back on the bed. Jim stopped just long enough to strip out of his shirts, shoes, and pants, and then he was climbing up onto the bed, straddling Spock's lean form. He helped Spock out of his sweater and pressed a gentle kiss to the bandage on his shoulder before turning his head and sucking a spot of color into life low on Spock's neck. Spock made a surprised sound, fingers coming up to tangle in Jim's hair, but he made no move to push Jim away.
"What do you want, baby?" Jim asked, voice gone low and husky. "Tell me what you want."
"Everything."
Jim moaned, pressing a kiss to Spock's lips. He hurried to strip them out of the rest of their clothes, letting Spock pull him close once they were both naked. They lay that way for a while, skin on skin, before Jim's erection became too distracting to ignore. Jim raised himself up, one hand pressed to Spock's side, over his heart. "I want you inside me," Jim said.
"But Doctor McCoy instructed me not to exert myself."
"Oh, we are not talking about Bones right now," Jim said, sitting up fully. "I know a way. Trust me?"
"Always."
"Do you have lube...something to ease the way?"
"That will not be necessary," Spock said. He took Jim's hand and pressed it to his erection, which was wet with a sticky, pale green liquid. "I believe you would say that I am self-lubricating."
"That is unbelievably hot," Jim said, pressing another kiss to Spock's mouth. He rearranged himself so he was straddling Spock's waist, kneeling over him. He slicked his fingers with Spock's fluid and pressed two fingers to his own opening, quickly loosening himself up. "Lay back and let me do all the work."
Spock watched him closely, eyes dark as space, hands trailing up and down Jim's straining thighs. Jim finished prepping and then lined himself up, slowly lowering himself onto Spock's erection. He bit his lip; it had been a long time since he'd done this, and Spock wasn't exactly small. But the sensation of fullness was pleasant, and he knew it would only get better once they really got going.
Jim stopped for a moment when Spock was buried to the hilt, catching his breath. He bent down to steal a kiss, smiling when Spock raised himself onto one elbow to meet him. Jim stroked his fingers over Spock's cheek, and Spock closed his eyes, leaning into Jim's touch. Then Jim started to move, tightening the muscles in his thighs so he could fuck himself on Spock's cock.
It felt so good, so much better than the few fantasies Jim had allowed himself to imagine. The heat of him was like a brand, but instead of scalding it just felt good, like Jim had always been cold and never known it. Spock raised his knees to give Jim something to lean against and then he was cradled in the Vulcan's body, warm and safe. And then Spock wrapped one hand around Jim's cock and brought the other hand up to Jim's face, and that's when it really got interesting. "Do it," Jim said.
It was like the floodgates opened and everything that Spock was was pouring into Jim, all of Jim was pouring into Spock. Jim could feel Spock fucking him, could feel what it was like for Spock to fuck him, and the feedback loop of it nearly blew his mind. Then a word drifted across his consciousness, unfamiliar but so full of love that Jim could barely contain himself and he was coming, coming, and Spock was coming, too, and it was so good, so much better than anything he'd ever felt before.
*
Jim didn't realize that he'd passed out until he came to, sprawled out on Spock's chest, the Vulcan looking distinctly smug. "Don't say a word," Jim said, hauling himself up, making a face at the sticky squelch as their bodies separated. "Is it always like that?" Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"
"You instructed me not to speak."
Jim threw his hands up in the air in disgust and stalked to the bathroom. He wiped himself down with a damp towel and then returned to the bedroom to do Spock the same favor. Spock pulled him into the bed when he was done, and they settled side by side, Jim's head resting on Spock's chest. "What was that word you thought at me?" he asked, after a moment's silence.
"T'hy'la?" Spock asked, and Jim nodded. "It has many meanings, but the closest Standard translation is 'soulmate'."
"T'hy'la," Jim said, trying it out. "And the other word? A-something?"
"Ashayam. It means 'beloved'."
Jim smiled, tangling his fingers with Spock's. "You love me," he said softly.
"Indeed, I do," he said. "As you love me. I am...pleased that have finally revealed this to one another."
"So am I, Spock. So am I."
Feedback is better than chocolate.
This fic is unbetaed.
This is Jim's least favorite part of being captain.
A Little TLC | NC-17 | 4565 words | complete
“Tell me again why I’m not coming on this away mission?” Jim asked irritably, pacing Spock down the Enterprise’s corridors. It was ship’s night, but Jim had been on his usual evening walk, and he’d bumped into Spock leaving his lab on the way.
“It is never appropriate for both the Captain and First Officer to go on away missions, except when diplomatic circumstances necessitate it,” Spock said. The hint of a curl to his lip said that he knew he was pulling Jim’s leg. “Regulation--”
“I know the rules,” Jim fired back, but he was smiling. “I mean this specific mission, Spock.”
“Admiral Pike wishes to speak with you directly at 0853 ship’s time tomorrow,” Spock said. “This will coincide with the second hour of the away mission. As it is purely scientific in nature, there is no need to delay the mission.”
Jim ignored the pang of hurt at Spock’s words. He was following protocol, not saying he didn’t want Jim’s company. Jim was being irrational. Man, have I got it bad, he thought. “Logical as ever, Mr. Spock.” They had reached Spock’s quarters by this point, and Jim had to quash the urge to lean in for a goodnight kiss. “See you in the morning.”
“Sleep well, Captain.”
“Jim, Spock.”
“Jim.”
Jim ignored the flutter in his belly at Spock using his name and forced himself to turn around and walk to his own quarters. He undressed and got into bed, staring at the ceiling for a some time before he fell asleep, dreaming of Spock’s disapproving eyebrows.
*
“I think that’s about it, Jim,” Pike said, “You have anything else for me?”
“Nope,” Jim said, relieved. He liked getting a chance to talk to Pike, but he hated the bureaucracy that came with being captain; it was his least favorite part of the job. “It’s always great talking to you, sir.”
Pike shook his head, smiling sardonically, and Jim knew Pike could see right through him. “Dismissed, kid.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jim waited until the admiral’s image was replaced by the Starfleet insignia and then stood, leaving the conference room and heading down the corridor to the turbolift. He was prepared to say something flippant when he stepped out, but the doors opened and he could feel the tension on the bridge. “Sulu, status report.”
“The away team missed their check-in,” Sulu said, vacating the captain’s chair. “We were just about to call you.”
“Spock always checks in on time,” Jim said, sitting down. “Uhura, hail the away team.”
“I’ve been trying, Captain,” she replied, expression tense. “There’s no response.”
Jim pressed a button on the chair’s arm. “Transporter room, get a lock on the away team. Beam them out.”
“I can’t get a lock.” Scotty’s voice was apologetic. “This planet experiences instability in the ionosphere at regular intervals. The next clear window isn’t for another three hours or so.”
“At least give me their location,” Jim said.
“That, I can do,” Scotty said. “They’re about a kilometer away from the beam-down point. Their signals are weak, not strong enough to get a lock even without the interference.”
“How long is the safe beam-down window?”
“About half an hour.”
Jim frowned. “What about the shuttle craft?”
“I wouldn’t risk it, Captain.”
“Fine,” Jim said, hating the feeling of not being able to do anything. He pushed another button on his console. “Giotto, I’ll be beaming down with a security team as soon as there’s a safe window. Have them ready and waiting.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jim collapsed back in his chair, sprawling fitfully. He thought of his crewmen, of Spock, trapped on the surface, in who knew what kind of trouble, and realized he had to amend his earlier thought: this was his least favorite part of being captain.
*
Two hours and forty-seven minutes later, Jim was standing on the transporter platform, phaser at his side and a security team at his back. He tried to rein in his impatience; it wasn’t his crew’s fault they couldn’t beam down quite yet. But his brain had spent the intervening time coming up with more and more outlandish explanations for why the away team hadn’t responded, why their signals were so weak. At least, Jim consoled himself, they hadn’t actually lost any of them.
Yet.
“Ready to beam down in sixty seconds,” Scotty warned, and Jim snapped out of his reverie. Sulu was in command on the bridge, and Jim had every confidence in them, but that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that something terrible was happening to Spock--to the away team.
“Put us down at the away team’s beam-down point,” Jim said. “We’ll use scanners to track them.” Jim pulled out his phaser and heard the rest of the security team doing the same. He counted the seconds in his head, and then there was the shivery sensation of beaming and he was standing on the surface of the planet.
They’d beamed down into a clearing in a heavily wooded area, the grey-green trees so tall they blocked out the planet’s sun. The blueish grass was torn up; it was clear there had been a struggle. Flashlights would give them away in the twilight-like dimness, but Jim cursed the darkness anyway. “What direction are we heading in, Simmons?”
“This way, sir,” the lieutenant with the scanner said, pointing to the southwest, through a slight opening in the trees. “Signals haven’t moved. They’re about a kilometer away.”
“Stay together and keep quiet,” Jim instructed the away team. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with.” He saw the team nod, faces lit blue from their phasers, and then he turned away and headed in the direction the lieutenant had indicated.
They followed a rough path that it was clear another group had traveled: bent and broken branches, the occasional damage to the soft bark of a tree. And--Jim was slightly sick to his stomach to realize--there were occasional traces of blood--red and green, just barely visible in the light from the scanner--that spattered the undergrowth. Jim found himself quickening his pace, stopping when he could see light up ahead. “How much further?” he asked quietly.
“Four meters,” Simmons said. Jim nodded, and the lieutenant put away his scanner.
Jim crept forward, the security team on his heels. They had reached another clearing, this one clearly occupied. There were crude tents and unfamiliar equipment scattered around, and in the center, a group of figures. Romulans, if the ears and tattoos were anything to go by.
Jim made a few gestures and the security team spread out in a crescent around the edge of the clearing, just far enough back that they were still in shadow. Jim could see the figures more clearly now, and frowned. His team was outnumbered at least two to one and, based on the fact that the away team laying in a heap on the ground, Jim knew they wouldn’t be of much help.
All, that is, but Spock.
Spock was kneeling in front of the Romulan that was obviously the leader, hands bound behind his back. Spock was swaying slightly but was managing to stay upright. The Romulan leader put a hand under his chin and forced Spock’s head up, and Jim bit back a growl.
“The drugs in your system will loosen your tongue,” the Romulan said. His hand moved, thumb stroking over Spock’s lips, and Spock shuddered. “You have a pretty mouth, Vulcan. It would look good around my cock.”
Jim lost it.
He rand forward, only the element of surprise keeping him from getting shot. He tackled the Romulan leader to the ground and attacked him, phaser forgotten on the ground as he punched the Romulan in the face. The rest of the world seemed to go away for a while, until someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away. Jim swung around, fists raised, but it was Simmons. The Romulans were all on the ground, and two of the security team were helping the scientists sit up. Distantly, Jim realized his hands hurt, but that was immediately forgotten when he saw Spock.
The Vulcan’s face was covered in cuts and dark green bruises, and there was a phaser burn in his right shoulder. He started to list to one side and Jim caught him, surprised at the deceptively wiry Vulcan’s weight. Spock let out a shuddering gasp but didn’t pull away. “Jim,” he said softly.
“It’s ok, I’m here,” Jim said, resettling himself so that he could wrap both arms around his friend. “You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” He brushed Spock’s hair back from his face, the usually immaculate strands messy and clotted with dried blood. “Spinoza, call the ship, get us out of here.”
Spinoza nodded and pulled out his communicator. But his expression fell after only a few seconds. “We’ve missed the window,” he said regretfully. “Engineer Scott says it’ll be another two point five hours before he can beam us up.”
“Tell them we have wounded,” Jim said, arms tightening around Spock, who was mumbling something Jim didn’t understand. “See if he thinks we can risk a shuttle.”
Spock shivered and turned his head, pressing his face into Jim’s neck. Spock, who abhorred touching other beings. And was drugged out of his mind, Jim reminded himself, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing. Jim forced himself to wait patiently for Scotty’s answer, but he let one hand stroke over Spock’s hair.
Unfortunately, Spinoza shook his head. “He says the turbulence in the atmosphere is too great.”
Jim nodded unhappily. “Spinoza, see if you can find what they drugged Spock with. McCoy will want a sample. The rest of you, secure the Romulans. We don’t need them getting loose.” Then he focused his attention on Spock. “Spock? You still with me?”
Spock nodded weakly. His mouth worked, but he’d stopped forming words, Standard or Vulcan. But, Jim was shocked to see, Spock reached across Jim’s lap and took his hand in a bruising grip. “I’m here, Spock, I’m not going anywhere,” Jim said. “We’ll get you home soon, and then Bones will gives us both a good talking to. You’ll see. It’s all going to be fine.” Unsure what else to do, Jim wrapped his free arm around Spock’s shoulders, holding him close. The Vulcan was fever-hot, but Jim thought that was normal. He hoped.
“Jim, ashayam,” Spock whispered, fingers tightening around Jim’s.
“I’m here,” he replied, but Spock didn’t seem to be talking to him directly. He was clearly out of it. Jim mentally cursed the Romulans, ionospheric interference, even his own chief engineer. He needed to get Spock home now. “I’m here, Spock, it’s all going to be alright.”
*
The wait was thankfully uneventful, but of course Jim counted the minutes. He didn’t take a deep breath until they were beamed directly to sickbay, and even then it was difficult to let go of Spock and allow Bones and his staff to work. He let a nurse run a dermal regenerator over his hands and afterwards he loitered, waiting for Bones to come out of the operating room they’d wheeled Spock into. He ignored the glances his way; he needed to know that Spock was going to be ok.
It seemed like hours before Bones reappeared, his surgical scrubs bloodstained but with a satisfied expression on his face. Jim followed him into his office and collapsed into a chair. “The hobgoblin’s going to be fine,” Bones said, and Jim realized he’d been holding his breath. “We’ve been able to flush the drugs from his system. There was some internal bleeding, a few broken ribs, but no permanent damage. He’s in a healing trance right now, and I want to keep him overnight for observation, but he should be fine to take a few days bedrest in his quarters and then light duties for a week.”
“How are the others?” Jim asked, but he was only listening with half an ear. Spock was going to be fine. “Can I see him?”
Bones frowned, and Jim realized he’d interrupted him. “Just for a few minutes. He’s not going to look great, but realize it’s just that green blood of his.”
Jim stuck his tongue out at Bones, but followed him out of the office and across the sickbay to the private rooms. Spock looked grey and too still, but Jim took comfort in the strong pulse beeping away on the biobed screen. He pulled up a chair and sat at Spock’s side. Impulsively, he reached out to take Spock’s hand, and the warm fingers tightened around his own. Jim sat this way until Bones came to retrieve him, ignoring his friend’s knowing look.
*
Jim busied himself with the rest of his bridge shift and paperwork, filling out a mission report as best he could. He would have to wait for Spock to wake up to complete it, and while it didn’t take his mind off his First Officer, at least it kept him occupied.
He visited sickbay again before gamma shift, sitting with Spock’s still form until Bones came to drag him to dinner. He poked at his food, eating only because his friend badgered him, and then went back to his quarters. He went to bed early, but slept poorly, and was staring at the ceiling when his alarm rang the next morning. He sent a message to Bones, asking to be informed when Spock was released to his quarters, and then got ready for his shift.
Bones, the bastard, didn’t let Jim know that Spock had been released until the Vulcan was already back in his quarters and Jim was in the middle of a department meeting. Jim forced himself to focus on the meeting, and then on the rest of his shift, but as soon as alpha shift was over he hurried down to Spock’s quarters, stopping only to go by the mess hall to pick up a bowl of soup and some crackers. Happily, the door opened on the first chime, and Jim was greeted with the sight of a pale but upright Spock, leaning against a stack of pillows and reading a PADD.
“I thought Bones told you not to work,” Jim admonished, shifting the tray to one hand to clear the few objects from the top of Spock’s bedside table.
“I am reading a scientific journal,” Spock said, sounding ever so slightly put out. There was a dark green slash on one side of his face, and the outline of his shirt was distorted, probably from bandages. “What is this?”
“Tomato soup,” Jim said, grinning. “I know you eat it after particularly trying missions.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Observant, Captain. Thank you.” Spock took the bowl, cupping it in one large hand. “Is there not a nurse available to bring me food?”
Jim shrugged, smile slipping. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
“Due to Doctor McCoy’s expertise, I will be--I believe the phrase he used was ‘right as rain’. Illogical, since rain is a phenomenon that does not exist in space, nor is it necessarily ‘right’ compared to other weather patterns.”
Jim laughed, sitting down on the edge of Spock’s bed. “Never change, Spock. I’m glad you’re ok,” he added softly.
“As, I am forced to admit, am I,” Spock said. “I am told you stayed with me on the planet’s surface.”
“Yes,” Jim said slowly. “You don’t remember?”
“Only parts,” Spock said, and Jim was surprised to see a green flush color his cheeks. “I wish to apologize for my behavior. It was inappropriate for me to conduct myself in such a manner.”
“Wait, what?” Jim said. “You didn’t do anything. Anyway, you were drugged out of your mind and in pain, you’re allowed to do whatever you want.” He frowned. “What was so inappropriate, anyway?”
Spock’s cheeks went even darker, and he looked away. “The touching of hands is considered...intimate, due to unique aspects of our physiology. It was highly inappropriate of me to initiate contact in this manner.”
“Intimate how?” Jim asked, surprised to hear that his voice had gone low and breathless.
“Such contact is reserved for betrothed couples and bonded pairs,” Spock said. Jim could tell from the flatness of his voice that he was trying hard to force down some emotion.
Slowly, Jim reached out and took Spock’s free hand, tangling their fingers together. Spock gasped softly. “Am I reading this right?” Jim asked.
Spock unsteadily put the bowl of soup down on its tray. “It is impossible to tell without direct inquiry,” he said. “Do you...?”
“Very much so,” Jim said, pulling all of his affection and desire for Spock into the front of his mind. He was gratified when Spock gasped and squeezed his fingers. “For a long time, too.”
Spock reached up and stroked his fingers over the side of Jim’s face, and there was a sizzle of alien heat in his mind. “And I you, Jim.” Spock began to lean forward but stopped suddenly, and Jim remembered all the damage he’d read about in Bones’ formal report.
“Lay back, you,” Jim said, gently pressing Spock’s uninjured shoulder until the Vulcan was once again ensconced in his pillows. Jim pressed a gentle kiss to Spock’s forehead, and Spock’s eyes closed. “You are still much too injured to do anything other than sit in this bed and eat your soup.” Jim squeezed Spock’s hand one more time and then let go, picking up the bowl of soup again and placing it in Spock’s hands. “Anything else can wait a few days until you’re better.”
Spock nodded once, and Jim moved to get up. “Stay with me, Jim?” Spock asked softly, and Jim’s heart melted. He sat back down, cupping one hand over Spock’s knee.
“Always.”
*
Spock’s recovery seemed to go excruciatingly slowly to Jim, but Bones seemed satisfied. Jim brought Spock his meals and stayed with him whenever he had the chance, which wasn’t very often since Jim had to pick up slack for a lot of the things Bones said Spock wasn’t allowed to do. Luckily, their mission was charting star systems--Jim was convinced Pike had pulled some strings--which meant at least Jim was able to focus on paperwork while three people from the science department rotated through Spock’s position on the bridge. And if Jim and Spock held hands while they played chess each night, no one had to know but them.
Jim accompanied Spock to sickbay the day he was scheduled to get his bandages off for good, purposely tweaking the schedule so that he had a day off. “This is unnecessary, Jim,” Spock had said when Jim told him, but the slightly surprised tilt of Spock’s eyebrow told Jim he’d done the right thing.
Bones was silently laughing at him when they appeared in sickbay for Spock’s appointment, but Jim ignored him. He sat on spare biobed while Spock carefully removed his sweater so that Bones and Nurse Chapel could take apart the complicated construction of bandages, straps, and things Jim didn’t even recognize that were immobilizing Spock’s shoulder and bandaging his ribs.
There was a livid green mark on his shoulder from the phaser burn, and his chest was covered in fading bruises. Jim sucked in a breath, and jumped when Bones laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It looks worse than it is,” he said softly. “We can run a regenerator over those bruises now that the bones have finished healing. His shoulder is just going to take time.”
Jim nodded, knowing that if Bones said it, it was true. He watched while Chapel ran the regenerator over Spock’ chest, one bruise at a time, moving on as the green and yellow patches disappeared. Modern medical technology was amazing, even if it didn’t always get along with Jim’s physiology.
“Alright, you’re all done, Spock,” Bones said eventually, finishing applying a clean bandage to the wound on Spock’s shoulder. “You know the drill: keep the bandage clean and dry, don’t overexert yourself. You’ll be on light duties for a week, starting tomorrow, and then you should be recovered enough to return to the bridge.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said, pulling his sweater back on.
Jim pushed himself off the biobed and up onto his feet. “Celebratory stir-fry in the mess hall?” he suggested. “My treat.”
“The food in the mess hall is free to all aboard the ship,” Spock said, but from the twinkle in his eyes Jim could tell he was joking.
“I’m a cheap date, then,” Jim said. Checking to see that no one was looking, he trailed two fingers down Spock’s hand and then headed toward the sickbay doors. “Don’t dawdle, Mr. Spock, you and I have a conversation to have after lunch.”
Spock raised one eyebrow. “Vulcans do not...dawdle.”
*
Dinner was a quiet, flirty affair. Jim tried his best to remain casual, but Spock kept shooting him these smoldering looks and Jim could barely contain himself. He managed to resist until they'd walked back to Spock's quarters, but as soon as the door closed behind them, they were kissing, one of Jim's hands buried in Spock's hair, the other grasping his fingers. Spock made a soft sound against his lips and opened his mouth, and Jim let his tongue explore, tracing over the swell of Spock's lips before sneaking between them to find his tongue. They kissed languidly for long, sweet minutes, unhurried now that they were alone. The heat in Jim's blood matched the warmth of Spock's body pressed against him.
Jim pulled back when he started running out of air, smiling brightly. "Bed?" he asked softly.
Spock nodded, but seemed hesitant. "Jim, I...am not as experienced in these matters as I believe you to be," he said, with a hesitancy like it hurt him to admit it.
Jim laughed brightly. "You're a quick study, though," he said, kissing Spock's mouth and then tugging him toward the bed. "Lay down, ok?"
Spock did as he was told, settling on his back on the bed. Jim stopped just long enough to strip out of his shirts, shoes, and pants, and then he was climbing up onto the bed, straddling Spock's lean form. He helped Spock out of his sweater and pressed a gentle kiss to the bandage on his shoulder before turning his head and sucking a spot of color into life low on Spock's neck. Spock made a surprised sound, fingers coming up to tangle in Jim's hair, but he made no move to push Jim away.
"What do you want, baby?" Jim asked, voice gone low and husky. "Tell me what you want."
"Everything."
Jim moaned, pressing a kiss to Spock's lips. He hurried to strip them out of the rest of their clothes, letting Spock pull him close once they were both naked. They lay that way for a while, skin on skin, before Jim's erection became too distracting to ignore. Jim raised himself up, one hand pressed to Spock's side, over his heart. "I want you inside me," Jim said.
"But Doctor McCoy instructed me not to exert myself."
"Oh, we are not talking about Bones right now," Jim said, sitting up fully. "I know a way. Trust me?"
"Always."
"Do you have lube...something to ease the way?"
"That will not be necessary," Spock said. He took Jim's hand and pressed it to his erection, which was wet with a sticky, pale green liquid. "I believe you would say that I am self-lubricating."
"That is unbelievably hot," Jim said, pressing another kiss to Spock's mouth. He rearranged himself so he was straddling Spock's waist, kneeling over him. He slicked his fingers with Spock's fluid and pressed two fingers to his own opening, quickly loosening himself up. "Lay back and let me do all the work."
Spock watched him closely, eyes dark as space, hands trailing up and down Jim's straining thighs. Jim finished prepping and then lined himself up, slowly lowering himself onto Spock's erection. He bit his lip; it had been a long time since he'd done this, and Spock wasn't exactly small. But the sensation of fullness was pleasant, and he knew it would only get better once they really got going.
Jim stopped for a moment when Spock was buried to the hilt, catching his breath. He bent down to steal a kiss, smiling when Spock raised himself onto one elbow to meet him. Jim stroked his fingers over Spock's cheek, and Spock closed his eyes, leaning into Jim's touch. Then Jim started to move, tightening the muscles in his thighs so he could fuck himself on Spock's cock.
It felt so good, so much better than the few fantasies Jim had allowed himself to imagine. The heat of him was like a brand, but instead of scalding it just felt good, like Jim had always been cold and never known it. Spock raised his knees to give Jim something to lean against and then he was cradled in the Vulcan's body, warm and safe. And then Spock wrapped one hand around Jim's cock and brought the other hand up to Jim's face, and that's when it really got interesting. "Do it," Jim said.
It was like the floodgates opened and everything that Spock was was pouring into Jim, all of Jim was pouring into Spock. Jim could feel Spock fucking him, could feel what it was like for Spock to fuck him, and the feedback loop of it nearly blew his mind. Then a word drifted across his consciousness, unfamiliar but so full of love that Jim could barely contain himself and he was coming, coming, and Spock was coming, too, and it was so good, so much better than anything he'd ever felt before.
*
Jim didn't realize that he'd passed out until he came to, sprawled out on Spock's chest, the Vulcan looking distinctly smug. "Don't say a word," Jim said, hauling himself up, making a face at the sticky squelch as their bodies separated. "Is it always like that?" Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"
"You instructed me not to speak."
Jim threw his hands up in the air in disgust and stalked to the bathroom. He wiped himself down with a damp towel and then returned to the bedroom to do Spock the same favor. Spock pulled him into the bed when he was done, and they settled side by side, Jim's head resting on Spock's chest. "What was that word you thought at me?" he asked, after a moment's silence.
"T'hy'la?" Spock asked, and Jim nodded. "It has many meanings, but the closest Standard translation is 'soulmate'."
"T'hy'la," Jim said, trying it out. "And the other word? A-something?"
"Ashayam. It means 'beloved'."
Jim smiled, tangling his fingers with Spock's. "You love me," he said softly.
"Indeed, I do," he said. "As you love me. I am...pleased that have finally revealed this to one another."
"So am I, Spock. So am I."
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