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The Edge	By : LittleMuse Category: S through Z > Star Trek (2009) > Star Trek (2009) Views: 3770 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Star Trek and its original characters belong to Gene Roddenberry and I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part I
- 2-Part II
- 3-Part III
- 4-Part IV
- 5-Part V
- 6-Part VI
- 7-Part VII
- 8-Part VIII
- 9-Part IX
- 10-Part X
- 7
- 8
- 9
Part XIII

It was illogical to feel guilt, Jim thought.

He was an adult. He was unattached. He was off-duty. He was perfectly within his rights.

For now, her kisses burned like the rest of the shots he had downed that evening, and he couldn't bring himself to care that she would surely leave just as bad an aftertaste. It was easier than he had thought it would be, much easier. He had been so sure he had lost it, this, but really, when it came down to it, no, it was like picking a lock or hacking a computer; the skills of a misspent youth still served him well when they became necessary.

And this was necessary. He needed to snap himself out of this, and he was unsure if this girl -- this clingy, too-sweet smelling girl -- was truly a step in the right direction, but then, this was all he knew to do.

"Mmm," she mumbled, her small hands tightening on his shoulders, and she pulled back, lipstick now rubbed clean, "I don't... usually do this."

"Yeah, me neither," Jim snorted, before moving in to kiss her again.

"I just..." she said, as he moved down her neck, "I don't want you thinking I'm one of those girls."

Jim did not respond to that. It would probably kill the mood to inform her that it didn't really matter to him what he thought of her, and that it probably wouldn't matter to her either, after tonight. This was Earth, he was famous here. He knew why she was here, even if she didn't. And he knew why he was here.

He should have been back home in Riverside, not squatting in San Francisco; visiting his mother this leave, like a good son. But he vividly recalled, several months back, via subspace transmission, informing her (rather delightedly, he remembered with no small amount of embarrassment) that he had found "the one," and that no, goddammit, he wasn't fucking with her. Explaining to her what had happened to that would involve explaining that "the one" had been (was?) a Vulcan and a male and Spock, you remember Spock?, and there was no way he was going through that for nothing now.

No doubt she had been waiting to hear that he had somehow fucked it up, anyway.

It didn't matter if it had not been his fault. He had still lost it. If he couldn't keep the one thing that he had even been told was going to be the one constant in his life, then yes, Jim could believe the universe did not wish him to keep anything.

So, promiscuous sex. It was looking better and better; some median between alone and not, that was at least better than the former.

For tonight, at least, this girl wanted him.

Her soft moans brought him back to the present, and damn, had he really not touched a woman in over a year? That just seemed wasteful, Jim thought with a little smirk against her bare breast.

He had expected to think of Spock the whole time. He had not intended to, he had simply believed there would be no avoiding it. He thought surely as he thrust into her, he would see the Vulcan's face, miss the strength beneath the grip when she clung to him, feel empty now and out of sync, with sex that was purely physical.

But it was actually quite simple to stay in the moment. Jim suspected the slight buzz of alcohol was helping with that, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was so different, and he had been so sure that that would make him miss Spock more. Instead, it helped him distinguish between the two. This had nothing to do with Spock. This was Jim's life before Spock.

And now, it would be his life after him.

He felt better in some ways and worse in others. Mostly, he felt worse that he did feel better. Apparently, sex had indeed been part of the problem. It would do, anyway, like coffee in place of sleep; better than nothing.

"What's the matter with you?" McCoy demanded, as soon as he set eyes on Jim, approaching him in the cafeteria. Jim paused just as he was about to sit.

"Nice to see you, too, Bones," he said, setting his own tray down. "Nice, isn't it?" He glanced over their surroundings. "Like being a student again." He wrinkled his nose at the doctor's food selection. "What the hell is that?"

"What the hell is that?" McCoy returned. He reached forward and grasped the cheeseburger, lifting it up and brandishing it just shy of Jim's face. "Do you know what's in this?"

"Synthetic goodness." Jim stole it back from him and made a show of brushing off the bun. "Look at you, puttin' your filthy paws all over it. I don't know where your hands have been."

"Rectal exams this morning," his friend said, without missing a beat. He glared at Jim another moment before sighing and shaking his head. "You eat that now, but when we get back on the ship, it's lettuce and egg whites."

"It just kills you, doesn't it?" Jim took a too-large bite on purpose.

"Uh, no. It kills you." McCoy sat forward. "Now, I repeat. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jim chewed slowly, wary of swallowing. "Wha myoo min?"

"You're almost... chipper," McCoy said, like the word disgusted him, and hell, it probably did. "I haven't seen you chipper in months."

Jim shrugged. "Can't a guy enjoy his leave?" He took another bite.

"You hate leave." McCoy stared at him intently, not eating, and Jim didn't protest. "Did you...?"

Jim kept chewing.

"You did, didn't you?" McCoy sat back and picked up his fork again, shaking his head at his plate. "I swear, Jim, I don't know whether to be disappointed or proud."

Jim was both, himself. Proud he was moving on. Disappointed he was doing it in this way. But he knew no other way to go about it. He swallowed and didn't take another bite.

"He's gonna know, you know," McCoy pointed out, looking up again to level Jim with something just shy of a glare. "I think the bastard may actually know you better than I do."

Jim had not had time to consider that. He shrugged a shoulder, too casually. "Yeah, well," he said, "had to happen sometime, right?"

"Don't be an ass about it, Jim. Much as I hate to admit it, Spock doesn't deserve that."

"I'm not even gonna mention it."

McCoy snorted and reached for his juice. "Sometimes that can be being an ass about it."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Jim demanded. "Sit him down, have a nice long discussion about it?" Jim shook his head. "I don't think so, sorry. From now on, the only thing I need his go-ahead for is ship's business."

"Oh, that's real nice."

"It's the way it is. I didn't ask for it. Excuse me for dealing with it. Do I come to you for permission to get laid?"

"You're not in love with me."

Jim went to snap back on reflex, but then, what was there to say to that? Even if it was irrelevant now, it didn't make McCoy any less right. Jim could not deny that. He was in love with Spock. What had happened had not changed that, not yet. And Spock was in love with him.

And this would hurt Spock.

"... How was it?"

The question startled Jim and he looked up from his forlorn-looking burger. He shrugged. "Good," he said wistfully. "It was really nice not to have to think for an hour."

Jim watched the outline of McCoy's tongue, skirting over his top teeth beneath his lip. "Well," he said. "I hope it was worth the extra thinking you're gonna have to do now."

His friend went back to his food, but Jim didn't. He imagined it wouldn't be.

Spock knew the moment he saw him.

Jim's semi-good mood had long since faded, and he had made no move to tell him, but Spock knew. It was obvious. He had been approaching Jim normally, hands behind his back, but then as he drew closer, he faltered for a step, hesitating, shoulders stiffening beneath the black command uniform. For a moment, he looked as he had when Jim had seen him for the first time, all business, stern.

You're only a year older than me, Jim inanely wanted to remind him, as if this were a game between children.

Spock halted before him. The announcements being called over the hanger bay's intercom seemed louder, suddenly.

"Captain," he said after a moment, and it was always how Spock would have greeted him in public, but it somehow felt very purposeful. Perhaps Jim was simply being paranoid.

But then, he had thought that about the pon farr too.

"Mister Spock," he replied, and yeah, any trace of chipperness or even relief was now long gone. He should have known it would be.

Spock averted his eyes and produced a data PADD from behind his back, offering it to Jim. Jim stared at it a moment before taking it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The necessary forms regarding the few repairs made to the ship while in Spacedock," Spock explained. "Mister Scott has already perused them."

"And complained, I'm sure."

"Indeed."

Jim glanced over the forms, feeling Spock's eyes on him. It was very disconcerting. After a few moments of it, he sighed and looked up, tucking the PADD beneath an arm. "Do we need to talk about this?" he asked.

"The documents have already met with my approval."

"That's not what I meant, Spock."

"I know nothing else worth mentioning." Spock returned his hands to the small of his back. "Sir."

Jim stared at him, and Spock held his gaze evenly, with no sign of discomfort or discontent. Jim's nostrils flared and he licked his lips. "So, that's a 'no', then."

Spock politely inclined his head toward him. "I will see you on board the shuttle, Captain."

He turned to go without waiting for Jim to return the sentiment. Jim watched his retreating back for a bit before realizing that Spock had also left without waiting to be dismissed.

"Great," he mumbled to the high ceilings before moving off himself.

Jim sat beside Spock on the shuttle, mostly because any of the crew would expect it, but also as a silent olive branch. He was unsure if it worked; he would have guessed not. McCoy was surely the only other on board who could tell the difference between the detachment Spock presented and his usual behavior, but Jim was certain Spock was wishing he had chosen another seat, and truthfully, perhaps a different shuttle. He responded only to direct questions -- of which Jim could only think of so many before boarding the ship could offer more -- sitting in polite silence and gazing out at the atmosphere rushing past.

Jim gave up after attempt two, sooner than he normally would have, but then, he was not trying to discern what was troubling Spock; he knew already. There was no reason to press, beyond Jim's own discomfort. Spock was remaining professional, and they had other business to attend to before anything could be dealt with anyway.

So Jim withstood the silent shuttle ride. He took the requisite reorientation tour of the ship, watching Spock speak more to the engineers than to him, a constant but stoic presence at his side. He sat in his chair and oversaw the departure from Spacedock. He welcomed the Bridge crew back with a smile, as he had every other crewmember he had encountered during the tour, and informed them of their present mission, though surely they had already been briefed. He sat there the remainder of alpha shift with Uhura's curious eyes on both his chair and the science station. And finally, half an hour before beta shift, earlier than he should be heading for dinner, he stood.

“Mister Sulu, you have the conn,” he said, making for the turbolift. “Mister Spock, with me, please.”

It was not the most professional thing he had ever done, Jim would admit, and surely Spock would comment on this. He had not intended to even broach the subject. But he had rarely seen Spock truly angry with him since he hadn't liked him well enough to care. Not in agreement with him, worried enough to seem livid, stubborn, yes, but not angry.

It remained an extremely unsettling experience. And they were still a team in at least one regard, Jim thought, which meant it had to be seen to as any work problem would.

Spock stepped into the lift after him and said nothing, even once the doors had shut, facing them like he was waiting for them to open again. Jim, leaning on the right side, allowed that for a moment, giving the command for deck five. Then he sighed and reached forward to press the emergency stop.

He returned to his position, arms spread along the rail and gazing at his feet like they had somehow wronged him. He waited, letting the silence press in, unbearably; or unbearably for a Human. Spock still said nothing, which was beyond frustrating, but then at least he was not yet pretending Jim had called him away for business of some sort.

“Clearly,” Jim finally said, “we do need to talk about this.”

“Captain,” Spock said, and the sound of his voice startled Jim a little, “there is nothing to speak of."

"You know there is."

Spock hesitated. "... You were within your rights.”

With a woman, or even with just a Human, Jim knew that would be a passive-aggressive statement, intended to mean the exact opposite. “I know that,” Jim said. “That's not the point. You're mad.”

“I am not.”

“You seem mad.”

“... Any anger I experience is as irrational and misplaced as the sort I have already spoken of.” Jim saw him swallow, still staring at the lift doors. “And my reaction is of no consequence, in any event.”

“Spock, you-” Jim squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with one hand, “that you don't have the right to be mad about it doesn't mean that it's not understandable that you are. It might help to talk about it.”

“I see no pragmatic benefit in any such discussion, nor do I believe this the proper place for it.”

Jim grit his teeth. “Okay, fine,” he said, and he pushed the button again. The lift restarted, zooming downward. “Your quarters or mine?”

“Captain-”

“Your quarters,” Jim stared him down, “or mine?”

Spock's jaw twitched. “Yours will suffice.”

The lift halted again and the doors opened this time, two ensigns stepping on after they had stepped off. Jim moved toward his cabin and Spock dutifully followed, a step behind him, where interaction was less expected.

When they arrived, Jim keyed his code in. “After you,” he said, half sure Spock would bolt if he were to enter first himself. Spock briefly met his eyes, and then obeyed.

Once the door had closed again, Jim had no idea what to do with himself. It was evident that Spock wasn't exactly keen to get the conversation going. He approached the viewport and watched the stars -- anything to look at other than Jim.

"I don't know what to do with this," Jim eventually admitted with a shrug, because the truth had always worked with Spock. "I'm not going to apologize. Not for what happened-what I did, but... I am sorry if it's hurting you." No. No, they were beyond tip-toeing around Spock's emotions, even still. Jim swallowed. "That it's hurting you," he amended.

Spock was silent.

"Say something."

After a moment, he heard, "Is this how you felt?"

It was not the route Jim had expected. "Yeah," he said. He did not see the need to inform Spock that it had actually probably been worse for him. "How did you think I felt?" He was honestly curious.

"The gap between the theoretical and the literal, it seems, is wider than I had thought."

Jim snorted. "Kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

He still couldn't see Spock's face, but he knew his eyebrow was twitching upward. "A gross understatement," he said, not even bothering to pretend to misinterpret the slang. "I feel as though several internal organs have been removed."

Jim couldn't help a bitter laugh at that, but then Spock understood his common need for levity and misplaced humor. He lowered himself with a huff into his desk chair, elbows balanced on his knees. "You know I didn't do it to get back at you or something, right?"

"I would hardly expect that of you," Spock said. "And you have apologized for any negative emotions your actions may have caused. You do not lie."

"Heh. Usually, anyway."

"Bluffing, Jim." And Spock looked at him for the first time, seeming not entirely forlorn. "It has been stressed to me in the past that there is a difference, if I recall."

Jim smiled, mirthlessly, eyes darting down, then back to Spock's. "I really miss you," he said, because he felt it, particularly in that moment. He had not intended more awkwardness or discomfort; he meant it in all ways.

Spock turned back to the viewport.

"... Sorry," Jim said. "Too mushy."

"No," was all Spock said.

"Still mad?" Jim ventured.

"Yes," Spock said, with no trace of denial or even much pause.

"Tell me why."

Spock looked uncomfortable with this request, or perhaps he was just considering his answer very carefully, ever the diplomat. "It was... quite abrupt."

Jim sat back. McCoy had seemed like that had been part of his issue with the whole ordeal as well. "Too soon," he clarified, though it was hardly necessary.

Spock did not confirm it.

"Did you want me to talk to you about it first?" Jim asked. "I thought maybe that would actually make it worse."

"I do not know what I expected."

Jim nodded. "Look, Spock," he said. "You know me, so I think you'll believe me when I say... sex is... different for me than it is for you. Not to, like, demean it, or whatever, because I think you know I can take it pretty seriously too, but... I think you think the intimacy is just inherent in the act, and I even get why, but I don't. It's just how I cope." He shrugged. "Upkeep. Like showering; I just feel better after."

"I am unsure if the lack of meaning is a comfort."

Jim thought about that. "Unsure or sure it's not?"

No answer again.

"Fair enough, I guess," Jim said. "I'm just saying, for what it's worth... yeah, I kind of... sleep around. Indiscriminately. But I still choose who I'm intimate with." He shifted in his chair. "So to borrow from a friend: she wasn't you... or maybe more importantly here: you weren't her."

Not meaningless. Never meaningless.

"Okay?" he prompted after too many seconds of no reply.

"I am... satisfied."

"Great," Jim said and rose with what he hoped looked like gusto. He rounded his desk to invade Spock's space. "Then come on. We're going to get dinner."

Spock arched an eyebrow that he could see this time.

"This is day one of Jim Pretends To Be Fine, and I'm including you in that," he explained. He dared to slip an arm around the Vulcan's shoulders and immediately wished he had not after, but by then, he could not remove it. "We're gonna fake it 'til we make it."

"Until we make what, Captain?"

Jim grinned and patted his back, beginning to drag him toward the door. "That's the spirit."

"I don't understand."

The woman came to a stop along the long corridor. Or at least Jim assumed she was a woman; her voice would indicate so, but he could hardly tell appearance-wise, and who knew the way vocal cords worked on this planet. She turned to face their little party of three and Jim got the impression she was smiling.

"These rooms, sir," she said, and gestured toward the two doors to her left, like this was an explanation meant to satisfy his bewilderment. Jim turned and looked up at them, ornate and imposing, finding they ended at what must have been twice his own height.

"Right," he said, because he knew better than to ask the obvious: why only two? That was hardly a diplomatic question for a guest to ask, let alone guests who were actually diplomats.

"You will find two beds and lavatory facilities in each. All suited to your physiology," she said. "There is an intercom which connects to our offices, should you require anything."

"Thank you."

She bowed her head -- though again, Jim was guessing by the fact that it was located on the top of her body -- and left them, pattering tentacles squishing along the polished floor. Jim winced, both for the sound and the situation. This sort of thing had certainly happened before, but it had been a long time since he and Spock had been shy of sharing a room, or even a bed, for that matter.

He faced his two friends with raised eyebrows and a look of faux curiosity.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "If you snore, I swear to God, I'm sleeping with the hobgoblin." He moved to open the door nearest them without waiting for anyone to retort, and while Jim was busy feeling grateful and Spock surely irritated, he shoved and then cursed. "They're locked," he snapped, turning back to them and shrugging with emphatic frustration.

"I highly doubt the assistant would direct us toward locked quarters." Spock stepped up to the door himself and looked it up and down, much as Jim had a moment ago, though seemingly less impressed. A muttering McCoy reluctantly made room for him. Then Spock pressed a palm to the ancient wood, apparently deciding McCoy's method had been the correct one, and pushed.

Jim could not help a subdued chuckle when the door gave, quite effortlessly.

"Vulcanoid strength, Bones," Jim said as he moved between them both to enter. He smacked at the doctor's shoulder on his way. "Can't beat it."

When he came into their room, he found there were indeed two beds, two very large beds, with burgundy red coverlets and gleaming frames. A mirror even larger than the doors hung on the left wall, opposite them, and Jim watched himself step slowly into the room, almost hesitant at the opulence, a far cry from the sparse accommodations of the Enterprise. This place knew how to treat guests; at least the Humanoid ones. It was almost enough to have him wondering if he should trust them.

"This race exceeds you in strength by a factor of two point four," Jim heard Spock saying outside, while he was inspecting the room. He glanced back, briefly. "Had you read the brief, Doctor, I am certain you would have been more prepared."

Jim snorted quietly.

"I read the brief," McCoy snapped. "Had I gotten into a fight with one of those octopuses, I would have remembered! Excuse me for not taking it into consideration when opening a door."

The utter normalcy of it was comforting.

"Gentlemen," Jim called. "I think that's enough for one night. There is a dinner to prepare for, after all."

McCoy rounded the door. "I'm going to murder your first officer one day," he said, eyes wide like he might have meant it.

"But not today." Jim smirked and nodded in his direction. "You need him to open the door."

McCoy glared at him and Spock stepped in at his back.

"Unnecessary, Captain," he said. He reached for the codec Jim now noticed was mounted on their interior wall. "I am certain there is an automatic setting."

"Precise even when your life is on the line," Jim grinned.

Spock did not glance up. "The doctor's inability to open the door suggests little threat to my person, Captain."

"Why, you-"

"Bones." McCoy obediently turned to him, exasperated, and Jim shook his head. "You know he's only doing it to get a reaction." In truth, Spock was merely being honest most of the time, but Jim did not doubt that the Vulcan derived pleasure from McCoy's ire.

"Yes, thank you, mother," McCoy said.

"You will find locks and entrance now set to voice command," Spock said, straightening. "I will retire to my own lodgings now, to prepare for this evening, if I may, Captain."

Jim nodded with a vague, dismissive gesture, still occupied with the mirror. He watched Spock leave in it, the door shutting behind him.

"Thanks for inviting me along, Jim," McCoy said, his sarcasm only amplified by the dark robe-like garment he had just extracted from the closet; their attire for the dinner, no doubt. "Gonna be a fun trip."

Jim stared at the ceiling.

For all of the doctor's complaining, it was he who was the one snoring, and loudly at that. Jim had spent a good minute glaring at the back of his friend's head, but it hadn't done much good. Annoyed though he was, it wasn't in him to go over there and roll him over. Jim couldn't sleep as it was, there was no use making that true for McCoy as well. Besides, if he were to wake him, he would notice that Jim was awake, and Jim could insist it was the noise until he was blue in the face, but McCoy had seen him lie too many times not to know it when he saw it.

He had almost reached a point where he could handle the dreams. He could pull himself out of them, they niggled less at him once he had woken. But this one... he would rather it had happened in his own bed, first of all, where he felt safe. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he would have preferred to have woken to Spock lying beside him. There was nothing new to this desire tonight, save perhaps the ferocity of it, the desperation.

McCoy gave a loud snort and when Jim glanced over at him he was rolling himself farther away. There was a moment of silence and then the rhythmic wheezing started again.

Jim sighed and turned back to the ceiling. Spock would most likely be awake. He only slept about every other night, as it was. Was tonight one of the off nights? Jim used to have the schedule down by heart, but he had lost track now it rarely affected him anymore, he realized somewhat bitterly.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jim threw the heavy blankets back and rose from the bed. He blinked, groggier than he had initially thought, and then made for the door, glancing back at his snuffling friend to make sure he would not wake.

It was only once he had reached Spock's door in the hallway that he realized he might have the small problem of lack of access. He was somehow both surprised and not when it opened to the sound of his own voice.

Emergencies, after all, he told himself. Spock was always prepared. It would surely open for the doctor as well.

The room was dark and silent when he entered, and he immediately considered backing back out as quietly as he had come. But no, it didn't matter if Spock was sleeping; Jim didn't have to wake him, he just had to see him. The room was more or less identical to his own, minus a snoring McCoy, and Jim almost considered just flopping into the spare bed.

"Jim?"

Jim jumped, even though he really should not have been shocked, especially considering Spock's hearing. His fumbling always used to wake the Vulcan up when he would rise in the middle of the night to use the head. He saw Spock sit up in the bed farthest from the door, a darker form against the gray of the room.

"Has something happened?" He heard Spock's voice, and felt instant relief at it, but he could barely see his lips moving. Spock's curtains were drawn, where his and McCoy's had not been. There was little light to be found in here.

"No," Jim said, creeping across the room so as not to trip. He felt Spock watching him do it. "Everything's fine, I just..." He stopped when he could make out Spock's face, peering at him with concern.

"You are troubled," he said, not at all questioning.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Jim said. He took another step. Now he was in here and Spock was aware of it, he felt like a five-year-old trying to crawl into his parents' bed.

"You did not."

His tone was welcoming enough that Jim felt comfortable sitting carefully at the foot of the bed, on Spock's side. It felt softer than his own, somehow. "I'm sorry," he said, almost convincing himself Spock was lying to alleviate any guilt. "I just had a nightmare."

Spock blinked in the dark. "A nightmare?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah," he said, swallowing thickly. "It was really weird. I was on the Bridge and I turned around and you weren't there." The ship had been different too, Jim remembered with a furrowed brow, darker, a different model perhaps, or even a different vessel. "I went looking for you." His mind had not known the way, but his feet had, so strange, so panicked. "And I found you, but you were older. Not other you older, but still. And you... there was glass..." Jim shook his head. "I couldn't touch you. And there were burns on your face, and Bones was there..."

"... Were our uniforms red?"

The question did not quite register at first. Jim had been gazing down at the blanket but he lifted his eyes back to Spock's face then to find his already on him, gaze intent and earnest.

Jim nodded.

Spock's throat bobbed. "The needs of the many..." he said, "outweigh..."

"... the needs of the few."

They both continued staring at one another.

"Is that why you were awake?" Jim demanded after a moment.

"Yes."

"You... wait." Jim squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked them open again. "You... I mean, you were... what happened in your dream, after you..." Said goodbye, he didn't say. He had watched Spock collapse against the glass, had sat there, helpless, some part of him aware he was asleep and unable to pull himself out.

"I woke," Spock said, apparently understanding.

Jim shook his head at him. "... I didn't," he said. The words hung heavy in the air. He stood again, hands raising to lace behind his head, distracted. When his arms dropped back to his sides, he was startled to find his wrist encircled in a firm grip.

"Come here," Spock said, with a slight tug, and at first, Jim wasn't sure he had heard him properly, but his body went willingly enough, folding down to the bed again, closer to Spock this time. Spock's hand left his forearm for his face and Jim shuddered.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, barely above a whisper.

Spock blinked at him, his face close, eyes following the path of his fingers. "What feels right."

He scooted closer still, giving Jim a chance to withdraw. Jim was too stunned to. "Spock, we-"

Spock's thumb moved over his lips. "No, enough," he said. "I am..." He shook his head. "Enough. You concern yourself with my duty and my honor and her feelings, of which she purports none. My duty was first to you." Spock's forehead pressed to his. "Enough."

It was both as simple as that and yet far more complicated, and Jim knew that, knew he should be arguing it; it was so much more difficult to care when Spock was claiming not to. Spock's hand moved down his neck, petting, thumb stroking along his pulse. Jim thought perhaps he was waiting for Jim to move forward, but then he felt a kiss pressed over his left eye. Then another on his cheek. Then down his jaw. By the time Spock made it to the corner of his mouth, Jim was done with hesitancy. He turned his head into it and slanted their lips together, and once he had done that, he was gone.

For months now he had been straining not to take a step in any direction, lest the avalanche come crashing down. An inch was all that was needed to allow it.

Jim got a knee up on the bed and his hands on Spock's shoulders and pushed, eagerly laying over him, which lasted only moments before a strong arm wrapped around his waist and he was flipped onto his back. Jim did not complain. Spock had rarely been rough in the past, except perhaps the first time, ever careful, which Jim had always before assumed was merely attention to detail.

He knew different now.

They were both already shirtless, and that was really nice, Jim thought as Spock licked into his mouth, immediate bare skin, like finally having a river in sight after a long drought and someone handing you a cup. Jim couldn't keep his hands still. The taste was an immediate shock of instinctive memory he hadn't even realized he had half forgotten, and it only intensified the need to touch, to feel everything he could reach.

Spock's wandering hands had more purpose, as Spock tended to in all things. They slid down Jim's back, encouraging it to arch, and then down the back of his pants. A groan rumbled against Jim's chest when no underwear was found.

"Jim..." Spock whispered into his neck, and again after pressing more kisses there, like he wanted to remind himself who it was, or was just delighting in the fact that he could. Jim reached for him, hands settling under his ears, and drew him up, locking eyes with him.

He had intended to say something. Something meaningless, but not; assurances of his presence, Spock's name, something. But once he was holding him there, he thought perhaps he had just wanted to see Spock the way Spock wanted to say his name. Spock gazed down at him, face now bright to Jim's adjusted eyes, and perhaps he was waiting, but there was nothing particularly expectant to his expression. He bent his head eventually, and Jim let him, lifting his own to more quickly mesh their lips.

They were still separated, Jim noticed, not just by their pants, but by the blanket, covering Spock's lower half and awkwardly folded over onto Jim along with him. Jim got his fingers under it and then his legs, managing to stay attached to Spock's mouth for most of it, Spock waiting patiently when he couldn't. He kicked his pants off in the process, lost somewhere beneath the covers, and then reached for Spock's shoulders again. It was hot under here, pleasantly so for now, and Jim settled into the warm spot Spock had left, surrounded by the scent of him, as jarring to the senses as his taste.

Home, Jim thought again as Spock laid over him, and they had not even melded yet, had not melded in months he realized, even before the marriage. There was not much chance of catching Spock's hand for that right now, nor much practicality, but Jim made a note to, at some point.

He reached for Spock's pants instead, eagerly easing them down his slim hips, and he wasn't sure if Spock even bothered to kick them off before settling against him; if so, he couldn't pinpoint when he had. All that mattered was that they were now bare where it mattered, touching where it mattered, Spock's erection, even hotter to the touch than his own, sliding alongside his. Jim broke their kiss to cry out and Spock dipped his head to gasp against his neck. There would be bruises along his hip bones tomorrow, Jim guessed, and as soon as he had the thought, Spock's fingers loosened on them, sliding under his back again to draw Jim closer.

Perhaps Jim, being a Human, had not missed the absence of telepathy in earlier excursions, but it was certainly pleasing enough to notice when it was present. Aside from nervous fumbling the first time, their love-making had always been fairly seamless, and Jim could appreciate that. Or, seamless for him at least, he thought, and suddenly he wondered what it was like for Spock, when the meld was not involved and Jim had only his instincts to go on.

"Adequate," Spock murmured, right against his ear, and Jim chuckled into his shoulder.

"Just adequate?"

Spock's tongue dipped into the hollow just behind Jim's earlobe. "In this, as in many other areas, your skill is sufficiently proficient."

Jim grinned, turning his head to encourage the Vulcan's ministrations. "I'm awesome in bed; you can say it."

"I can," Spock said, which was very much not I am, Jim realized, smile widening. Spock's own mouth flickered against his neck, and Jim imagined he had picked up on Jim's understanding. He brushed his thumbs across the other's nipples in retaliation, feeling them harden into tight buds and Spock groaned again, mouthing along his shoulder. Jim's hips rocked up at the sound.

"Spock..." he said breathlessly, about as close to begging as he was likely to get. There was surely pleading and desperation enough being conveyed through his thoughts.

Spock breathed against his skin for another few moments, perhaps gathering himself, and then lifted his head. "Lubrication," he said.

Jim had not thought of that before now, and disappointment descended, but his response was still an immediate, "Don't care." He shook his head.

"I do," Spock said, as Jim had known he would and wished he wouldn't. "I will not explain your rectal trauma to Doctor McCoy."

Jim laughed soundlessly, shoulders shaking and head ducked down almost to Spock's chest. "God, you can't say 'rectal trauma' in bed," he said. "Or mention Bones, for that matter."

"Duly noted, Captain," Spock said.

"Ah, but 'Captain'," Jim lifted his head, "you can say as much as you want."

Spock arched an unimpressed eyebrow and Jim drew him down for another kiss, smiling against his mouth. Their hips met again and Jim tried to ease Spock downward, but Spock's firm grip returned to his waist and held him nearly still; a clear refusal. Jim made a very displeased noise that was not a whine. It had been far too long to worry about this now, to worry about anything but coming together as quickly as possible. Jim had spent months empty, it didn't matter if it would be painful to be full again.

And surely Spock was picking up on this, and Jim's sincerity, but nothing about his movements or his face when Jim looked was even reluctant, merely determined. Jim would not be winning this one.

"Next time," Spock said softly, smoothing a warm hand back over Jim's forehead.

Jim stared up at him. "Next time," he echoed, half a question.

Spock's fingers trailed over the psi-points, and Jim's heart fluttered faster, but Spock only gazed at their position, did not enter. "Your... pain," Spock said, "at the loss of me. Merely the potential of it..." And Jim felt it flare anew at the words, did not bother to shield it. "Hers will never match it."

Jim settled his palm over the back of Spock's hand, lacing his fingers through Spock's own.

"Therefore, I see no logic in denying you for her, particularly when what I feel for you is undeniable."

Jim smirked. "Kaiidth," he said, and Spock almost smiled.

"Indeed."

Jim's smile faded. "And her?"

Spock's fingers closed on his and he dropped their joined hands to the pillow, settling a bit closer. "I will speak with her at the next available opportunity. I do believe she will yield to the logic of the situation, as we all did to that of the last. But until then, I cannot say."

Jim cringed, shifting awkwardly beneath Spock's weight. Spock's thumb stroked over his knuckles. "Then, maybe, we shouldn't... until..." It was not so much that the thought was half-formed as it was simply Jim's reluctance to speak the suggestion. He wanted Spock and he wanted him now.

Spock's brow furrowed, eyes still fixed on their hands. "True extramarital intimacy will constitute the meld for her," he explained, "which is why I refrain. But there is... logic in your suggestion."

Jim groaned, perhaps a bit too dramatically, but he felt entitled. He arched to rub his erection against Spock's thigh, half making a point. Spock's mouth twitched again and he turned his head to gently fit his lips over Jim's, one press and then two.

"T'hy'la," he whispered. "Dungi-ma nash-vey du."

Jim had no idea what it meant, but it sounded like a promise. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he said. "But I'm sleeping in here."

"Yes," Spock said, like he was telling Jim rather than agreeing with him. He laid his head on the pillow beside Jim's, nose brushing his cheek, and tightened his grip on his hand. Jim, unsatisfied with that, turned his face toward Spock's and stared at his wide-open eyes for a while, feeling the Vulcan's breath rhythmically teasing over his lips.

He was pretty sure Spock was still watching him by the time he finally drifted off.
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The Edge