Archive of Our Own

Aftertaste

********

The silence in the darkened cabin was broken only by the occasional gasping breath and the quiet, rhythmic sound of wet flesh penetrating flesh. Aware that no cabin was entirely soundproof, Kirk tried his best to keep his groans from drifting out to the hallway, but as Spock clenched around him and brought warm hands to dig into his shoulders, he was sure he was only marginally successful; when he began to pump faster and Spock’s breaths started forming words, Vulcan words, that gradually grew in volume, Kirk decided he didn’t care. He simply attempted to mute them both by leaning down blindly for Spock’s mouth, intent on swallowing the sounds as he so often longed to swallow Spock. He missed at first, lips landing on a smooth cheek and then a strong chin, and then Kirk simply licked until he reached Spock’s slightly parted lips.

Spock bit his tongue lightly and Kirk made an embarrassingly loud noise, and for possibly the first time, he wondered about the intelligence of having sex during alpha shift. He was certain that he heard a giggle from somewhere outside his cabin door, but when he felt a soft, slick, squeezing touch at the base of his cock, he was determined to ignore it, the universe, and even phaser blasts if it came to that.

Then Spock whimpered, low and slow, and Kirk felt sticky warmth splatter his stomach while a lean body rubbed against his, every inch of smooth or hair-covered flesh familiar and welcome, and he came with a shout. When Kirk slumped against him, slick with sweat and trembling from holding himself up on arms just recently healed, Spock muttered something in his ear, too soft for Kirk to hear. Kirk didn’t ask him to repeat it; after months of saying it and having Kirk not answer back, he suspected Spock just wanted to save them both the pain in the end, and he appreciated it, to a certain extent.

Still, Kirk acknowledged the words of love with a soft “okay” and a kiss to his jaw before reluctantly separating their bodies. Kirk moaned, the sound entirely unrelated to their previous activities, and as he stretched sore muscles, he almost wondered if the fact that he was having sex regularly was part of the reason he’d had his guard down on the last inhabited planet they’d visited.

A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Kirk sighed.

“Lights, eighty percent.”

The cabin was slowly lit, and the first thing Kirk saw after his eyes had adjusted was Spock looking at him in soft amusement as he pulled his hand away.

“You do understand that the challenge of having absolute darkness during these activities is negated due to Vulcans having a broader scale of visible light.”

Kirk smiled, having expected Spock to say something about the illogic of attempting to see only with touch some time ago.

“It was still fun.” Sex usually was, but there was something thrilling about being able to find Spock simply by his body heat. Kirk suspected Spock didn’t experience quite the same reaction to the idea, but if his moans of enjoyment had been any indication, he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

A thought struck Kirk then, suddenly, and he grinned.

“Are you saying you want to be blindfolded next time?”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

“I said nothing of the sort.”

Kirk nodded, and he pushed the disappointment from his mind with a notion to bring it up, later, when they were both too horny to require much persuasion.

“I didn’t think so. Besides, I don’t think you have as much of an advantage as you think you do; those little extensions of yours leave happy trails across your skin like you wouldn’t believe.”

And it was true. The first time Kirk had noticed the wetness of Spock’s thighs and hips, he had assumed that all the anatomy texts had been wrong about Vulcans not having sweat glands; it hadn’t even occurred to him that those thin little stems simply secreted more liquid the longer their host was excited.

Spock rolled to his side in response, and he reached for the towel Kirk had started keeping near his bed.

“They are wonil’fek, Captain, and I have explained that lubrication is one of their purposes.”

Kirk accepted the cloth when it was offered to him, wiping away Vulcan semen that—in his experience—would be nearly impossible to get off once it was dry.

“The others being—?”

Spock answered in a perfectly neutral voice, as if he was answering merely one of a thousand scientific questions Kirk had asked him over the years.

“Stimulation. It would be impractical for Vulcan females to ovulate like human females, and so they require certain stimulation in order to become fertile.”

Kirk hummed, and it was casual curiosity that caused him to ask his next question rather than in any real interest of the answer.

“Any opinion from human females on that one?”

Spock shrugged, lightly, and then he looked at Kirk for a very long time before he rolled out of the bed.

“I have been led to believe most females find them quite pleasant.”

Kirk snorted, pretty certain most anybody would find them pleasant, but he didn’t comment, very aware of the fact that Spock was now moving around the room in search of his clothing. Kirk was actually fairly proud of himself for scattering it that day; normally, Spock folded every piece so neatly, but perhaps because Kirk had been unable to have any rigorous sexual activity for close to a week, today there hadn’t been time.

Spock continued speaking, almost as if he was giving a lecture at the academy rather than walking around in only a science blue shirt, sans his normal undershirt (Kirk happened to know it had been thrown under the bed, but he didn’t point that out.)

“As I understand it, however, it is difficult for Vulcan females to reproduce without aid with males of another species.”

Kirk sighed.

“Well, that explains a lot.” He paused, and then: “Any take on how human males feel about them?”

“That, Jim, is something you would know the answer to better than I would.”

Kirk knew that; he had just been stalling for time, hoping to distract Spock from his persistent attempts towards getting dressed, maybe even to get him to look back at the bed and feel up to another roll in already rumpled sheets.

It didn’t happen—it rarely did, for reasons Kirk didn’t want to think about too hard—and when Spock looked at him again, he was once again in uniform and with a polite, professional expression on his face. His eyes may have flickered over Kirk once, twice, while he lay there unabashedly naked, but he said nothing.

Kirk knew he should have just left it alone, but he was strangely unable to. Things like that had been happening a lot lately.

“Where are you going?”

“I am due to monitor the experiment on fungal degradation for Altair VII in science lab B.”

Spock hadn’t given a time estimate, which was unusual for him, but then, Kirk knew why he hadn’t.

“I know that—that’s not until this evening.”

Spock only blinked at him.

“I require nourishment.”

No, you don’t. Kirk didn’t say it; he knew Spock was uncomfortable enough about lying anyway, and so he simply nodded, expression understanding.

Spock inclined his head and murmured a polite—too polite—“If you’ll excuse me, Captain” before he slipped quietly out the door.

Kirk watched the doors close, and he silently wondered why he felt like punching a wall.

********

Kirk was slow to get ready, but that was fine; his shift—a reduced shift at McCoy’s orders—wasn’t due to start for half an hour, and he knew that after being tossed all over hell and creation last week, no one would blame him for being a little slow. Even so, Kirk was dressed and ready on time, and he was on the bridge four minutes before he was due, much to the surprise and excitement of the tail end of alpha shift.

Kirk greeted the tired crewmen with a smile and a laugh, but as he settled into his chair, he couldn’t help but feel weary, something he very deliberately ignored. Everybody on board was overdue for shore leave; everyone except him, of course.

Kirk sighed softly to himself, and he propped one arm up on the side of his chair while he watched the shift gradually change. He reflected then, somewhat tiredly, on why even after good sex (great sex) he felt like he had a stone resting in his stomach.

It was his own fault, of course; four months ago Spock had welcomed their relationship as it was now, as friends with something more, but Kirk wasn’t stupid enough that he didn’t understand the motive. Spock had assumed—perhaps logically, perhaps hopefully—that Kirk would eventually fall in love with him too, in the same natural way their friendship had progressed and then grown into desire. They were usually so well matched that it wasn’t even a bad assumption; after all, they had never been very good at denying the other something they needed. However, for the first time in almost two and a half years, Kirk and Spock were not well-matched, and Kirk’s feelings—whatever they were, but not love, dammit—hadn’t changed. Kirk was fairly certain that Spock had started to notice this around two weeks ago, and if it hadn’t been for his near death experience last week, a part of Kirk was pretty sure Spock would have—should have—kicked him to the curb already.

But there was another part, a bigger part, which said Spock wouldn’t have been able to, and Kirk kind of hated himself for that.

Kirk wasn’t normally so selfish—really, he wasn’t—and he had pretty keen senses for when someone was putting up walls. Normally he wouldn’t have minded since he did essentially the same thing, but with Spock, it was bothering the hell out of him. There were a lot of little examples, but there was one in particular that he couldn’t ignore, and that was that Spock didn’t share a bed with him when they weren’t having sex, and he didn’t invite Kirk into his own quarters for their activities either…or at least he hadn’t since that first time when Spock had promised him that his lack of love didn’t matter. Kirk would have been annoyed with it, in fact, except every time he considered addressing what must have been an attempt at distancing, he felt guilt wrap tight around his spine, and he couldn’t say it.

It was stressing him out more than it should have been, and even though Kirk very much didn’t want to lose Spock’s friendship or his company in bed, he didn’t know what other options there were but to end it completely. But then, Kirk knew he couldn’t do that either; every time he thought about it, the idea caused such irrational pain that he thought there might very well be something wrong with him.

McCoy just looked at him like he was an idiot every time he came down to sickbay, but that was okay; Kirk felt like an idiot.

Kirk sighed, and he knew the sound was loud and unnecessarily exasperated in the silence of the bridge. It was only then that he realized the crew had been completely switched, and he hadn’t said a word to any of them; an unforgivable lapse, considering his habit was to smile and pester everyone as soon as he saw them. Was he such a bad Captain that he couldn’t even interact with people who had served with him and given him their best for over two years? Was he so preoccupied that he couldn’t even say hello?

Determined and disappointed in himself, Kirk forced a smile and did just that, hoping no one noticed how fake the cheer in his voice sounded.

********

The planet was as yet unnamed—a small, strange little thing in the Omicron Delta system that sensors from previous scientific vessels, both Federation and non, had missed. If Kirk had been thinking clearly, he would have found that an odd discrepancy considering all the surrounding planets were well known, but as it was, he merely found it an interesting new discovery, more so because of its likeness to Earth. The gravity matched perfectly, the flora appeared similar, and the similarities continued even to the amount of water present; Kirk wasn’t surprised that it made the majority of the crew feel a little homesick to hear about it, and—as the good Captain he was—he gladly authorized shore leave for all off-duty personnel.

Even though Kirk knew he was tired as anyone, he didn’t include himself in this order; as it was, he highly doubted that a planet, no matter how beautiful, could cure what seemed to be ailing him these days.

Spock apparently disagreed; when Kirk saw him shortly after his lunch hour, it was with a medical data padd in hand.

Kirk straightened against the pull of sore muscles and put on his best professional face.

“Mister Spock! We’re beaming down the starboard section first; which section would you like to go with?”

Spock blinked at him calmly, and Kirk wondered why his hand seemed to tighten minutely around the padd in his hand.

“That is not necessary, Captain; I have plans to meditate while we are in orbit.”

Kirk nodded, and he flicked a stylus across his desk; no point in arguing with Spock about the merits of cutting loose, not after all their months in space together. With a barely audible breath, Kirk looked up and waited for the discussion Spock must have come to see him about.

“Captain, are you beaming down for shore leave?”

“No, Mister Spock.”

Kirk smiled, the expression a twist of the lips.

“I’m afraid I have too much work to do. After all, I’ve been lazing around for almost a week.”

Spock nodded and glanced at his padd.

“Very well, Captain; there was something I came to discuss with you. We have a crew member aboard who’s showing signs of stress and fatigue, reaction time down nine to twelve percent, associational rating norm minus three.”

Kirk frowned and nodded, understanding perfectly where Spock was going with this.

“That’s too low of a rating.”

Spock continued.

“He’s becoming irritable and quarrelsome, yet he refuses to take rest and rehabilitation.”

Kirk sighed.

“You want to force this, don’t you? Okay, I agree; send him ashore on my orders. What’s his name?”

Spock almost smiled as he extended the padd, and Kirk knew he was caught—hook, line, and sinker.

“James Kirk.”

Kirk groaned, the sound almost a laugh as he accepted the padd.

“You’re too smart for your own good sometimes, Spock.”

Spock inclined his head, the action full of modesty and almost endearing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Captain.”

“It is.” A thought occurred to him, and Kirk tried not to look too hopeful. “Hey, Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Do you want to go with me? You know, hang out, have a picnic or something?”

Spock looked at him in contemplation for a moment, and something like longing. Kirk felt cruel, suddenly, and he was almost relieved—almost—when Spock declined.

“Perhaps another time, Jim. For now, enjoy yourself; it appears to be an interesting planet.”

Kirk nodded and prepared for another day of enforced relaxation. Spock, seemingly assured of his compliance with his own orders, simply quietly left.

********

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have surprised Kirk very much that there was something more than a little odd about the planet itself. From the second he beamed down, he was inundated with calls from his fellow crewmen, alarms being raised about tigers and bears and white rabbits that shouldn’t have existed on a planet without any signs of life. It was only the reassurance from his men that nothing seemed dangerous—yet—that kept Kirk from immediately cancelling shore leave, and after that, it was the fact that the communication line was blocked that prevented it.

Kirk could only be relieved and grateful when Spock was suddenly next to him; no matter what his personal problems, there was never anyone else he wanted in a crisis.

“Spock! I guess you decided to beam down to help with the survey?”

Kirk reached out a hand to touch his hand, and as soon as he did, he felt it—cool skin, almost rubbery in texture—and he knew. He jumped back immediately and pulled his phaser, but as with the communicator on his belt, it too was inoperative.

“Who are you? What are you?”

“I assure you, Captain, that I mean you no harm.”

Whatever it was, it was good—it even sounded like Spock, from the deep voice to the words it spoke, and it was only Kirk’s natural instinct that told him to listen to Spock that prevented him from running back to his own people until they could find a means of combating these…apparitions.

“Maybe. What are you?”

Spock-alike held out his arms in an open gesture, and Kirk took the chance to catalogue his appearance, looking for some flaw, any flaw. Unlike the rubber-faced knight from before, there was none that he could see, and for some reason, the thought caused him pain.

“I am a construct, Captain, created by this planet to fulfill your needs.”

Kirk scowled, completely certain he didn’t like the sound of that.

“My…needs?”

“Yes, Captain. Any thought you have directed at the main computer is analyzed and produced to the best of its knowledge.”

Kirk nodded slowly; he had half come to that realization already, but he was uncertain whether he felt better or worse now that it had been confirmed by one of the very same things that had been terrorizing them.

Spock-alike continued, his voice soft.

“I am here because that is what you wanted, Jim.”

Kirk felt anger flare; it was irrational to be angry at a machine, but nonetheless, it was there.

“What I wanted? Don’t be absurd; I wanted Spock, not some machine wearing his skin.”

One perfectly replicated eyebrow was raised, and Kirk was surprised he wasn’t seeing steam. He wondered what bothered him more; that there was a duplicate of Spock running around, or that there might be more than one, possibly fulfilling someone else’s needs.

“It is curious that this seems to matter to you; I can fulfill all of his purposes for a time.”

Kirk scowled, and he started to walk away.

“No, you fucking can’t.”

Spock’s voice followed after him, carried by a wind that hadn’t been there before.

“It is only sex, Captain.”

Kirk whirled around.

“It isn’t just sex!”

Spock-alike just looked at him for a moment before settling calmly on a nearby rock, not too far from where Finnegan had fallen.

“If it is his mind you value, I am able to duplicate that as well. I repeat, what seems to be the problem?”

Kirk threw up his hands and admitted—at least to himself—what had been bothering him for weeks.

“I don’t know what the problem is.”

He paused, experiencing uncertainty, and he sat on a rock across the dirt path from where Spock-alike was stretching long legs.

Kirk sighed, and he glanced back in the direction of the glade; he figured he may as well have his questions answered before his mind was picked apart.

“You’re a construct? Has everything that’s been attacking us up to this point been a construct?”

Spock nodded.

“Indeed. The Caretaker is undoubtedly explaining this to your men as we speak, but since I required an extraordinarily long assembly time, it was thought best that I explain it to you.”

Kirk let the statement sit in his mind for a moment, and then he repeated it, almost in amused wonder.

“A long assembly time…because you’re supposed to be Spock.”

“Correct. You are conflicted, Captain; it made discerning a solid personality difficult.”

Yeah, I’ll bet I’m conflicted. Conflicted in the sense of guilt and anger and annoyance, all directed at himself; Spock was an open book in comparison.

Kirk was silent for a while, and when he spoke, it was quietly, with him looking down at his knees.

“If you’re Spock, can I ask you a question?”  

Spock-alike nodded, and Kirk hesitated only for a fraction of a second.

“Am I hurting him, by not being in love with him?”

Spock-alike looked at him sadly, and the expression was so similar to how Spock’s would have been that he wondered if, maybe, this construct was more like his Vulcan than Kirk had originally thought.

“I am only a construct of your own mind, Captain; you know the answer to this as well as I do.”

They both fell silent, even though there were things Kirk wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask. When Kirk had a problem, he inevitably talked it out with his Spock; for obvious reasons, this wasn’t an option, but looking at something only vaguely like the man he knew, it felt wrong.

“Look, can you…can you change into another form? It doesn’t feel right to be talking like this to a Spock I don’t even know.”

Spock-alike raised an eyebrow, and then he stood.

“I’ll see what I can do, Captain.”

So saying, he wandered off towards the glade, and then he disappeared behind a bush. Kirk waited what felt like hours, until after his communicator came back online and after he had gotten and given confirmation that everyone was alright, but still Spock-alike did not return. He was starting to think he wouldn’t, in fact, when a figure suddenly appeared from behind a tree. A familiar figure.

He moved forward, and Kirk found himself inexplicably staring at his own face.

“You’re not the original Spock look-a-like, are you? You’re a new one?”

It had to be; Spock-alike had been Spock’s size, and shared his dimensions. This one was Kirk’s size, and even if the machines were advanced, there was no way to wrap up a tall, skinny frame in Kirk’s body.

Kirk-alike, as if demonstrating that he was different, simply shrugged.

“Yes. The previous construct for you was unacceptable, and he was reabsorbed.”

Kirk blanched, unable to stop himself.

“He died?”

Another shrug, and Kirk knew that this construct was not entirely him; he would have never been so casual about death, even of that of a machine.

“Nothing like a biological death, Jim. The machines of this planet are made, powered, and reabsorbed. However, machines made for more complex interactions are also learning machines, so the knowledge is recycled as well.”

Kirk frowned, and for the first time, he wished he’d had a chance to meet the creators of this planet.

“That’s…almost Buddhist, in an alarming way.”

 “If you say so.”

Kirk-alike flicked a speck of dust off his wrist, disinterested, and Kirk saw something familiar in him.

“You’re not me, are you? You’re designed after my brother, but I haven’t seen him for years, so you just look like me.”

Kirk-alike wagged his finger, and the grin that touched his face was mischievous and safe.

“Close enough. Does it help?”

“I think it might.”

“Then speak your mind.”

So saying, Kirk-alike sat, exactly where Spock-alike had been. Kirk tried not to feel guilt at what had been essentially the death of Spock’s computer self. Instead, Kirk too sat, looking down at his palms while he spoke what was, to him, the unacknowledged truth of this whole mess.

“I must be the worst friend in the world. I mean, I knew, didn’t I? What I was getting into, and what it meant to Spock. I just followed my dick around, like usual.”

“Interesting that you seem to think that’s all, when you said before that it wasn’t just sex.”

Kirk looked at him for a moment, confused, before he remembered that Spock-alike’s knowledge had been absorbed, and then he looked back down.

“It wasn’t—isn’t. I care about him and want him to be happy, and that’s why I’m so damn confused right now.”

Kirk swallowed, and his next words were something between a sigh and a moan.

“Why aren’t I in love with him? Why?”

Kirk-alike was silent, and when he spoke, it was mostly unhelpful.

“What is love, Jim? You have to know, since you seem so convinced you know what it isn’t.”

Kirk snorted; he had an answer for that, at least, even if it hadn’t helped him up to this point.

“My mother always said that love is…burning. Every sense is alive, every emotion heightened, and every day experiences become something else. It’s never being apart, even if there’s distance between you.”

Kirk smiled, the expression wobbly as he remembered, not un-fondly, how she had spoken about it, even when it hurt.

“Her favorite quote was always one about how if she had a star for every smile my father inspired in her, she could have made the sky.”

There was a beat of silence, and when Kirk-alike spoke again, he was tapping his chin in contemplation.

“Interesting. Now, how do you feel about Spock?”

Kirk opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came. Every answer he could think of sounded so similar…so familiar…so simple…

He narrowed his eyes, and if Kirk-alike had been made of anything but the personality of a Kirk, he probably would have jumped back.

“What are you getting at?”

Kirk-alike smiled, the expression impossibly sweet.

“Are you sure you haven’t been in love all along, Jim?”

Kirk just stared.

“No. No. That’s not even possible.”

It wasn’t. It was stupid, in fact, to explain it that way; Kirk wasn’t a child, and he knew his own feelings, dammit.

“If you’ve never called it love, you’d hardly be able to recognize it, would you?”

Kirk-alike did have a point, there, but it was a very small one, or so Kirk told himself. There was still a huge flaw in the logic of this situation, and so Kirk jumped on it, refusing to acknowledge the desperation behind the action.

“But…Spock would recognize it! He’s a touch telepath, and he’s in love with me; he should be able to feel that I love him too.”

Kirk-alike looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse.

“Only if he looked for it. As a touch telepath, I imagine it would bring him pain if he looked for love in your heart and couldn’t find it; I’m sure he shields the hell out of himself when you’re together.”

Kirk swallowed, and he found words pouring out of his mouth, a whisper.

“That’s not possible.”

Kirk-alike laughed.

“Says the man talking to himself.”

Kirk looked down, again, and he considered everything. If he was in love…he had been hurting Spock, hurting them both, for no reason. Denial, his mind whispered, and Kirk knew it was possible, even though he didn’t want it to be. If it was love, Kirk was really the most screwed up man in the world if he didn’t even acknowledge it.

But if it wasn’t love…did he really deserve the chance to keep hurting them both like this? The idea that he didn’t filled him with fear, and Kirk knew, in that instant, that he was wrong about something.

He glanced back up, into the blue eyes of the man across from him.

“What should I do?”

Kirk-alike just smiled.

“Why are you asking me?”

********

For the first time in many years, Spock was finding it difficult to meditate; no, impossible. Every time he separated his mind from his body through his series of exercises to examine all the events of the days past, a frisson of energy sliced through his body and brought him, quite suddenly, back to where he had started. He had tried, again and again, and he knew it was frustration that kept surfacing as a result. Frustration and, in the end, sadness.

He had not heard from Jim since the disastrous misunderstanding of the planet was reported; even then, Kirk had not contacted him directly to explain that he was unharmed, safe, enjoying himself. In the perfect picture of professionalism and human priorities, Kirk had reported only what had happened, and then he had continued on with his shore leave quite happily. Spock refused to acknowledge that it bothered him, but then, that was the problem: if he did not admit to being annoyed, upset, feeling rejected by Kirk’s casual treatment, then he could not let it go.

Spock tried to let it go, and as soon as he did, he found himself sitting in a blanket of dark sky with a soft, impossible wind touching his face.

What is today?

Stardate 2261.12.

What are emotions?

Firings of the nerves, interpretations by the brain. Minor. Controllable. Imaginary.

Who is Spock of Vulcan?

The First Officer of the Enterprise. A half-breed. The man in love with James Kirk.

Who is Spock of Vulcan?

A being of thirty-one standard years of age. A scientist. The man in love with James Kirk.

Who is Spock of Vulcan?

He is pain and unhappiness, rejection and loss. He is the man in love with James Kirk.

A pounding sounded in the dull shape of his mind’s view, and Spock heard it from where he sat. It jolted him, perhaps more than it should have, and his mediation—held fragile by what he wouldn’t let go—collapsed back into his body with a crash that left him gasping.

It took him a moment to realize that the sound wasn’t just in his mind, but was the result of someone pounding—quite heavily—on his door. Spock stood on shaky legs, and he answered, not surprised but not pleased to see Kirk standing outside.

“Geesh, Spock; I was worried when you didn’t answer the chime. Are you…okay?”

Spock looked into blue eyes flickering with concern for a friend, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“Not as such.”

He felt hands on him, gently guiding him towards the nearest seat, a sofa, before the touch was removed.

“Hey, hey; sit down. I interrupted your meditation, huh? Were you into it?”

Spock felt a glass touch his hand, and he dutifully raised it to his lips: water. He was not thirsty but he drank, just to put off answering.

When he finally spoke, his mouth was impossibly dry.

“I was having some…difficulties.”

“What kind?”

Spock looked at Kirk with an unwavering gaze, and Kirk looked away as he always did. Spock looked at his lap.

“Difficulties that I would prefer not to discuss at this time.”

“That’s fine. I came to talk to you anyway, not the other way around.”

Spock calmly set his glass on the table in front of him, and he tucked shaking hands into his robe. He had a curious sense of foreboding about Kirk’s words, but he had never been able to refuse even the simplest of his requests.

In retrospect, Spock almost wished he had learned how to do so long ago.

“Speak your mind.”

When he did, it was not what Spock had expected, but just as painful.

“Will you meld with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Kirk shrugged as if he was not asking the world of him, as if he wasn’t asking Spock to expose everything he was only to be let down in the end.

“Meld with me? Like you did with the Romulan on Nero’s ship about three years ago.”

Spock continued to stare at his lap.

“That is something I would prefer to do only in the line of duty, Captain.”

“I know, but I did some research, and it’s something lovers do too, right?”

Spock swallowed, and his words were a whisper.

“We are not lovers, Captain.”

“Don’t call me “captain” when I’m damn sure not talking to you like a commanding officer. If we’re not lovers, what are we?”

Spock looked at him sharply, then, and he held his eyes for just a moment.

“I believe the colloquial term is fuck buddies, Captain.”

Kirk went silent, clearly surprised, and Spock looked away again.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I have been unable to find an appropriate substitute in this or any language.”

There was silence, and then Kirk sighed, reaching out a hand to lay it gently on Spock’s arm. There was no logical reason for the touch to warm every inch of his skin, but it did, nonetheless.

“Don’t you even want to know why I want you to meld with me, Spock?”

Spock could think of only one answer.

“I imagine you have been misinformed about something, and you believe this will rectify it.”

The touch shifted, became a caress, gentle and loving. But it wasn’t what it felt like.

“Spock, I think I’m in love with you.”

Spock shrugged him off with a jerk.

“Do not tease me.”

“Spock, I’m serious—”

“It is cruel.”

Kirk made a frustrated noise in his throat, an angry noise, and Spock looked at him, startled. They had been engaging in these activities for four point two months, and not once had Kirk expressed displeasure or anger with the situation. Spock had shielded so strongly and seen only with his eyes; it had not occurred to him that Kirk was anything but content while Spock was miserable.

For the first time, it gave him hope.

“Don’t you think I know that? Spock, I think I’ve been in love with you for months—longer. I just…I’ve never been in love, alright? I don’t know what the hell it’s supposed to feel like, but you seem to, so I just wanted to know.”

Spock repeated the words he had known almost since the beginning, a quote from something he did not remember but had always known.

“Love is being asked “why?” and being only able to respond with because he was he and I was I.”

Kirk smiled at him, the expression faint but strong.

“That sounds about right.”

Spock looked at him, then, and he saw confidence in Kirk’s face. Trust. Belief. Affection—there had always been affection, and it had occurred to Spock once before that affection might have been a scale.

Spock reached out a hand, but he hesitated.

“If you are wrong, Jim, we cannot continue this. I am sorry.”

His mediation and control were already dangerously unstable; Spock didn’t think he could bear it to continue as it had been, but Kirk just smiled, that familiar expression he always wore when he inevitably proved those who didn’t believe in him wrong.

“Calm down, Spock, and just touch me.”

Spock did, and their minds slid together like two rivers always meant to join, as Spock had known they would. He had only a moment to reflect on the fact that he would miss this now that he had known it, and he had only an instant to touch the fiber of Kirk’s soul before he slipped past the barriers of his mind, and fell.

Love. It was the very first thing he touched, wide and boundless, and it was calling to him as if Spock had always belonged there. Spock wrapped all that he was around Kirk’s consciousness, and he dragged him forward, into a pool of emotion that was undeniable and identical to Spock’s own. Then, when he knew Kirk had felt his own emotions, knew them by feeling, he pulled him back, gently, to where Spock’s own beat inside his mind.

When they separated, it had been only seconds, but Kirk’s eyes shone even as they stared at him.

Spock touched Kirk’s temple, and he believed he was smiling.

“How did I not see?”

Kirk’s lips twitched.

“A question for the ages, I’m sure.” He sobered immediately, and his words were sweet, if unnecessary.

“I’m sorry.”

Spock dismissed them gracefully.

“It does not matter.”

It didn’t, not any longer, but Kirk looked at him like he expected Spock to feel anger over the delay; he did not.

“It does, but we can argue about that later.” Kirk smiled widely, and immediately perked up.

“Wanna fuck like bunnies on the couch?”

Spock only shook his head slightly, his internal clock making him well aware that there was no time for such activities, and he stood.

“Captain, I have to monitor the experiment on fungal degradation for Altair VII in science lab B.”

Kirk winced, and he leaned back, looking annoyed.

“Oh. Right. Dammit.”

Spock waited for the inevitable dismissal, a promise to meet up at a later time, but it did not come; Kirk seemed perfectly willing if not content to wait for him here, regardless of how long it took.

Spock sat back down.

“I will ask Lieutenant Mallers to supervise.”

Kirk grinned at him widely, and then he lunged.

In reflection, Spock was not terribly surprised that they fell off the couch shortly afterwards, but he imagined the sentiment was expressed well enough all the same when Kirk pushed him backwards with a growl.

Rabbits, in Spock’s experience, did not growl, but when he attempted to point said discrepancy out, Kirk laughingly told him to shut up. Spock complied out of happiness, love, and the intention of bringing it up later, but Kirk did not seem to notice when he pressed their lips together in a kiss long overdue.

For the first time since they had begun this new aspect of their relationship, Spock lowered his shields, and the impact of emotion against his mind, emotions both obvious and clear, was dazzling. When Kirk pulled away, intent on exploring Spock’s body as he so often did, Spock pulled him back and kissed him deeply and slowly, pouring everything he held inside into the touch of their mouths.

When Spock released the head he held captive, he was pleased to see that Kirk’s eyes had dilated four percent faster than normal.

“Wow. You’re not normally this aggressive.”

“It is overdue, Jim.”

So saying, when Kirk leaned back, laughter and joy in his eyes, Spock darted forward and lapped softly against the barest exposed skin of Kirk’s collar bone. Hands came up to pet his ears, lingering over the soft tips, and Spock felt his body give a unmistakable shudder of arousal that was amplified by the pulse of lust radiating from Kirk’s skin. When Kirk pushed at his shoulders, the message was unmistakable, and Spock willingly shrugged out of his robe to feel Kirk’s hands on him again, callused fingers curling through dark chest hair and lingering at his waistband.

His wonil’fek had already emerged, and there were dark spots on the fabric of his pants, spots that Kirk—with his unparalleled fascination for that particular aspect of his anatomy—immediately pressed his fingertips against. Spock felt himself jerk and shudder while familiar hands tugged at his remaining clothing, and he moaned, feeling the lust and love in Kirk increase dramatically with the sound. Curious, he moaned again, and this time the effect was that Kirk pushed him to the ground with his pants only half removed.

Spock, expecting a quick penetration, spread his legs eagerly, but Kirk surprised him by sliding down his body almost worshipfully and stopping long enough to remove the pants, fold them as Spock would have normally done, and set them aside.

Kirk moved to return to his original position, but it was with soft, sucking kisses on areas of his body that were not normally sensitive or interested in their activities. His ankles. His calves. His knees. His thighs. Spock reacted to the contact by trembling as a prickling sensation rose up from the soft mouth touching him, but he also knew that it was not the touches that caused it.

Each time Kirk pulled away, intent on moving to another part of his body, he murmured a soft “I love you” against his skin.

Spock shuddered and wanted him, and he felt a dampness on the floor from where his body secreted too much. When Kirk entered him, he jerked; the penetration had been almost unexpected, and the result had forced one of the sensitive tendrils inside his own body. Its motions made Kirk moan and Spock didn’t care, but when he began to thrust, the double edge of sensation combined with the telepathic surge from Kirk himself.

When Spock climaxed, it was with a scream, and Kirk laughingly shushed him even though his eyes were dark with excitement and his own approaching orgasm. When he began to shake and sweat dripped off his skin, Spock simply pulled him close and clenched around him.

Kirk shuddered and collapsed, and Spock grunted but did not let him move when he tried. Kirk kissed him softly on the forehead.

“I love you, Spock.”

Spock nearly smiled.

“I also love—”

They were interrupted by a frantic pounding on the door.

“Hey, is everyone okay in there? I thought I heard a scream.”

********

End