Chapter Text
“Marry me,” Jim blurted. The words burned his mouth while heat filled his skull, warm, consuming, addictive. Revelation pierced through his drunken haze like a beam of undiscovered starlight. He had never felt so sure of anything his life. If that wasn't a sign this was meant to be, what was?
The cool fingers still resting firm against his cheek and forehead only made Jim burn brighter. The back of his eyes stung as his gaze gripped the Vulcan’s. A second hand pressed itself against Jim’s chin, a single finger tracing the edge of his lip. Jim pulled it into his mouth with a flick of his tongue as a single word escaped Spock’s mouth on a whispering breath.
*~*~*~*
Spock had made a grievous error. When the captain had returned from shore leave with a loose stride, swollen lips, and a glaring bruise decorating his neck, purple from broken capillaries, Spock had instantly felt uneasy. A human may have called the prickling beneath Spock’s skull intuition. Spock chose to describe it as a logical understanding of his captain's promiscuous behavior that had caused eight different disturbances Spock knew of.
Before his departure to Endoria for five days of shore leave, the Enterprise’s command team had been invited to dinner at the Endorian ambassador’s home. Several members of the vast party had directed their licentious gazes at the captain’s person. Their attention had not gone unnoticed by Spock or the captain, who had spent the evening returning it with tilted grins that pronounced the structure of his cheekbones and caused a creasing effect around his eyes that outlined their startling shade of blue.
Evaluating the evidence, Spock had estimated the likelihood that Kirk had participated in sexual activities with one or more of the planet’s citizens at ninety seven point nine percent.
Kirk’s smile was too wide, his pupils markedly dilated. “You missed out on a good time, Spock. Hope the labs were worth it.” He slapped Spock on the back as he passed, a brief second of touch. It lingered as a hand shaped press of heat after Spock returned to his quarters to meditate on his captain’s appearance and the actions that likely caused it.
When they returned to Endoria three point six months later to establish a trade contract on behalf of the Federation, an Endorian male made contact with the captain and insisted, as per the planet’s mating laws, that the captain was now his legal husband, despite Kirk’s confirmation that their relationship had been a temporary one. Several legal disputes arouse around the subsequent explanations required to clear the misunderstanding Kirk’s unhindered promiscuity had caused. The resulting pile of paperwork added an unnecessary supplement to the captain’s workload during his already rigorous schedule of diplomatic talks.
Spock was unsurprised by the occurrence, only disappointed with himself for not preventing it. This was not the first time the captain’s charming demeanor combined with the ease of a shore leave environment had created a disruption around Kirk. Spock recalled the situation on Fradus when Kirk had been restrained by authorities for touching the shoulder of the royal consort in an overly friendly manner during a social event. It proved necessary for Nyota to cancel the trip she had planned to observe the local hot springs in order to assist with negotiations to garner Kirk's release. Her agitation resulted in the captain offering to forsake his next leave to recompense Nyota's own.
On Asteteyer II, a similar arrest took place when the captain found it necessary to engage in sexual intercourse with the romantic partner of a local magistrate. Kirk claimed ignorance about her monogamous involvement with another, insisting she had expressed a genuine curiosity in how human genitalia functioned, and disappointing such a keen mind would have been against his personal philosophy.
On Marvius V, a planet known for its extreme sports, the captain’s disregard for his own safety had proved almost fatal. Encouraged by a local he had befriended the day after his shore leave began, Kirk had participated in several dangerous leisure activities. While jumping from a plane, Kirk’s parachute had malfunctioned, the mechanism releasing too late for a safe landing. The captain hit the ground at an awkward angle that broke his left femur, his right wrist bone, and fractured two ribs.
All of these disruptive encounters had occurred when the captain took his shore leave alone, each of them causing significant stress when he was required to resolve the consequential misunderstandings or heal from his injuries. Although the captain’s approachable nature had demonstrated use during diplomatic missions and in garnering his crew’s loyalty, Spock detected a fallacy in Kirk’s physical openness with everyone and anyone who befriended him when he had no companion to direct his boisterous attentions upon. The captain did not like to disappoint. He also became bored during extended amounts of solitude.
Spock was beginning to tire of observing the wide casting of the captain’s perilously loose net and the conflicts collected among its fraying weave. So, when the Enterprise arrived at Risa, an event much anticipated by the crew, their first expedition to the renowned pleasure planet, Spock reviewed the requests for leave. The captain’s usual cohort on shared leaves, Doctor McCoy, was not on the list. He questioned Kirk’s other social companions, Lieutenant Sulu and Lieutenant Commander Scott. Both reported plans that included other members of the crew. Nyota, a frequent confidant of Kirk’s, also expressed no knowledge of the captain’s plans.
Upon the gathering of this information, Spock found it logical to submit a request for leave.
Ten minutes after submitting the request, Spock felt Kirk’s body heat enter his immediate space. “You’re taking shore leave,” the captain's voice intoned with a raised hint of disbelief.
“Affirmative,” Spock replied, not looking up from the schematics he was analyzing on the science station’s console.
“You never take shore leave.”
“Doctor McCoy has informed me on multiple occasions that participating in an extended amount of leisure time would be beneficial to my well-being.”
Kirk huffed. “Since when do you listen to Bones?”
“Although his speech is rarely unimpeded by emotional outbursts, the doctor’s medical advice is logically sound.”
Kirk narrowed his eyes, sweeping his pupils up and down as he leaned in, a hand resting on the back of Spock’s chair. “Is something wrong? You’re not sick, are you?”
“I am functioning optimally.” Spock raised his focus from the console. “I have acquired six months and eighteen days of shore leave. It would be wasteful not to make use of them.”
Kirk straightened, a smile softening his observant gaze. “Okay.” He swiped a finger along his PADD, Spock’s leave request lit across the screen. “If anyone deserves a good time, it’s you, Spock.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
Smirking, Kirk followed the upward sweep before lowering his eyes back to his PADD. “I’ll accept your request, of course, but on one condition.” As the captain leaned against the station, his knees grazing Spock’s calf, the commander hoped Kirk’s posterior would not interfere with the carefully aligned settings, as it had eight days ago when Kirk’s gluteus maximus shifted the readings on a nearby star, leaving Spock, after Kirk had returned to the center chair, with outputs of the star’s mass instead of its radiation levels. Spock had observed Kirk’s tendency to use the science station as he might use a bar stool in the ship’s lounge, or McCoy’s shoulder after consuming alcoholic substances. Although this habit of the captain’s to lean on delicate computer systems occasionally altered a sequence in Spock’s algorithms, Spock had not pointed out the inconvenience. It would be illogical to waste breath on attempting to correct a habit the captain so assuredly enjoyed indulging in.
“It would be unethical to place a requisite on vacation hours that are provided by Starfleet under the conditions of my employment,” Spock debated.
Kirk rested his hands against his thighs, leaning forward until his knees bumped Spock’s. “Bear with me, here, Commander. It’s all to maximize the beneficial qualities of shore leave. Very logical.”
Spock looked down at where their knee caps joined and then up again. “I see. Please state your condition, sir.”
Kirk tilted back, the fresh weight against the console likely disturbing the station’s recent calculations. Spock noted the time length so he could correct any error when Kirk's discourse ended. “You have to spend some of your leave with me,” he stated.
Spock peered at the numbers lining the screen to the left of Kirk’s hip. A definite anomaly was present. “Very well,” he replied, typing the error margin into his PADD.
Kirk made a choking sound. Although it was unlikely the captain was in danger, as he had not been consuming anything during their conversation, Spock glanced up quickly, noting the expansion of his pupils. “Really?” Kirk repeated unnecessarily.
“Affirmative,” Spock confirmed. It had been his intention to watch Kirk’s movements closely during shore leave to prevent the captain’s engagement in troubling activities. Kirk’s desire to keep his first officer in close proximity would only raise the efficiency level of Spock’s mission.
The captain blinked rapidly. “I’m dreaming.”
“Negative. You are currently conscious.” Spock peered beyond Kirk’s thigh to record another anomalous output of data.
“You’re actually agreeing to spend a week with me away from the ship. I can’t believe it.” The captain’s eyes fixated on Spock’s. “You do realize that shore leave means we’ll be hanging out for fun? That it doesn’t involve any Starfleet duties.”
“I am aware of this fact, Captain.” Spock was unsure what to make of Kirk’s incredulity. The two of them had spent leisure time together amicably in the past. Perhaps Kirk had noticed the distance Spock had been attempting to enforce between himself and the captain for logical reasons after the episode on Ceti Alpha III twenty four days ago. They had not socialized since unless it was in the company of others, such as Lieutenant Marcus’ movie nights every Saturday evening or Lieutenant Giotto’s group workout regimes on Wednesday mornings.
Spock watched the infinitesimal shift of Kirk’s smile into a grin, teeth flashing. “Great, that’s great!” He slapped Spock’s arm in what the Vulcan had learned through inference was a gesture of comradery or friendly excitement among humans. “It’s been awhile since we hung out. We’ll have a blast!”
“I would hope not.” Spock’s eyebrows drew together. Violent occurrences such as explosions were specifically what Spock would be attempting to avert Kirk from.
When the captain returned to his chair, engaging Ensign Chekov in conversation about the Enterprise’s travel trajectory, Nyota turned in her seat. Spock was certain she had heard every word of their conversation. The lieutenant possessed excellent auditory capabilities.
“Is something going on between you and Jim?” she asked in a hushed tone.
Spock raised an eye brow. “Clarify.”
“Off the bridge, you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for weeks. But now you’re suddenly going on vacation with him?” She stared at him pointedly. “That’s rather inconsistent behavior. For you.”
Apparently his avoidance of the captain had not been so subtle after all. The image of Jim’s face when he invited Spock to play chess in his quarters for the tenth time in two weeks came to the forefront of his thoughts. The captain had not asked since.
“As you know, the captain habitually finds himself in trouble when left to his own devices during shore leave. It is my intention to keep him from associating with bothersome individuals or partaking in perilous activities while he is unrestricted by his duties aboard the Enterprise.”
Nyota pursed her lips. “You mean stop him from having sex with anyone.”
Spock felt his eyes widen a fraction of a millimeter at the blunt statement.
“Spock,” Nyota whispered, leaning closer. “You can’t dance around your feelings forever. This is a small ship and Jim’s going to be in your face for the next three years. I’m worried all that suppression—”
“Hey! What are you two whispering about?” Jim looked up from his surveillance of the navigation screen over Chekov’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you picked up on another space anomaly bent on biting us in the ass.”
“No ass biting in your foreseeable future, Captain,” Nyota replied.
“Negative,” Spock answered at the same time. Kirk looked between them, staring at his first officer with a quizzical expression that lasted several seconds longer than necessary. When the captain’s gaze did not avert itself within a reasonable timeframe, Spock returned his attention to his console to rectify the errors created by the captain’s inconvenient seating choices.
*
“Hallelujah, the Vulcan taking my advice. It’s a damn near miracle.”
“Please contain yourself, Doctor,” Spock said as he approached the transporter with Jim and other members of the crew taking their shore leave. “If such emotionalism continues, it is unlikely my act of acquiescence will be repeated in the future.”
“Always got to have the last word, you green blooded stick in the mud. I swear—”
Jim clutched McCoy’s arm, grinning at him broadly. “Leave it Bones. Watch your blood pressure.”
“Watch my blood pressure?” the doctor sputtered, shaking his head with pursed lips. “Says the kid that’s been steadily raising my blood pressure ever since I met him.”
Kirk wrapped himself around Bones in a hug. “Thanks, Len. Gonna miss you.” Spock watched the demonstration, containing the twitch in his eyebrow. He wondered why the captain found in necessary to express gratitude toward the doctor for the ill effect he had upon McCoy’s health. An apology would have been more apt.
McCoy returned the hug after an indiscernible grumble and expletive. “For once I'm not worried about you getting into trouble on another pleasure planet.” Doctor McCoy extracted Jim from his person, his eyes shifting back and forth between Spock and the captain. “One good thing about Spock, he’s more likely to get you doing some mediation on the beach, instead of dragging you to some unsavory bar in a grungy dark alleyway.”
“Hey—don’t underestimate Spock’s ability to get unsavory, Bones.” Jim turned to Spock and winked.
Spock could not control the confused raise of his brow. “I do not ‘get unsavory,’ Captain.”
“We’ll see,” Jim replied, nudging Spock briefly with his elbow.
“I assure you, we will not be visiting any unlit alleyways or disreputable establishments.” Spock picked up his bag and stepped onto the transporter.
“Just keep Jim in one piece, so I don’t have a mess to clean up when he gets back,” Bones huffed, moving back from the transporter, eyes intent on Spock.
“Stop fussing, I'll be fine!” Jim grimaced as he took the pad beside Spock.
“I will do my best to ensure that is the case,” Spock added. Jim glanced up at him with a warm expression, eyes bright as the transporter's light filled his vision.
*
Despite Doctor McCoy's predictions, the captain had no intention of spending shore leave in quiet meditation.
“Risa!” Kirk dropped his bag to the sidewalk and raised his arms in the air. Resting his hands on his hips, the captain inhaled loudly.
“Smell that, Spock?”
Spock sniffed delicately, resisting the temptation to hold his breath and risk injuring his respiratory systems. “Which scent are you referring to, sir? The excess of manufactured scents covering the distinct odor of a variety of sweat induced humanoids? Food covered in an excessive amount of grease or sugar, ingredients known to cause indigestion, clogged arteries and a variety of medical conditions? The smell of fornication fluids issuing from the pleasure house to our right? Or the scent of salt water and decaying seaweed emanating from the Risan Ocean three point two miles away?”
Kirk grinned at him, slapping Spock’s chest. The expression was friendly in nature, rather than aggressive, if Spock had judged the captain’s body language correctly over the past two years. “All of the above!” he announced.
“Then, yes, Captain, I do smell them.”
Letting out an exaggerated exhale of breath, Kirk grabbed his bag and gestured toward the air car rentals at the end of the street. “Uh uh. No more sir this and captain that while we’re on shore leave.” Taking Spock’s bag, Kirk loaded their luggage into the next available cab, and clambered into the back seat beside Spock. “Cressida Hotel,” he directed to the automated driving system.
“Although we are off duty, your position in Starfleet has not changed, Captain,” Spock replied glancing at their colorful surroundings outside the window of the cab. Every corner appeared to be inhabited by a store selling alcohol or advertising other distasteful temptations. Risa’s reputation as a bawdry planet catering to every pleasure imaginable was renowned. Spock’s mission would prove a difficult one.
“Don’t sass me, Spock.” Kirk lifted his eyes to the roof of the cab and around. “Formal address is messing with my shore leave vibe. We’re here to relax, let off some steam. Do it as a favor to me.” Stretching out a single finger, Jim poked Spock on his bicep. “Call me, Jim.”
Spock ceased compiling a mental list of the specific establishments he should prevent the captain from visiting, and returned his attention back to his friend. “I am not a liquid substance, Jim. I cannot produce steam.”
“That’s it!” Excitement exuded from the human in exaggerated hand gestures as he patted Spock’s arm. “I knew you could do it.”
“Obviously you were aware of this face. As I have a mouth and functional vocal cords, I possess the ability to verbalize a single syllable.”
“Well done, Spock.” If Jim’s grin grew any greater in width, Spock would begin to wonder about the elasticity of the captain's jaw.
They arrived at the hotel ten point three minutes later. Jim insisted on carrying both their bags despite Spock’s greater Vulcan strength. As debating petty matters with Jim had proved futile in the past, Spock conceded, determining to save arguments for later in the evening. After McCoy had learned of Spock’s intention to join Jim on Risa, the doctor had pulled him aside and provided a list of Jim’s favorite holiday pursuits, recounted past shore leave escapades, and warned Spock to be more vigilant after sunset, as Jim generally pursued riskier activities during that time period.
Jim had chosen their hotel, as was evidenced by the luxurious interior. When Spock commented on the overindulgence, Jim laughed it off.
“We’re on a pleasure planet. All the hotels on Risa are like this.”
It would be a test of Spock’s mental capacities to meditate within these surroundings. As they entered the lobby, overly bright with walls painted in pastels that made Spock blink, a Risan woman dressed in form fitting clothing greeted them with a smile that lit up her face. Jim returned it with an illuminating grin of his own.
“Welcome to Risa, gentlemen. How may I help you?”
Leaning against the counter, Jim glanced down at the name tag pinned to the attendant's shirt. “Hi Elice, we’re just checking in. Booking is under Jim Kirk.”
“Fantastic!” the attendant replied with more enthusiasm than Spock deemed obligatory for such a common situation. A large amount of guests likely arrived and departed from the hotel daily. Since Risa possessed perpetually mild weather, the planet never experienced an off-peak travel season. “Let me pull up your reservation.” Bending her head, Elice clacked her long polished nails against her computer console while Jim continued to watch her with eyes that crinkled at the edges. Spock had seen Jim use that same expression on other beings he found physically attractive, a look that occasionally accumulated in Kirk leaving diplomatic functions with said being pressed close to him. The captain would not be seen again until the following morning, grinning so wide that Spock could see the plaque on his maxillary molars.
Spock made a note to direct Jim away from any aesthetically pleasing hotel attendants considering their inconvenient proximity to the captain’s sleeping quarters.
“Ah yes, here you are. One room, ocean view.” The attendant placed a key chip on the counter.
Jim frowned, a likely exaggerated version of Spock’s own expression. “Can you check again, Elice? Pretty sure I booked two rooms.”
“Oh, I see.” Elice's smile wavered briefly as she inspected the computer screen. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kirk.” Spock was fascinated at the woman’s ability to appear pleased and horrified at the same time. “It appears your second room was double booked.”
“Do you have another one available?” Jim asked.
“I’m afraid not. We’re booked solid for the week.” She lowered her eyes. “Your room will, of course, be provided to you at a discount for the inconvenience caused.”
Jim glanced at Spock. “Do you mind sharing a room? I know this isn’t ideal.”
Spock did not mind. In fact, the situation was highly ideal. The added proximity of shared quarters would heighten the probability of Spock’s mission being successful. Even Jim was unlikely to bring a sexual conquest back to his quarters if Spock was in residence. And Spock would be better able to keep an eye on Jim’s movements.
“I do not mind,” Spock replied.
Jim’s eyes widened in response. “You’re full of surprises lately.” Grabbing their room key and both their bags, Jim smiled consolingly to the flustered attendant as they headed toward the lift. “First you ask for leave, no needling required on my part, and now you’re okay bunking with me for a week. Sure I won’t offend your Vulcan sensibilities? I know how important space is to you.”
“We have shared close quarters in a professional capacity before.” As Jim’s hands were full of their luggage, Spock pressed the lift button for the fourth floor. “If you recall, we shared a sleeping bag in order to conserve body heat during the incident on Ceti Alpha III.”
Jim cleared his throat. “Yeah, but that was under duress. We had no choice.” He glanced at Spock from his peripheral vision, then looked ahead to the lift's door. Spock observed the furtive expression and wondered at the possibility of its meaning.
“There is always a choice.” Spock said. “Are you not always advocating that fact?”
“Yeah, well, there’s choice, as in doing something because you don’t want to freeze your butt off. And then there's choosing to do something because you want to do it.”
“I see.” Spock replied, as they stepped out of the lift and down the hallway. It was unlikely that Spock had misinterpreted the feelings transferred through their skin to skin contact when, in an attempt to prevent frost bite, he had warmed Jim’s hands under his own during their night on Ceti Alpha III. At first, the captain’s thoughts had excited the pads of Spock’s fingers, leaving him with a desire to hear more, feel more of Jim’s heat. Jim’s emotions had chilled bare moments later as the captain pulled away with a mumbled apology, leaving Spock to process the enormity of his desire, the expanse of Jim’s back providing little defense against the frost seeping through their sleeping bag. Spock had not slept that night; Jim’s had been restless.
Spock caught Jim’s second glance through his peripheral vision before the captain moved to swipe their room key in front of the door lock, shuffling inside with their bags.
*
The room contained a single king bed.
“Uh,” Jim mumbled in front of the bed, glancing at Spock and away again. Spock identified a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and could not help admiring the irony of the situation. A most human realization, but an apt one, nonetheless.
“Looks like we’ll be repeating the Ceti Alpha III incident” Jim’s laugh was notably loud, breaking off suddenly when he turned to face Spock. The glance lasted point five milliseconds.
“This situation is significantly different. The incident you refer to that led to our cohabitation was a blizzard in a wilderness landscape with no enclosed shelter within a manageably traversable distance during dangerous conditions.” Spock rested his hands loosely behind his back and turned to face Jim who was fiddling intently at the zipper on his suitcase as if he had never used the contraption before. “As we find ourselves in a favorably rated hotel room on a planet that has an average temperature between twenty five to forty eight degrees Celsius year round and has never recorded an instance of snow, our current position is clearly quite dissimilar to the last time we shared sleeping quarters.”
Abandoning the zipper, Jim looked up at Spock, an oddly serious countenance lining his face. “So. You’re fine with this?” Jim pointed a hand at the bed. “It doesn’t bother you, at all?”
Spock looked at the bed. “It has an overabundance of pillows, more than I would prefer for optimal comfort. However, they can easily be removed.”
Returning his attention to his luggage, Jim succeeded in opening the suitcase, and proceeded to rummage within its depths, tossing crumpled clothing to the overly plush carpet. Spock could barely see the top of his toes sunk within its mass. “I’ll take the extra pillows and sleep on the floor,” Jim muttered.
“That is unnecessary. The bed is sufficiently sized to comfortably fit multiple humanoids.”
“It’s okay, really. I’m fine with the floor. Like you said, no snowstorms this time.”
Spock frowned, wary of Jim’s sudden instance on space. The captain was regularly insinuating his presence into Spock’s without apparent thought, as if the motions came to him naturally. “If you are uncomfortable sharing the bed, Captain, I will reside on the floor. Vulcans require less sleep than humans.”
Jim huffed, grabbing clothing and shoving them unfolded into the cupboards against the wall. “I’m not uncomfortable. Just—” he turned away closing the drawer with a snap. “Look, forget it. If you’re cool with the bed thing, we can get all nice and cozy. Bonding is a good thing.”
Spock blinked at the word choice. “Bonding, Captain?”
“Yeah. Solidifying our bonds of friendship with increased exposure to each other. Or whatever.” Jim turned back to face Spock, a grin once again planted on his face. “And stop it with the captains. I won’t let you be pissed at me over this.”
“I am not pissed, Captain.”
“I am not pissed, Jim.”
Spock glared at him, which Jim apparently found amusing as he responded with a bark of laughter.
“Let’s get out of here, I want to check out the sights.”
*
“What about this place?” Jim gestured at the restaurant before him. The placard above the door blinked jarringly and several of the lighting bulbs needed replacing.
“I am experiencing a loss of appetite at the thought of eating at an establishment named ‘Good Grubs.’”
“Ok fine. That one, then?” Jim pointed to a building across the street where a group of five inebriated Tellarites were ambling out of the doors.
“No,” Spock replied emphatically.
“Ugh,” Jim mumbled, releasing a large expanse of breath as he rubbed a hand against his stomach. “I’m starving, Spock. Obviously my tastes aren’t up to your high standards, so just pick something.”
Spock pulled his PADD from the bag resting against his hip. “What cuisine do you wish to consume?”
“Anything edible, I really don’t care at this point. You’ve been dragging me around museums for hours. I didn’t even think Risa had museums.”
“I researched the area extensively before our visit and recorded thirty six culturally significant monuments and institutions within the area.” Spock tapped his fingers on the screen, opening up a restaurant review site on his net connection for the Risan capital. “There is an Andorian restaurant that will take approximately five point three minutes to walk to considering your slackened pace due to fatigue. It has average reviews of four point three out five stars. Additionally there is a restaurant serving Italian cuisine four point eight minutes away that has a four point two star review.”
“The Italian. It’s closer.”
“Only by thirty seconds.” Spock opened up the linked menu on his PADD.
“That’s already too far.” Jim moved into Spock’s space, glancing down at the screen. “It’s not all meat is it?”
“The restaurant’s menu contains five vegetarian dishes that, judging by the descriptions, would be palpable to my taste.”
“Great, lead the way. Gods, I’m hungry,” Jim moaned.
After memorizing the directions to the restaurant, Spock stored away his PADD, glancing at the hand Jim clutched against his stomach, before turning right down the intersection, Jim following close behind.
“We’re lost,” Jim groaned, six point two minutes later. “We’ve been wandering around for way more than four point whatever minutes.”
“We are not lost. It is may be possible that I under calculated the timeframe as our pace has reduced.” Spock pulled his PADD out again, zooming into the directions on the map. His memory had not failed. The GPS stated that their destination was ten meters away.
Jim stepped closer, his voice quieting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m an asshole when I’m hungry.”
“I have noticed the effect your blood sugar levels have upon your mood.” Jim occasionally kicked the synthesizer when it replicated slowly or produced an error. Four months ago, when participants refused meals during a treaty discussion on Trion II until the opposing party had agreed to their terms, Jim had lectured the ambassadors for using ‘dirty tricks’ and ‘starving techniques.’
“That obvious, huh?” Jim shifted his weight onto his left foot and looked around at the buildings along the street. “You must be as hungry as me though. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Although my body does require nutritional sustenance, I am able to control the symptoms of hunger by applying the use of Vulcan mental techniques.”
Jim stared at him. “That’s useful. Wish I could do that.”
Spock nodded. “Although humans do not have the same mental capacities as Vulcans, there are several meditative techniques I could instruct you on that may help suppress distracting bodily demands.”
Jim’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he attempted to suppress a smile. The creasing around his eyes betrayed his efforts. “Pretty sure I’ll make a shitty pupil if meditation in involved,” he said, “but it’s worth a try. I told myself off for days after almost freaking out at the ambassador on Urio when he served us, what was it, a single bean for dinner?”
“I believe jraf seeds are a delicacy on Urio. However, despite it’s worth to the Urioans, I also found it unfulfilling nutritionally.”
Jim grinned. “Speaking of being unfilled, where the hell in this restaurant? Let me see.” Jim held out his hand.
Spock passed his PADD to the captain, noting the placement of his hand on the other end of the device as he took it. Jim was generally more negligent about where he let his fingers settle. As he observed the ten point three centimeter distance between his own fingers and Jim’s, Spock wondered if the captain’s caution around his first officer’s hands had developed after Ceti Alpha III.
Shaking his head, Jim laughed lightly. “Ok, I’m being an idiot. We’re almost there.”
“Affirmative.” Spock took the PADD back from Jim, allowing himself the luxury of moving his fingers a further inch up the base of the device when he took it from the captain’s grasp.
In another one point eight minutes they arrived at the restaurant to the exuberantly vocal glee of Jim. He ordered an appetizer, a main course, extra bread, and dessert, finishing every bite, even though Spock suspected the abundant portion of seafood pasta served by the kitchen would have been enough to fulfill the captain’s current nutritional requirements.
When he requested a large slice of apple pie and ice cream for dessert, Jim begged for help preventing all four hundred and forty calories from taking up residence along his waistline. Although Spock informed Jim that simply not ordering the food item would save him the obligation of eating it, the captain ignored Spock’s logic. Spock did not find the taste of apple pie distasteful, therefore, when Jim held out the extra spoon the waiter had brought, Spock assisted Jim with his self-inflicted dietary blunder.
Spock had not realized how precisely he had missed Jim’s company during meals. Even the companionable silence that hovered between them as they consumed their food was pleasurable to experience.
*
Jim flopped face down on the bed next to Spock leaving a noticeable distance of sixty one centimeters between them. The captain had clothed himself in a thick set of fleece pajamas despite the warm evening breeze floating through their open window.
Jim peered at Spock through one eye, the rest of his face buried against an overly stuffed pillow. Although Spock had removed all pillows from his side of the bed except the one now resting beneath his skull, Jim had claimed most of Spock's discards to overly pad his section. Perhaps the captain was expecting major structural damage to occur to the hotel in the middle of the night and was attempting to protect himself against the impact of a caving ceiling. Spock suspected suffocation under an avalanche of stuffing and cotton much more likely.
“You sure you don't mind us bunking together?” Jim queried.
“Vulcans do not lie.” Spock flicked at the PADD between his hands, checking the updates his subordinates in the Enterprise's labs had sent upon his request. “As I previously stated, I do not object to our shared sleeping arrangements.”
“You for sure, for sure?” Jim reiterated, shifting the pillow under his chin, arms crossed over top. “I really don't mind sleeping on the floor. I've slept in shittier places.”
“Sleeping 'shitty,' as you say, would negate the purpose of shore leave,” Spock replied in a monotone, inwardly warming at Jim's snort of laughter. Use of Terran slang never failed to amuse his friend. “Furthermore, with the amount of cushioning you have structured between us, it is as if we were sleeping in separate quarters.” Spock nodded at the wall of pillows Jim had stuffed along the middle of the bed, feeling a senseless loathing toward the inanimate objects.
Smiling sheepishly, Jim rolled onto his side, a hand propped against his cheek. “It's for your safety. In case I roll onto you in my sleep.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow, glancing at his captain beyond the fortification separating them. The harm Jim described was one Spock hardly wished to be saved from. Spock suspected the phrasing was a polite ruse. After their previous shared sleeping experience, Jim was protecting himself from coming into contact with Spock’s exposed skin again.
Looking away, Jim stretched against the pillows, brushing a hand across his face, as if to hide the discomfort clearly denoted in his body language. “Wouldn't want you to pick up on one of my weird perverted dreams.” He laughed noisily. “That would be awkward.”
Spock continued to watch Jim as he squirmed under his gaze, looking away to fluff some pillows that did not require fluffing. He wondered about the object of Jim's desire in these so called perverted dreams and reminded himself of the captain’s varied sexual partners. Spock agreed that being party to related lustful emotions and images conveyed between skin to skin contact by a uncontrollable mind during sleep would be an uncomfortable experience.
“Understood.” Spock returned his attention to his PADD.
Clearing his throat, Jim moved under the sheets. “Well.” A moment passed as Spock counted two exhales and inhales of Jim's breath. “I'm hitting the sack. You can keep the lights on,” he spoke quickly, as Spock turned off his PADD. “It doesn't bother me.”
“Very well.” Spock left his PADD off, despite his lack of fatigue. “Good night,” he murmured in an imitation of human etiquette.
“'Night,” Jim replied, his voice muffled by pillows as he turned onto his left side, facing away from Spock and the soft fortress between them. Spock ordered the lights down to zero percent, crossing his legs atop the covers in preparation for meditation.
*
This was not how Spock had expected his shore leave with Jim would proceed. Instead of surrounding himself in the presence of attractive, flirtatious beings, Jim was metaphorically attached to Spock's hip. After dinner the night before, Jim had uncharacteristically refused the offer of a drink from an aesthetically proportioned Risan female, stating his reasoning as “I'm already taken.” Jim, with surprisingly little complaints, agreed to join Spock on his visit to the Risan museum of archaeology the following morning. When a human male had pointedly smiled at Jim in an overtly sexual manner over a display of aquatic fossils, Jim’s eyes had remained on Spock’s as he answered Jim’s query about the evolution of Risian whales.
“I missed this,” Jim said after Spock finished his explanation. The human had wandered away after another failed attempt to garner Jim’s attention from the corner of his eye.
“Which object are you directing your sense of omission toward?” Spock asked, attempting to decipher the expression etched within the lines around Jim’s mouth.
“This.” Jim gestured with his hands, flicking his fingers through the air between them. “Spending time with you. Just talking.”
Spock wondered at the excessive use of the word just in Terran standard. Even the more sociable conversations he shared with Jim never seemed like just talking. Each word Jim had ever spoken to him was now imprinted in Spock’s memory, inspected and analyzed for meaning against the inflection used and the chosen word choice in relation to context.
Spock’s lips parted, his mouth intending to reply, yet his mind unable to formulate a significant response. He closed his mouth again, turning toward the next exhibit.
Jim followed behind, not too close, his voice low among the silence of the room. “We haven’t done this for a while,” he murmured.
“Your statement is accurate. It has been eight months and eighteen days since you agreed to visit a museum with me.” Spock peered down into the case of primitive weapons from the second age of Risian development.
“I’m not talking about museums. I’m talking about us spending time together like we used to.”
Spock’s head dipped a few millimeters southward. “I missed this too, Jim.”
Although he could not see it, Spock heard Jim’s smile in the exhale of his breath.
“Ok. I’ve let you drag me around enough cultural stuff. After we’re done here, I get to pick how we’re spending the afternoon.” Jim pressed his shoulder against Spock’s. It was the first sign of physical affection lasting longer than a second that Spock had received from Jim since their fingers had met on Ceti Alpha III.
Although Spock knew allowing Jim such freedom could prove dangerous to his mission, he dipped his neck in a nod of acceptance.
Spock calculated that the captain had spent fifteen point eight minutes away from Spock's company during their time on Risa up to this moment; most of that time had been to perform ablutions or retrieve high sucrose and salt content snacks from the hotel vending machines. Unsure how to conclusively interpret the captain's behavior and undivided focus on a planet known for averting attentions, Spock allowed himself but a moment to speculate that Jim had orchestrated this joint shore leave in order to deliberately spend time with Spock. Whether it was to, as Jim had stated upon their arrival, 'solidify their bond of friendship with increased exposure to each other’ after Spock’s prescribed distance from Jim over the past month, or for another motive aligned more closely to Spock’s realized attraction to the captain, Spock could not be sure with absolute certainty. Jim was a personable human adept at making those within his presence feel wanted. Indeed, it was a personality trait Spock had come to believe increased the value of his command. For now, Spock could only hypothesize about Jim's true feelings toward his person. It would be illogical and bias his observations if Spock allowed his personal feelings for the captain to cloud his judgment.
A sentiment Spock was currently having difficulty following as he watched Jim step from the ocean waves, water dripping from his hair, dressed in swim shorts that clung to the curving extremities around his hip, leaving nothing to the imagination. He stretched languidly, arms over his head, well defined muscles highlighted along the length of his legs and arms.
“Not coming in?” Jim shook his head, running a hand through his wet locks. Loose droplets landed on Spock's bare feet. Throwing himself onto the chair next to Spock, Jim grabbed a dry towel, rubbing it in harsh circles through his hair and across his skin.
“Spock?” Fingers snapped in front of his eyes.
Spock blinked, staring up at Jim's lifted brow. “Yes?”
“You going for a swim?” Jim repeated.
Spock glanced at the ocean front, currently occupied by four Orions rough housing in the surge, more scantily clad than even the captain. “I am not.”
Jim pushed a pair of sunglasses across his eyes. “Don't blame you, the sun feels good. I could sit here all day and happily burn to a crisp.”
Spock found himself admiring the way the sun turned the sparse hair along Jim's arms and chest a golden hue. “Have you applied sunscreen?” he inquired.
“Nah,” Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I tan better without it.”
“If you return to the ship, as you say, burnt to a crisp, Doctor McCoy will undoubtedly lay the blame of your negligence on myself in the form of nonsensical rants that will, considering the average rate of the doctor's speech, waste approximately fifteen minutes of my time and end with you undergoing extensive medical examinations to confirm you have caused no permanent damage to your epidermis.”
Jim sighed, straightening on the deck chair. “You're probably right.”
“There is a ninety nine point nine percent chance my hypothesis is correct,” Spock answered.
Jim snorted, reaching into the mess of towels, empty drink bottles, and sandwich wrappers below his chair. “What would I do without you, Spock?”
“Burn to a crisp and be subjected to your chief medical officer's subsequent emotional outburst.” Spock took a sip of water from the glass resting on the table beside him, watching a slight curl form across Jim’s brow as his hair dried under the sun.
“My hero. Here,” Jim tossed Spock a bottle retrieved from his belongings. “Get my back, would you?” Turning in his seat until his spine faced Spock, Jim leaned his hands against the chair, muscles flexing against skin already turning a light bronze.
Jim glanced over his shoulder, pushing his sunglasses down until his eyes appeared like rising blue giants in miniature. “Earth to Spock? I didn't keep you up all night with my snoring did I? You're really out of it, today.”
Spock stared back, his hand tightening around the bottle of sunblock, hand frozen in the position where he had caught it. Realizing how odd the posture must appear, Spock lowered his arm and leveled his shoulders. “I gained an optimal amount of rest.” With the tower of pillows between them, Spock could hardly tell Jim was sleeping on the other side of the bed, let alone detect any sounds resulting from sleep apnea.
“Did I strike a nerve?” Jim pointed at his back, beginning to turn around. “Will this mess with your telepathy? I promise to tame my thoughts.”
Spock eased the muscles he could feel tensing along his brow and flipping the bottle cap open with a flick of his thumb. “As I meditated fully last night, my mental shields are presently strong enough to withstand the thoughts of a psy-null being.” He squeezed a generous portion of the bottle's contents into his palm.
“Hurry up and slap it on then. I think I can feel a burn coming on.” He flexed his shoulder blades, which, from Spock's vantage appeared free of blemish other than a scattering of moles.
Giving himself no time to reconsider, Spock obeyed, slapping his hand forcefully against the captain's back. Jim yelped, laughing, and muttered. “I didn't mean literally!”
Spock spread a thick layer of sunblock along Jim's shoulders, turning his skin a creamy white. “If you did not insist on issuing commands you do not expect to be acted on, perhaps such unnecessary understandings would not arise.” The scent of coconut and human sweat combined to assail his senses.
“Uh huh,” Jim murmured, his head sinking down toward his chest. “You just wanted an excuse to slap me off duty when it wouldn't be considered mutiny.”
“I have no desire to harm you, Jim.” Slowing the movement of his fingers, Spock traced the curve of Jim's right shoulder blade down to his narrow waist, taking a moment to admire the feel of hardened muscle under his fingers, the warmth of the captain’s body heat and sun touched skin. Despite the amount of time they had spent in each other’s presence both professionally and socially, most of the touch between them had been initiated by Jim. However, it was rarely more than a grip against a uniformed shoulder, or the press of a clothed knee. Spock kept a firm mental grip on his shields, as he pressed his hand against Jim's lower back, holding it there a second longer than necessary. He was beginning to feel intoxicated on the sensation of Jim's skin, despite the strength of his mental fortifications and Jim's dubious promise to not emotionally project. Perhaps he imagined the sharp intake of breath in front of him and the way Jim moved, pressing himself against Spock's hand. A question filtered through a splinter in Spock’s shields.
With an answering exhale, Spock extracted his hand from the orbit of Jim’s body heat. “Your back is sufficiently covered to prevent damage from ultraviolet light.” Placing the bottle neatly atop of Jim's mess, Spock slid farther back in his chair, increasing the distance between himself and the captain to prevent his hands from participating in further displays of inappropriate fondling.
Jim paused for five point three seconds before sliding down the chair and flipping onto his stomach in a quick clumsy movement. Slipping his sunglasses up his nose until his eyes were completely eclipsed, Jim glanced in Spock's direction. “Thanks,” he murmured, resting his chin against his crossed arms.
“You are welcome, Jim,” Spock replied, his voice echoing in his ears.
Eight point nine minutes passed between them in silence, as Spock watched the Orions make obscene gestures at two Andorian males walking past. He distracted himself with the foreign mannerisms of such an extroverted sexual species, while attempting to ignore how the air seemed to nonsensically buzz with tension between him and the captain. As if Spock could reach out and feel the warm pressure of their discomfort. Illogical, of course. An abstract sense of mutual feeling between two individuals could not take solid form no matter how keenly they were expressed. Although he was no longer touching Jim, Spock knew the captain was experiencing some emotional tension. It seemed to flow from the tightness of the captain's muscles despite his slack position and appearance of rest, and from his stillness, such a rare state for his friend. Spock may have believed Jim had fallen asleep if it were not for the restless energy that emanated from him.
As he processed his illogical thoughts, Jim suddenly spoke, causing Spock's spine to straighten in barely disguised surprise. “Got a thing for Orion girls? Or Andorian men?”
Realizing the intensity of his previous focus on a scene that gave him little interest beyond abstracted curiosity, Spock turned his eyes away, instead staring at a point above Jim's head. “Negative on both accounts,” Spock huffed. “I was merely attempting to understand the purpose of such extravagant behavior.”
Jim snorted, turning onto his back. Although the captain's eyes were disguised, Spock could feel Jim's focus on his person. “I'm pretty sure that's their way of flirting.”
“It appears to be effective.” The Andorians had jumped into the water with a splash, swimming close to the Orions. On reflection, the flamboyant efforts of the Orions were not unlike those he had observed from the captain when he met a being he was physically attracted to. Smiles that said too much, intimate body language, lingering touches placed where a Vulcan would never dare except among bondmates and only ever in private.
“So, how do Vulcan's do it?” Jim asked, cushioning his head on a forearm. “Flirt?”
“They do not,” Spock replied.
“There's gotta be something,” Jim answered leaning his chin on a hand. If Spock ever felt such a whimsical emotion such as endearance, it would have been directed toward Jim presently as his chin tilted to the side, glasses slipping down his nose once again, feet kicking lightly against the lounge chair. A feeling he had witnessed coming to naught but trouble when Nyota returned from their last shore leave with a tribble, expressing how adorable the creature was due to its comforting and innocent form. Innocent was the least accurate description Spock would have used for the creature after learning of the damage it had caused to the Enterprise’s ventilation systems. Not to mention the effect the furry herbivores had on the captain’s incensed mentality. Although he was unrestricted with his positive emotions, it was rare to see the captain have such an openly hostile reaction, especially in front of his crew. He had kicked several tribbles in his path vehemently when security informed the captain of how much of the Quadrotriticale grain for Sherman’s Planet the animals had wastefully consumed.
“Negative,” Spock lifted his chin.
“Then what would you do?” Jim scrunched his nose in an attempt to lift his glasses. “To show someone you were attracted to them?”
Spock considered the question. “I would state my intentions using factual speech to prevent misunderstandings that could consequentially waste time better spent becoming more acquainted with the individual in question to determine the possibility of compatibility for a permanent relationship.” Of course, Spock thought, it depended on whether he wanted this attractive individual to know of his desires or not. Desires he should not be feeling, as a Vulcan, and in his professional position.
“Very logical.” Jim pressed his face against his arms. With the captain's gaze once again averted, Spock glanced at him, speculating at his sudden silence.
Unable to leave the matter be, Spock continued. “And you, Jim? When you find a being aesthetically pleasing, do you not convey your desire to engage the person romantically by use of methods of questionable meaning?”
Jim lifted his head, his eyebrows pulling together into a frown. “Depends on the person I suppose. I mean, remember the Xixan at that bar on Cradus? Bones said I was anything but subtle when he found me the morning after.”
Spock had no desire to remember that particular evening. Jim had spotting the Xixan male shortly after a disagreement with Spock about appropriate behavior patterns a Starfleet officer should follow even when off duty. Jim had all but thrown himself at the male who had been watching Jim since he entered, buying him several drinks that had not helped the ordeal come to, what Spock would evaluate as, a satisfactory conclusion.
“So, if your intention is to engage the individual in immediate coitus, then your speech is more direct.”
“One night stands, you mean,” Jim laughed sharply. “I don't know. Yeah, maybe. Less risk talking bluntly with some guy you want to fuck once to release a little tension and then be done with it.”
Spock lifted a brow at the description. “You have never been one to avoid risk during our acquaintance. Indeed, you have, on multiple occasions, stated that risk is your middle name, not as a statement of fact, but as a human illusion to your dedication to dangerous pursuits.”
“Yeah, when it comes to starship tactics. But telling someone you're into them, when you don't know if they'll be ok with it and stick with you. Especially once they really get to know you, which inevitably happens when you date someone—well, that's a completely different type of risk,” Jim responded with an emphatic flip of his arm.
Spock agreed that the two matters had an extreme difference in their priority levels. However, he considered the extreme, though undoubtedly successful, decisions the captain had occasionally made during their missions, considerably more daunting than expressing one's attraction to another individual. “Your priorities are contrary, Jim. The tactics you apply within your position as captain could cause significant physical harm to yourself or your subordinates. However, expressing one’s intention to mate with another is hardly a matter of life or death.”
“Yeah, but what if you really care about someone?” he countered. “When you start caring about someone, relationships become a matter of life. You can hurt them, they can hurt you. You know, emotionally more than physically. Maybe they stop caring or get sick of you and leave after they become an essential part of your life. Then you’re left still feeling everything for them, a well of emotions in your head that just keeps flowing, tearing you up.” Jim cleared his throat, swiping a knuckle roughly across his nose.
“I see,” Spock replied, still watching Jim's averted face. “You have obviously thought extensively on this matter.” He wondered if Jim had gone through this experience himself. Perhaps he had been in an emotional affiliation with another individual who had terminated their coupling. That would explain the captain’s adverse reaction to the idea of forming a permanent romantic relationship lest he be harmed emotionally again.
“Sometimes I think too much about it.” Jim titled his head slightly, revealing a soft tinge of red across his cheeks. The captain should have applied more sunscreen across such a vulnerable area. “Gotta say though, I admire how you can just blurt out your feelings for someone so logically.”
Spock frowned slightly, wondering at the numbing cold he was beginning to feel through his neural pathways. “Vulcans do not blurt out their feelings. In fact, if one did, it would be advisable that he or she seek the advice of a mind healer, immediately.”
“Sure, ok.” Jim leaned forward, eyebrows drifting above his sunglasses. “So, what kind of person do you go blurting these not actual feelings of sexual attraction to? What's your type?” With the closed distance, Spock observed the outline of Jim's irises behind the dark shades.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “If your intention is to discover what attributes I find attractive in an individual on a consistent basis, my answer is: humanoids of a height above one hundred and seventy two point eighteen centimeters; physically fit; clean shaven; pronounced facial features; well-proportioned buttocks; long fingers; a complementary set of ideals; conviction in their decisions; a keenness of mind; and an intelligence in and curiosity for various subjects that would enhance shared conversations.”
“Wow,” Jim replied his mouth drawn into a straight line that, despite his serious expression, only pronounced the fullness of his lips. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking extensively on this topic as well. So,” Jim turned to his left and then to his right. “You see anyone like that around here?”
“It would be impossible to ascertain whether an individual fit these qualifications without conversing with them for an unforeseen amount of time. One's intelligence levels are rarely observed through sight or even brief discussion alone. A longer acquaintance would be required.”
Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck where a sheen of sweat was glimmering across his skin, Jim continued in an insistent voice, disguised under a high note of humor. “Yeah, but do you see anyone that meets your physical requirements, at least?”
Spock frowned. “You are attempting to arrange a sexual rendezvous for my person.”
Puffing out a breath of air with a smile, Jim lowered his head, shaking it momentarily. “Ok yes, I am trying to set you up. It's just that, ever since you broke up with Uhura, I don't know. You've seemed kind of sad.”
“Impossible,” Spock felt his frown deepening. “Vulcans do not express sadness.”
“You’re off then. Not your usual self.”
Spock stiffened. “I apologize if I have performed unsatisfactorily in my assigned duties as first officer.”
“No, no.” Jim looked up swiftly, raising his hands, glasses sliding down once again to reveal a softened expression, eyes excessively bright. If Spock were more poetic, he would compare their shade to the Risan Sea before them. “Your work has been amazing as always. I mean during our free time. We used to hang out a lot, but since whatever happened between you and Uhura, you've been kind of distant.”
Spock turned his gaze toward the ocean, unsure how to proceed. “I apologize if I have offended you with my lack of social availability. I have been focused on the influx of experiments being developed in the science labs. Three extensive science missions occurred between the dissolution of my romantic relationship with Lieutenant Uhura and the present date.”
Although Spock's glance was averted, he could feel the intensity of Jim's eyes on him as a flush moving up his neck to his cheeks. “It has been pretty hectic lately,” Jim replied, his voice gentle. “Sorry. I didn't mean to hound you or anything. I just want you to be happy. I thought maybe you were being less social because you were upset about the break-up.”
Jim's suspicions were slightly inaccurate. Although Spock had regretted Nyota's decision to end their romantic relationship, it had been her reasoning for their separation, namely Spock's focus on another individual that had been blatant enough to rouse the lieutenant's attention. This disturbed Spock, that his emotions were so visible, and caused him to question the advisability of placing himself too often in the captain's presence lest their closeness lead to professions of feelings that could disrupt their command suitability and the loss of their friendship.
“Negative,” Spock replied. “I am performing optimally both mentally and physically.”
“Ok, Spock. You'd know best,” Jim replied, a faint disturbance in his tone. “I’m just glad we’re spending time together again. It’s the reason I cajoled you to come with me.”
“I see,” Spock replied, a rising sense of guilt pressing against his stomach. He had not meant to hurt Jim’s feelings, only protect him from his own.
Jim fiddled with his sunglasses, hands framing his face. “So, why did you agree to come?”
“To prevent you from placing yourself in dangerous situations.”
Jim chucked lightly. “I can take care of myself.”
“I can list nine previous instances of your involvement in troublesome events during shore leave.”
His laugh increasing in volume, the tense lines of Jim’s features loosening as he shifted in his chair. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Spock. While you’re trying to keep me out of trouble, I’ll probably get us both in a dirty mess before the end of our vacation.”
“You underestimate my ability to avoid disquieting circumstances and regulate your behavior.”
“And you underestimate my ability to create havoc,” Jim grinned. “You never answered my question by the way.”
“Which one,” Spock queried.
“Whether there’s anyone on the beach who tickles your fancy.” Jim waggled his eyebrows.
“Is this your first attempt to get me in a ‘dirty mess.’”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander.” Jim’s eyes flashed over the rim of his glasses.
Turning away from Jim, Spock analyzed the individuals before him. “I am attracted to no beings in my current line of sight.”
Flopping back down on the lounge chair, Jim sighed. “Well, maybe we'll have more luck when I take you out dancing on the weekend. I'm sure there’ll be loads of smart and curious hot people at this club. Bones recommended it and he's a smart guy under all those bristles.”
Spock’s suspicions raised. This club did not sound like a reputable establishment. “Although Doctor McCoy has a keen medical mind, surprisingly effective considering his overly emotional and occasionally prejudiced nature that could lead to an inability to perform his duties efficiently, I am disinclined to believe an establishment recommended by the doctor, considering our disparate natures, would contain individuals I could possibly find attractive in the ways I described.”
“You know, I really wish you two could try to get along,” Jim sighed, raising his eyes. “I know Bones' language can be dramatic, but he's all bark and no bite. He's a really sweet guy if you get to know him. He gets worked up because he cares so much.”
Spock kept silent, forcing his features into neutrality. He did not desire to hear Jim's thoughts on his friend's attractive qualities.
“Well, if it's a bust, at least you'll have one cute guy to hang out with,” Jim laughed with a wink, tapping his bare chest. “We can even have a dance together if you like. If I drink enough, I’m not too bad on the dance floor.”
Watching Jim, Spock banked the heat burning within his cheeks. Despite his better judgement, his consciousness began imagining how Jim's hands would feel against his own as they embraced in a common Terran dance position. He found himself both dreading their visit to this club, no longer trusting his ability to keep his hands from Jim’s if his friend encouraged touch, but also welcoming the visit for the same reason.
“I would advise against consuming an excessive amount of alcohol lest you experience nausea the next morning and miss experiencing a day of shore leave that could be spent more pleasantly than with your head over the seat of a waste disposal receptacle.”
With a moan, Jim turned to lie back on his stomach, giving Spock an ample view of his gluteus maximus, highlighted by the tight pull of his close fitting swim shorts. “Doesn't sound so bad if you're here to take care of me.”
“As we are sharing quarters, it is unlikely that I would not be in close proximity during the moment of your post inebriation illness,” Spock replied. Spock could not lie. Attending the captain in med bay during instances of illness or injury—keeping him company, moping sweat from his brow, retrieving glasses of water—had always given Spock a strange sense of gratification.
“I'm a lucky guy,” Jim murmured, face once again pressed against his arms, left cheek turned toward the sun.
Perhaps, Spock silently acquiesced. Indeed, although he did not believe in luck, Spock often thought circumstance had placed him in a fortuitous situation, as well.
*