Chapter Text
Jim sucks down the electrolyte gel, hardly tasting its artificial citrus flavour. When the packet is empty, he tosses it aside and tears open another, drinking it a little more slowly. This one tastes like melon. He has one knee still on the bed, touching Spock’s thigh as he sleeps.
They’d learned quickly that the pon farr would not comfortably allow them much time of being physically apart. Jim had gone into the bathroom to pee during the reprieve that had followed the initial frenzy of the morning, his legs still wobbly and his mind still buzzing pleasantly from the meld. It had been like nothing he’d ever felt; not even during their bonding had it been that intense. It had been a lot for Spock, too; he’d been moved to tears by the depth of their emotion, collapsing over his chest after they’d come harder than they probably ever had in their lives, despite the two (or three in Spock’s case) previous org*sms.
When he’d been able to move again, he’d rolled Spock onto his back and left him sprawled sticky and mute with his arm over his face. But Spock had come and opened the door with a visible expression of distress while Jim was still in the bathroom washing his hands, and had wasted no time burying his face in Jim’s neck, kissing him and running his hands up and down his sides. Jim had at least managed to wet a towel and wipe some of the come off of him, while they were there. His own co*ck, limp and defeated between his legs, hadn’t been able to do more than twitch weakly, even after he’d gotten to his knees to take Spock into his mouth and felt his desperate fingers at the side of his face, joining them again. He’d felt the fire in his mind, the pleasure and desire, but a human body— even one bonded to a Vulcan— did have its limits, as they’d predicted.
He’d guided them back to the bed, debating whether to bother with fresh sheets or not, deciding it seemed kind of pointless at the moment. Jim had opened the drawer that held their stash of supplies, slapping one of the patches Bones had given him onto his arm. He then pulled out the blue dild*, despite Spock’s protests. “I need you, Jim. This will not let me feel you,” he’d whined, shaking his head back and forth on the pillow. “It will not let me taste your pleasure.”
“Spock, you were the one who told me to make this,” Jim said, even while knowing such reasoning was beyond his current capabilities. He straddled him again on the bed, and Spock’s hands were immediately all over him. He could sense Spock’s enjoyment of it and always liked the feel of his hands, and the fever wanted them to be touching, but his penis simply refused to respond. “Mm— that feels nice, but I promise you, I can’t get hard again just yet. Human men aren’t generally able to have three org*sms in a row like that.” Spock either hadn’t registered the words, or chose to ignore them, his hands still moving eagerly over Jim’s nipples and testicl*s and ass, so he tried a different tack.
“Sure you wouldn’t like to get inside of me for awhile instead?” He shifted forward slightly, letting Spock’s erection brush against the crack of his ass, while projecting his enjoyment of it as much as he could through their touch.
Spock had only sighed exasperatedly. “That would hardly satisfy me at this time.”
“All right,” Jim said, containing his own annoyance. Apparently Spock wasn’t about to let pon farr stop him from being a brat. “Then you’d better let me f*ck you like this, just until this—” he tapped the patch on his bicep— “kicks in. Whatever else you need, I’m yours. You want to meld with me again? f*ck my mouth with your fingers?”
“Yes, anything,” he groaned. “Please, touch me.”
Leaning over, Jim pumped some of the lubricant into his hand, slathering it over the silicone replica in his other hand. “Why don’t you get on top of me again,” he said, lying down beside him, “and I’ll hold this here for you to ride? Then I’ll still have one hand free to touch you, and you can touch me however else you like.” He wedged it between his upper thighs, low enough to keep it away from his own genitals.
“I suppose there is hardly any more suitable option.” Spock clambered huffily into his lap, arranging himself over the fake co*ck and sinking down with a sigh. It hadn’t been long before Spock’s fingers were reaching for his mouth, psionic sparks against his tongue making them both moan, but Jim had stroked him to completion twice before his own co*ck started to stiffen again. Spock, feeling Jim’s building arousal in his own mind, had wasted no time in discarding the dild* he’d been half-heartedly f*cking himself with, lying on his back where Jim had guided him in order to tidy himself up a bit.
Jim couldn’t help but laugh as he’d set the towel aside, arranging himself again between his legs, pushing a pillow under Spock’s back to lift his hips up more easily. “It had to have been better than nothing, Spock,” he’d said with a nod toward where it lay on the floor.
“It is, as you say, a slight improvement over nothing at all,” he said, grabbing Jim’s ass with both hands.
“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or offended, seeing as it’s based on my dick.”
“Please, Jim…” Spock whined pitifully as Jim lubricated himself, though by that point it had seemed like overkill; Spock was dripping wet and plenty stretched. But given that they had no idea how much longer this would last, he didn’t want to risk injury if they could help it.
“All right, all right, just— there,” he soothed as he entered him. Spock moaned and gasped in relief, his hands grasping and caressing, eager to fill himself with Jim’s energy. He could feel Spock’s pleasure and need in the back of his mind like a shadow as he f*cked into him the way the bond told him to, the way the fever needed him to. In spite of feeling physically a little drained, the level of pleasure had still been fierce. Jim had managed to come twice more along with Spock, and stayed hard long enough to f*ck him a third time, taking him from behind once they’d initiated another meld— though even their mental connection hadn’t been enough at that point to make Jim’s co*ck do more than release a single, feeble spurt inside him when he’d felt Spock’s climax in his mind.
After reaching to break their meld, Spock had collapsed face down on the bed. Jim had collapsed right along with him, his mind liquid and unfocused as it recovered from the contact, his chest heaving against his back. He waited until he could sense Spock drifting into sleep again, or at least some kind of partially-conscious state to rest his body for a little while. He’d whimpered slightly as Jim pulled out of him, but hadn’t moved.
As Jim slowly makes his way through his second rehydration packet, he vaguely wonders what time it is, then decides it doesn’t matter, and doesn’t check. Briefly he considers eating one of the horrible nutrient bars while he’s got the opportunity, but he doesn’t feel hungry. Instead, when he finishes the gel packet, he looks over Spock’s wilted form, sprawled with his hand curled near his face like a child. He’s a mess. There are yellow-green bruises on his neck, shoulders, and thighs; his back is shiny with sweat; his hair is in disarray, sticking to his forehead. And to say nothing of the slimy mix of lubricant and come between his legs, the wet patch of ejacul*te he’s certainly lying in. He looks surprisingly peaceful, though his breathing is somewhat shallow; Jim figures the fever keeps him from entering any deeper state of rest.
Although Spock doesn’t smell bad, his natural scent at the moment is a lot stronger than Jim’s used to. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he wonders if Spock might in fact smell bad to other people, if it’s the bond and the pon farr that makes the animal part of Jim’s own brain respond positively to it. The idea of taking him like this, f*cking him while he’s limp and filthy, semi-conscious and covered in sweat and his own drying come, with Jim’s previous releases still dribbling out of him, is wildly enticing suddenly, in spite of his own body being unable to do much of anything about it at the moment. He doesn’t know if the desire has come from Spock or himself, or a dual combination of wants pulsing and gleaming through their overstimulated bond.
He has to admit it’s been fascinating the way the pon farr has amplified Spock’s desires and shared them with Jim. Jim has never been as attached to unprotected sex as Spock, who relies on bare skin contact for much of his own pleasure— really, under normal circ*mstances Jim would be perfectly content with the easy cleanup of condoms. But he recalls how turned on he’d been by continuing to f*ck him after he’d already come inside of him, Spock’s desire to be claimed translating in Jim to a desire to claim him, mark him as his own. The acuity of it had been incredibly erotic.
But most of all he’d been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of emotion pouring out of Spock, particularly during the first meld. He thought he’d felt Spock’s love before, and he had, of course he had— but this? So unguarded and huge and beautiful, exploding out of him in sparks of flame and light that touched Jim’s mind without hesitation, without asking forgiveness? It was Spock, all of it, the purest essence of him, and Jim knew they would never doubt each other ever again.
Realising he’s been standing there staring at his bondmate’s sleeping form for some minutes, he gathers his thoughts and reaches for the towel he’d set down earlier, cleaning Spock up a little. His left leg is bent at an angle that allows Jim to inspect his hole for damage, which he does, feeling a little awkward about it only because he’s asleep. It looks a little swollen and stretched, but no more than that, which is a relief considering how hard they’d been going at it. Jim takes out the salve, unsure how much it’ll help, but he rubs a little on him anyway. A soft hum comes from Spock as he does, but he still doesn’t move.
Jim gives up on his hope of putting clean sheets on, thankful they’d at least had the foresight to use the mattress protector, and lays back down beside him. He places one hand on his arm. The light flow of their mental energies is satisfied by the touch, and he decides he may as well rest while he’s got the chance.
He knows he hasn’t been asleep long when he wakes to Spock pressed up against his side, rubbing against his leg with fingers moving hopefully over Jim’s still-flaccid co*ck. “I don’t think that’s happening right now, Spock,” he says drowsily, his eyes still closed as he takes Spock’s hand away, bringing it to his mouth instead. He kisses wetly over his palm and the pads below his fingers, trying to distract him a little. Spock’s noises of pleasure sound more like petulant whimpers. He gasps as Jim licks up the length of his index finger.
“Perhaps you might—”
“I can only use one of those patches every six hours,” Jim reminds him, tapping the monitor bracelet on his wrist. “This thing will tell me when it’s safe again. And I’m tired. And you could probably use a break, too. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Jim, I must—”
“No, I’m putting my foot down,” he says, the firmness of his captain’s voice creeping in. “I can still feel your mind, you know, and I can tell you’re not going to perish immediately if you have to wait a little while for me to f*ck you again. We’re doing something else for now.”
Looking even poutier, Spock climbs on top of him. “You would intentionally prolong my suffering?”
“Spock, you’re not suffering just because you don’t have my co*ck in your ass this instant. I’m still touching you right now. There are any number of other ways I can make you come.”
He sighs heavily as Jim continues licking and sucking his fingers. “I will make use of the replicated phallus if I must.”
Amused that this is turning out to be an endurance test not only for his dick but also for his ability to put up with Spock’s bitchiness, Jim lets his index finger go with a dull, wet pop. “Out of the question. You threw it on the floor, remember? Now it needs to be sanitized. Besides, as I said, you need a bit of a break.”
“I’m perfectly able to—”
“Too bad,” Jim cuts him off. He rakes his teeth over his fingertip, satisfied by the needy sound Spock makes, feeling hints of his sensations through their bond. Jim can sense his desperation, but it’s subdued compared to the frenetic, mindless need of earlier. “You’re mine,” he says, thinking of Spock’s desire to be claimed and possessed by him, “and I’ll take what I want from you.”
“Oh,” he replies breathily, “yes. I am yours. Use me.” Relieved that this seems to be working for him, Jim runs with it.
“I love you. I want you.” He sucks two of Spock’s fingers back into his mouth, his tongue undulating obscenely around them. Spock moans in response, his hips bucking. Getting turned on himself now— in mind if not in body— Jim keeps at it a little longer before he lets him go so he can speak again. “Don’t you want to let me have what I want?” He pulls Spock’s hand down from his face toward his nipple. Obediently Spock rubs and pinches, sensitive for both of them with his fingers wet as they are.
“You are my bondmate,” Spock says, his eyes closing in pleasure as Jim’s fist encircles his co*ck, “my t’hy’la. Our minds are one. Your desires are mine.”
“I’m glad you agree,” Jim says, as Spock’s fingers move to his left nipple, evidently satisfied with the hard nub he’s made of the right one. Goosebumps form on his arms. “Mm… so in the event that I were to tell you I want your co*ck inside me…”
He huffs. “You are attempting to take advantage of my impaired ability to access my logic at this time.”
“I’m doing no such thing.” Jim thumbs over the head of his co*ck, pleased that this time he didn’t get an outright no. More fluid spills from the slit, and they both moan at the slippery feeling against the pad of his thumb. “I’m telling you what I desire. Since you’re mine and you want me to— how did you put it?— take you and use you.”
“You are not prepared for—”
“Shh,” Jim says quickly, squeezing his co*ck harder to distract him. It works, briefly: he thrusts into Jim’s hand with a low groan. “You’re going to take those fingers and put them back in my mouth to get them nice and wet so you can do it.”
“I will not be careful,” he protests, even as Jim lifts his hand back to his mouth.
“Yes, you will. You said it yourself. My pain is your pain. My pleasure is your pleasure. You’re going to f*ck me, Mr Spock, and you’re going to love every second of it, because I am going to love every second of it.”
With that, Jim sucks his first two fingers into his mouth. The lube is right there on the ledge, but as he works up more saliva and tongues over them sloppily, he deems this essential in keeping Spock engaged. The whispered Vulcan curse that slips past his lips shows him it’s working. He switches it up, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks a little, trying to project his anticipation and desire into Spock’s mind as he does. He thinks about how it felt to f*ck Spock when their bond was begging for it, the pleasure and relief as they’d joined, the sensation of being inside him.
Spock inhales in a hiss. “Jim…” He retracts his fingers, a string of saliva coming along with them, and he shifts from his position in Jim’s lap, widening his knees to fit himself between them. Spock gazes sadly at his unresponsive co*ck for a moment. Jim, managing not to roll his eyes, grabs him by the wrist and moves his hand where it needs to be.
“That’s it,” he says softly, as one wet finger rubs in a circle at his entrance, “touch me like you want me to touch you.” Spock watches Jim’s face for a moment, then closes his eyes as he pushes his first finger inside him, a noise of pleasure behind his closed lips; in his own mind Jim can sense Spock’s response to the tight heat as he starts to move, maybe not as skillfully or meticulously as usual, true, but he’s gentle enough to keep him relaxed, firm enough to make him enjoy it. “Oh… that’s good, like that.” He focuses on the physical sensation, trying to make sure Spock can feel it, too.
“Oh,” he gasps.
“Feel it,” Jim whispers, as Spock’s second finger joins the first. “Feel it like it’s my fingers f*cking you.”
“Yes,” he says breathlessly. His fingers move a little more confidently, his knowledge of Jim’s body taking over as Jim feeds him his desire, his pleasure through the bond. Jim can sense the part of Spock that’s still unsatisfied, frustrated, but there’s simultaneously a part of him that remembers yes, I enjoy this, yes; a part of him that wants to please his bondmate, a part of him that responds to Jim’s instruction, a part of him that’s focused on the heat of this human beautiful soft strong human body around his sensitive fingers.
With Spock’s feverish need flowing into him, Jim finds himself adjusting sooner than he might have done otherwise, but the saliva coating Spock’s fingers is starting to disappear. He bites his lip in mild discomfort. Spock’s eyes snap open, his hand stilling instantly. Jim reaches down, holding his wrist before he can withdraw, projecting reassurance. “I’m fine, I’m ready. I can’t reach the lube from here, though. I need you to do it.”
“I will.” Jim can feel his desire to please and protect him, warring with his desire to be f*cked senseless, to lose himself in Jim’s mind again. Holding his hand out as Spock pumps lubricant into it, he tries to flood the bond with sense memories, the feeling of being inside him, the feeling of him licking and thrusting his way into his mind— not nearly as strong as the way Spock can remember things, but enough to keep him from getting too distracted by his frustration. “Please, Jim…” he begs quietly as Jim’s palm slides lubricant over his already-wet shaft, coating him liberally.
“Hang on…”
Spock whimpers as his fingers are guided out of him, feeling the strangely empty feeling Jim feels, but swiftly Jim shifts down the bed toward him, lining himself up with Spock’s slippery erection, one hand on his ass to encourage him inside. Jim would probably have been more comfortable on his hands and knees, but he’s decided Spock needs to see his face, and he doesn’t have to exaggerate the pleasure he shows as he feels himself entered fully, slowly.
“Oh… see?” Jim says, rubbing his ass. “You’re very careful. You want to make it so good for me.”
“Yes,” he gasps, his breathing a little ragged as he starts to move, slowly. Jim groans. It feels better than it usually does— particularly considering he’s not anywhere near becoming erect— which he guesses is the reflection of the fever. No wonder Spock wants it so much. “I want you. I want to feel your pleasure.”
“I want that too, Spock… oh, f*ck, that’s good…” He trails off, enjoying the slick drag of his co*ck as Spock picks up the pace a bit. Not wanting him to get frustrated again, Jim tries to bring his focus back to memories of f*cking Spock, of filling him, of the way his own co*ck feels as he’s about to come inside him. Spock, to Jim’s delight, moans loudly in response. “Yeah, you like the way I give it to you?”
“Oh, yes—” He lifts Jim’s hips slightly, making contact with his prostate. Jim curses and pants at the sensitivity, which fades as Spock lengthens his thrusts again, but he can tell he’s still holding back. He looks into the face above him.
“I’m not as good at taking co*ck as you are,” he says, “but I do think I can do better.” He can sense Spock respond to the praise, the bond between them blooming with love and pride, and Jim smiles, trying to suppress his glimmer of smug satisfaction as Spock f*cks him a little faster, a little harder. “Yeah, feel that… mmh— can you feel how much I love you? How much I love f*cking you?”
“I— I feel it, Jim…” His voice is nearly a whisper.
Jim encourages him with his thoughts to keep going. “Feel how good it is for me, Spock… feel it like I feel it when I’m inside you.”
“Yes—” He’s losing it a bit now, and Jim gives him a swift slap to the ass, the pleasure of the sting reverberating between their minds, and they both moan as he does it again.
“f*ck me.” Even though Jim’s panting, his voice little more than a hoarse gasp, the command in it registers in Spock’s mind. “Let me take what I want from you. You’re mine.”
“I am yours.” The bond is glistening with shared pleasure; Jim can almost taste it, sweet and thick in his mind the way it had been during the first meld, when Spock’s senses were a complete jumble. Under the onslaught of mental and physical pleasure his co*ck gives a weak twitch, and Spock can feel it, his eyes opening as he reaches for it excitedly. Jim grabs his hand before he can, lacing their fingers together, pressing hard against his palm.
“Not yet. Soon,” Jim says. “You’re letting me have what I want, remember? And I want you to f*ck me until you come in me. Let me feel you come…”
He whimpers in both pleasure and frustration. Jim whispers soothing filth to him, telling him how well he’s doing, how good he’s making him feel, promising to f*ck him until he can’t move, and soon he can feel Spock’s climax approaching, the glow of aurora on the horizon of their bond. He’s semi-hard by this point, amazingly, through the sheer magnitude of Spock’s need and the fairly relentless stimulation of his prostate.
“Jim.” His name in Spock’s mouth, the wrecked voice wielding it like a spell, or a prayer, and he feels the beauty of it in Spock’s mind. “Jim.”
“Come for me, Spock.” The ridges of the co*ck inside him stiffen and swell further. “Show me who you belong to.”
Spock moans and curses in Vulcan as his org*sm rolls over him with their hands joined, buried to the hilt inside him. Jim’s own co*ck responds like a weary traveller who knows he’s nearing the oasis; he can’t come again yet but he can feel it in his mind and body, the bond wants him to, and he gasps, panting more praise for Spock as his come fills him, lukewarm with their difference in body temperature. He can feel him start to soften slightly inside him, a sign things might be slowing down somewhat; previously it’s taken multiple org*sms before Spock’s body needs more than a few seconds’ recovery time.
Pulling him down on top of him, Jim kisses his neck and rubs his back. “That was wonderful,” he murmurs into his sweaty shoulder.
“I’m glad to have pleased you,” Spock murmurs back.
Jim laughs, his chest expanding against the weight of Spock’s above him. “You can’t pretend it was all for my benefit. I could feel up here how much you liked it,” he teases, lightly tapping his temple.
“Mm.” His hum is as neutral as possible; not wanting to agree but knowing he can’t outright lie with the link between their minds so open.
“You adore f*cking me,” Jim continues, unable to help himself. He thrusts his burgeoning erection against Spock’s abdomen. “And you did such a good job… maybe you should do it again.”
He huffs, pulling out of him before his co*ck starts to stiffen again, pushing Jim’s legs down and getting back into his lap. “I think not.”
Jim resigns himself to getting ridden again as he returns to full hardness, Spock’s need flowing into his mind and his bloodstream, his come starting to drip out of him and onto the bed beneath them. He wishes Spock would take a bit longer to rest his body, but he’s remarkably single-minded, grabbing Jim’s co*ck and stroking it several times as he positions himself. “Mm— we’ll see,” he replies, reaching for the lube. “We’ll still have time to kill before I can use another one of those patches…”
The hours pass in a haze. They sleep. They meld. Jim uses another of the sildenafil patches and f*cks him into blissful oblivion, using the respite time to eat one of the horrible bars and rehydrate himself and tidy them up slightly. Spock f*cks him again, a bit less hesitantly but with no less stubbornness. They kiss and touch and bite and grab and spank. The bond burns brightly with desire, with love and honesty, with the certainty that they will always take care of one another. Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched.
When Jim wakes again, the first thing he notices is that he’s alone in bed. The bedroom is dim. He can feel through the bond that Spock’s awake, wherever he is. Sitting up in mild concern, he looks around blearily. “Spock?”
The bathroom door opens. Spock comes out naked, looking surprisingly tidy and lucid. His hair is fluffy and unstyled. Jim smiles. “You took a shower.”
“I deemed it prudent. I did not wish to wake you,” he says.
“Mm,” Jim nods. “I could use one, too… if you can manage without me for a little while.”
Spock nods slowly. “I believe we will have some time.”
“But it’s not over?”
He tilts his head in thought. “It may well be… but I do not want to, as they say, call it too soon.”
“So you’re feeling all right?”
“I am… somewhat thirsty.”
“Yes, I imagine you must be.” Jim moves his leg out of the way, opening the drawer beneath the bed to reach the electrolyte packs. He picks up a couple and holds them out. “Citrus or melon? Or I think there’s a berry flavour in here, too… actually, you should probably have two, at least, you haven’t had anything to drink since—”
“Jim.” Spock comes closer, taking one of the two in his hand. It turns out to be the melon one. “The flavour is unimportant. And you do not need to coddle me. I assure you I am all right. Somehow, Vulcans were able to endure this condition long before the existence of electrolyte gel packets which taste artificially of fruit.” He raises an eyebrow, the humour clear in his expression, and Jim can’t help smiling again.
“Sorry. For what it’s worth, I… liked taking care of you.”
“You did quite well.” Spock tears the packet open and brings it to his mouth. Jim puts the other one down, laughing a little.
“Your earlier self didn’t seem to share that opinion. At one point I suggested you try the butt plug again and you said, ‘yes, and why don’t I also try watching a film with my eyes closed?’ Direct quote.”
He swallows his mouthful of liquid and blinks back at Jim, trying to look dignified. “That does not sound like me.”
“You can’t bullsh*t me, I’m still in your head, remember?” Jim says, laughing again and tapping his temple. “God, it was like pulling teeth trying to get a word out of you during your first pon farr. This time I couldn’t get you to shut up.”
Spock drinks from his packet, presumably to avoid having to reply, but Jim feels nothing but amusem*nt tinged with sheepishness from him. There’s no shame, and it makes Jim’s heart feel full. “Were you not intending to shower?” he says after a long sip.
“Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” Jim stands up, giving him a light, affectionate slap on the side of his ass. “Help me change the sheets first. I won’t want to touch these again once I’m clean.”
Spock picks up the other electrolyte packet and sets it aside, inspecting the mess they’ve made of the bed. “I do believe it would be pointless— not to mention somewhat unkind to our maintenance staff— to attempt to launder them.”
“Rather optimistic of you to assume they could even make it to the laundry in one piece,” Jim replies. “They’d probably crack in half in the chute. We’ll put the spare set on and toss these. I’ll request new bedding later.”
“It would not be an exaggeration to consider them a biohazard,” Spock agrees, squeezing the last bit of his drink into his mouth. “And as we are, to the crew’s knowledge, ill and contagious, I’m certain Dr McCoy will attest to it.”
“Well, if the quartermaster is at all friendly with Carson from the security office, I don’t think we’ll be fooling many people for long, not once I return those restraints.”
“It is the habit of the crew to gossip, Jim. But it is also their duty to accept the word and orders of their superior officers. It matters little what they believe.”
“I’m sure they’ll only be jealous I got to take a vacation to f*ck the living daylights out of my beautiful Vulcan first officer,” Jim says, leaning over and kissing him on the shoulder.
“More likely they will be jealous of me, Jim. You are considered quite desirable.”
Jim smiles. “Then we must be the most sought-after command team in Starfleet.” Spock dutifully picks up the second electrolyte pack and opens it, the amused look in his eyes persisting as he drinks from it.
They change the bedding, throwing the hopelessly soiled sheets in the reclamator. Jim showers and brushes his teeth. When he returns to the bedroom, Spock has tidied the detritus from around the bed and is kneeling on the floor in his meditative position. Jim gets a sense of déjà vu, but it fades as he sits down, suddenly tired again.
“Sleep,” Spock says, without opening his eyes. “I will join you shortly.”
Settling into the clean bedding, Jim pulls the covers up to his waist. “Wake me if you need me.”
He sleeps for what must be some time, judging by the change in the automatic lighting and how rested he feels when he wakes. To his surprise, Spock is still draped over one side of him, his breath slow and even across Jim’s chest, lips slightly parted. He smiles, then resigns himself to staring up at the ceiling for awhile, because there’s no way he’s going to risk waking Spock up by getting out of bed. By the light he can tell it’s sometime in the afternoon, but he’s lost track of the day; turns out alternating between marathon sex and sleep with only short interludes for water and snacks isn’t great for managing one’s circadian rhythms.
Spock doesn’t sleep much longer. His lips press against Jim’s neck, a low hum in his throat as Jim turns his head to kiss him properly. But the frantic, desperate need from before is no more than a whisper as they kiss and touch with care and intent. Mindful of their fresh sheets, Jim pulls Spock on top of him as he feels him grow hard and wet against his thigh.
They make love gently, wordlessly agreeing— to Jim’s relief— that penetration isn’t in the cards. Instead, Spock props himself up on one strong arm, the long, clever fingers of his other hand closing around them both. Jim’s senses feel heightened, picking up every breath, every sigh, the brush of chest hair as they kiss, the almost-sweetish smell of Spock’s natural fluid spreading over both their co*cks.
“I love you,” Jim whispers as they come together, understanding that the fever is ended; it’s just them now, open and raw and knowing. “I love you.”
Panting, Spock lowers himself to Jim’s side, finding his fingers with his clean hand. The touch sparkles and hums between them. He doesn’t say the words again, but Jim can feel it.
It’s enough. It’s always been enough.
They wake early the next morning after probably a good twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Jim is ravenous, but figures they should call McCoy so he can give Spock the all-clear. “This better be important, it’s the middle of the goddamned night,” he squawks when he answers.
“It’s nearly oh-six hundred, Bones. Hardly the middle of the night.”
“If it’s before my alarm goes off, it’s the middle of the night,” he grumbles, a little more alert, relaxing with Jim’s tone. “You two okay? Let me know what it is you need, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Fine, we’re fine. It’s over. At least we’re pretty sure it is. I just thought you’d want to check us out, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances.”
A groan. “Gimme fifteen minutes.” He closes the connection.
Spock is still naked, but he’s finally dragged himself out of bed now that he knows McCoy’s on his way, retrieving his robe from the hook in the bathroom. Jim puts some lounge clothes on and goes to the replicator. “Spock, do you want some tea?” he calls after him.
He comes back into the room still pulling his robes on, edging Jim away from the controls. “Allow me.”
“Still don’t trust me to get the proportions right?” Jim jokes. Spock looks at him, his face serious and his gaze fond. His jaw and upper lip are darkly stubbled, and Jim realises he’s never seen Spock with facial hair, except in a couple of old memories he’s seen in his mind.
“It is my turn to take care of you, Jim,” he says quietly. “Please allow me to do so.”
Jim smiles at him, strangely moved. “All right. Coffee, then.” He goes to sit down as Spock punches in the code for his preferred cup. Spock carries it to him, and Jim groans with pleasure just at the scent of it. “How long has it been?” He takes the first sip while it’s still a bit too hot, enjoying the experience more than he normally would, considering it’s still just replicated coffee.
“Since you had coffee?” Spock returns to the replicator for his cup of tea.
“Mm,” Jim confirms over the rim of his mug.
“Assuming you did not have any after breakfast on the final day of the survey, seventy-one hours and perhaps twenty, twenty-five minutes. I was not present to see exactly when you finished it.” He sits down across from him.
“I see you’ve got your internal chronometer back.”
“It remained functional,” he says defensively. “It was merely my ability to access some of my more complex brain functions that was impaired.”
“My mistake,” Jim says. How can I love someone this much? he thinks, overcome with affection, his eyes burning. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t need Bones arriving just in time to see him in tears over a cup of coffee.
Spock looks at him with a tender expression. I love you too, his eyes say.
Bones arrives shortly, and as expected, hides his relief over both of them being in reasonably good shape and spirits with grouchy remarks and chastisem*nts. Jim closes the door to his office while the doctor examines Spock physically, giving him at least the option of medical privacy, but it’s seemingly only moments before he hears the doctor yelling, “The hell did you do, Jim, cover him in leeches? If we don’t heal some of these up people are gonna think the ‘illness’ you two had was leprosy!”
“Well, I don’t know if I can remember the context for each one,” Jim says, poking his head back into the room, “but if it’s medically relevant, I’ll try.”
“Spare me,” McCoy says, running the scanner over Spock’s torso, the robe puddled around his waist where he sits at the edge of the bed. “Here I thought it was you I’d be repairing.”
“I told you it wasn’t going to be like last time, Bones.”
“Well, some overtaxed muscles and a little dehydration isn’t much to worry about,” McCoy says, looking over the readings as they pop up. “Both of you need more rest, a good meal with plenty of carbohydrates and proteins, and another electrolyte pack or two wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. No, I’ll send a yeoman with a tray,” he calls, as Jim heads for the replicator. “Get you some real food from the commissary. And there’s the fact that I don’t trust you not to choose only pastries.”
“You said it yourself, we need carbohydrates,” Jim jokes.
“You also need vitamins,” he says, shooting him a withering glare. “Now leave us be so I can get Spock healed up.”
“I would prefer, Doctor, to heal only the marks that will show outside of my uniform, and anything you believe would impact my mobility,” Spock says politely.
“Good lord,” McCoy says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as Jim returns to his office, chuckling.
He orders them both to take the rest of the day off, and the breakfast tray he sends is a boring arrangement of fruit, oatmeal, scrambled eggs, vegetarian baked beans, whole wheat toast with peanut butter. Jim replicates a cinnamon bun, despite Spock’s raised eyebrow.
“What the doctor doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I think we’ve earned it.” He unwinds the edge of it, tearing off a piece and offering it to Spock, who considers for a moment before opening his mouth and accepting it. Jim places it on his tongue and smiles, watching him close his eyes as he chews. Refined sugar affects Vulcans much like alcohol does humans, and Jim enjoys whenever he decides to indulge himself a little.
Spock seems to take his duty to care for Jim to heart. He refuses to let him look at the messages on his console once they’ve tidied up from breakfast, drawing him back to bed where he massages the stiff muscles in his legs, back, and ass for what must be at least ninety minutes; Jim dozes and wakes several times. By the time Spock moves on to his arms, he feels remarkably puddle-like. He rubs his hands, too, at the end, and Jim opens his eyes, smirking at him.
“You sure this is for me and not for you?”
Spock’s quiet for a few seconds, the teasing look in his eyes matching Jim’s tone. “While I find massaging your hands to be… sensual, I am not experiencing arousal at this time. I am merely being thorough in my endeavour.”
“Mm-hm,” Jim says, closing his eyes again. “You’ve always been very thorough in all of your endeavours, Mr Spock.”
The following morning, Jim relieves Sulu of command and makes his way to the bridge, even though there’s more than three days until their arrival at Faszil, the nearer of the two planets, and where they’ll be beginning their sample comparison. Spock goes with him. They fall into stride together easily in the corridor. Jim knows they both feel ill at ease when kept too long from their work— probably a fault as much as it is a strength.
In the turbolift they stand opposite each other. Jim looks at his bondmate, face cleanly shaven, the love bites on his neck healed from greenish-yellow to match the pale skin around them. Spock softens his eyes at him, but his face shifts to smooth professionalism as the doors open and they join the familiar sounds of the bridge. It feels like they’ve been gone longer than three days, and also like they only just left.
Uhura’s on comms. Jim approaches her for a status report. “Captain,” she says, giving him a contained smile before she fills him in on the messages from the Wlawrian and Faszili scientists, Malek’s team’s rate of progress on the samples, and a couple of minor incidents between officers that occurred while they were gone.
“Thank you, Commander,” he says. “Mr Spock, you can rejoin the science team at your convenience and catch yourself up on the sample analysis that’s been completed in our absence. I’ll take your report at the end of the day.”
“Captain, navigation reports that our route will take us past a unique star-cluster I wish to have the opportunity to observe. We will reach visual range in one point two hours, and I would request the Enterprise slow to impulse for approximately one point five hours in order to obtain images and scans. I estimate our fuel reserves will permit us to increase our speed for a short time afterwards in order to make up the difference.” He’s speaking a little loudly and quickly, the way he sometimes does when he has some point of interest to share.
“I don’t imagine it will be a problem.” Jim loves seeing him so excited. “Let me confirm with engineering. But I still expect that progress report.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Anything else, sir?” Uhura asks. “Would you like me to call Mr Scott?”
“That’s all right, I’ll go see him myself. I think the walk down there will do me good,” he says, checking in quickly with Spock through their bond that he’s all right on his own. There’s a mild sense of insult from him, reminding Jim that he’s back to normal and is perfectly fine without him, and Jim smiles, suppressing the laugh that threatens to rise in his chest. He feels comfortable, at home; surrounded by people he trusts with his life.
Uhura nods, and says a little more quietly, “It’s good to see you and Mr Spock are feeling better. I’m glad it wasn’t anything too serious.”
He looks automatically over to Spock’s console. “No…” Jim says slowly, the smile lingering around his lips. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. But we’re certainly happy to be back.” Spock feels him looking, and glances up, letting their eyes meet for a moment, and Jim feels a sudden, purposeful wash of feeling through the bond. Happiness.
I am happy.
