Antithesis: Chapter Two
This, Jim was pretty certain, wasn’t what anyone would consider ‘speaking it over’. But then, he was one of those old fashioned people who believed that you needed your tongue in your own mouth to talk, and Spock’s was doing its best to examine Jim’s tonsils. The Vulcan had him pressed up against the wall of his apartment, one leg between both of his, a hand trailing up and down his side and the kiss growing in ferocity with every passing moment.
Jim knew he should fight this - knew how unstable he was these days, how Spock could possibly feel it - and using all the strength he had, he shoved Spock away.
“Not today,” he gasped out, knowing how uncertain he must’ve sounded. Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim could see how hard he was. How hard they both were. It could’ve been so easy to just let Spock get them off; it wouldn’t have taken long. Still. “Spock. Please. I can’t.”
This had to be hurting Spock; he knew it. Being denied sex wasn’t the issue - it was being denied the closeness he clearly craved. The hurt on his face - the subtle movement of his eyebrow, the twitch in his lips, things other people would never have noticed - just about killed Jim. But if their first time was going to be bearable for either party, it couldn’t be now.
“I do not understand your reluctance,” Spock informed him, standing straight and looking like he didn’t even notice the state his own body was in. “You have been sexually attracted to me for a minimum of approximately ten months, and you have given indications of romantic attraction for at least seven. Generally, is it not accepted that a sexual relationship is acceptable between two compatible and consenting adults under these circumstances?”
Jim took a deep breath. Fuck. “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you, Spock. It’s that I want to make it right,” he said bluntly. “I want…to be able to concentrate. On you. On us. Right now, I’m really, really fucking distracted. And you being a telepath? You’d have problems too. So let me have a little time to clear my mind and we can go at it all you want.”
Spock raised an eyebrow minutely. “That is, of course, assuming I can convince you to take part in the Tarsus IV assignment,” he said archly. Jim shook his head. “You must understand the importance of this assignment, Jim. If you fail to complete it, you will be expelled.”
“Then I’ll be expelled,” he snapped. “Spock, I have principles. I’m not defending Kodos.”
The Vulcan breathed deeply, something that was very nearly a sigh. “Think it through again, Jim,” he murmured. “I would prefer it if you did not disregard your potential over something so trivial as an assignment. I know you are capable of fabricating an opinion and expounding upon it - more so than any other student of the academy. This would be the obvious solution to your dilemma.”
Jim shook his head. “I can’t even BS this one, Spock,” he said simply, picking up his bag. There was really no reason to stay. “See you tomorrow.”
Spock didn’t even give him so much as a goodbye.
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The next day came, sure enough, and even Bones could tell something was wrong. He didn’t pressure Jim for answers, but anyone could see he was concerned. Jim, for his part, was sporting bags under his eyes, mussed up hair, and a scowl that did not exactly echo with joy. He arrived in the classroom, watching Spock carefully avoid glancing at him.
Go figure. Another thing Tarsus IV was going to take away from him.
It was evident that the professor had been informed of his decision, approaching his seat as soon as he’d taken it. Jim looked up with resignation, even as Bones looked on with trepadition.
“Cadet Kirk,” the man said simply. Jim nodded.
“Professor,” he replied. And then, a third voice boomed out.
“Jim Kirk?!”
Jim’s head whipped towards the door (along with pretty much everyone else’s, he was sure), eyes fixing on a tall man with a patch covering half his face and an open expression of disbelief. The professor straightened out, clearing his throat.
“I see our guest speaker has arrived-”
“Hey, Tom,” Jim offered weakly, waving. Tom made it to his seat in three enormous strides, yanking him up and into a rough hug. Well, that was nice. “Been awhile, huh.”
“Yeah, not since the rescue shuttles,” the man answered. Yeah, even fourteen years later, Tom was Tom. Some things just weren’t going to change, least of all Tom’s disposition and Jim’s long-term memory. “I see you’ve grown up. You’re eating all right?”
“Nice of you to ask,” Jim grumbled, pulling away and examining him. “Looks like you’ve grown up too.”
The professor cleared his throat. “Doctor Leighton,” he murmured. “You are…acquainted with Cadet Kirk?”
Tom nodded, and Jim felt himself tense. He knew what kind of person Tom was, how blockheaded and straightforward, and that only left one response for the man to make to that question. So, preparing himself mentally, he stared straight ahead, heart pounding.
“Of course. We were on Tarsus IV together,” he answered, and predictably the class went silent. Jim could feel all eyes upon him. Tom charged on obliviously. “We met the day of the massacre, actually. He just about collapsed carrying this kid back from the square and didn’t let him go the whole time. Hell, all nine of us stuck together until the relief effort arrived. We thought Kodos was going to kill us for seeing everything. If he hadn’t died, maybe he would’ve.”
More heavily than anyone’s, Jim felt Spock’s eyes upon him. Fuck. It wasn’t like he needed to say anything. Tom had said it all. Even as emotionally retarded as Spock could be, he must’ve understood. He was snapped out of his thoughts by a hand falling gently on his shoulder.
“Cadet Kirk, why did you not-”
Fuck it.
Jim didn’t even let the professor finish his question. Without so much as a glance at Tom or Spock or anyone else, he stood, yanked his bag onto his shoulder, and charged out the door.
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In the end, he found himself hacking his way into Spock’s apartment. He’d have to face the inquiry from his professors eventually, he knew. He’d have to explain himself to Bones, too, and watch the man pity him and try to ply him with more alcohol. And he didn’t want that. Not now. He didn’t want pitying glances or gentle words or even the sharp, bitter tang of liquor.
What he wanted…
He stepped into the apartment and just breathed. He closed his eyes, blocking out all sight, all sound, all physical reality and breathed.
This place smelled like Spock.
This was probably going to be his last time here, now that he thought about it. It was like the professor said: he would be expelled from the academy if he didn’t do the assignment, and he definitely wasn’t getting it done any time soon. And if he wasn’t at the academy, what was the point of staying in California? Maybe he’d travel. Roam. Explore.
It wouldn’t be enough, he knew. Earth was already too thoroughly explored. There was no draw anymore.
Jim stretched out on Spock’s couch, throwing his arms over his face. He let himself fantasize for a moment about Spock bursting through the door at any time now, demanding explanations and just being ungodly angry. But that’d never happen. Spock would never leave a lecture early, would never search for him here, and most of all, would never burst into any place angrily. If anything, he’d get a stern lecture on allowing his past to compromise him emotionally.
Yeah, Spock wasn’t coming.
Maybe because he hadn’t slept properly in days, or maybe just because of the ambience - the low lights, the stiff couch, the familiar smell - Jim found himself dropping off, and he didn’t even bother putting up a struggle.
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He most certainly wasn’t on the couch when he woke up. Actually, he wasn’t even in the same room, if the lighting was any indication. There was a blanket stretched over him, even though the temperature had to be nearing ninety degrees (good old farenheit scale; Jim was one of the only humans left who bothered with it). When he blinked his eyes open, he found he was looking at a closed door.
When he tried to shift onto his back, he noticed two things: he was definitely on a bed, and there was a warm chest pressed against him that could only belong to one person.
“Spock?” he questioned, barely more than a whisper. He felt the confirmation against his shoulder. “What’s going on…?”
A hand came up onto his face. It didn’t seem so random, each finger carefully seeking out a specific point. For a long moment, they just stayed like that. And then, so quiet Jim could hardly hear it, Spock murmured, “I would like to join our minds. With your consent.”
Hell. How much worse could the situation get? “Sure,” he agreed. He wasn’t sure about how this was going to work, but-
It was disorienting.
He was still in his own head, but he wasn’t the only one. He felt Spock prodding, poking, everywhere at once and still with his own consciousness, and the recognition was calming. He knew Spock could feel his disgust, his shame, his apprehension - and he let him. But somehow, there was also guilt leaking through, guilt and some sort of apology.
From Spock. That was from Spock.
Jim just opened up, letting Spock read everything. His emotions, his history, his every consideration. Tarsus IV. Frank’s car. Sam running away from home. His absent mother. Seeing Spock for the first time. The last time he’d been in this apartment-
He let Spock know everything. Everything.
When Spock withdrew, Jim shifted so they were chest to chest, looking into Spock’s eyes. “Well?”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Spock pressed his forehead against Jim’s. “I recommended they except you from this assignment,” he whispered, voice even. “There seems to be a policy regarding those who have survived ‘moral conflicts’.”
“Great,” Jim muttered. After another short pause, he breathed again. “Why are we here, Spock?”
The Vulcan’s hands were on his face again, tilting it up so Jim was looking at his eyes and nothing else. “I wished to ascertain…”
He trailed off, and Jim leaned in quietly to kiss his lips. “Yeah. You’re more than forgiven.”
Spock’s eyes were firm on his. “I am here to act as a…cathartic outlet for you,” he informed him. Jim scooted closer, daring to blink. “My mother once explained to me that close physical contact could relieve stress in humans, as well as conversation. If you wish to engage in any actions that you feel would act to relax you, I am willing-”
Yeah, Jim was going to have some issues to work through. Fuck if he was forgetting this anytime soon. But for now, he simply pressed his lips to Spock’s once more, slow and easy. Nothing sexual. When he pulled back, he closed his eyes.
“I’m going to sleep some of the stress off,” he told him, “and you’re going to stay with me. You’re also going to make me breakfast at 0400 hours, since there’s no way I’m sleeping past that. Then maybe we’ll have sex. But for now? Just sleep with me.”
For a moment, he was worried that Spock was going to refuse, but then the man was pulling him closer, wrapping him in an embrace literally warmer than any he had ever had before. “Very well,” Spock conceded.
And for the first time in a week, Jim sank into a mattress and drifted to sleep with no assistance from alcohol or sedatives, and for the first time he could remember, his last feelings before the world escaped him were safe, warm, and protected.
END