FIC: These Fevered Dreams 1/1 (Spock/Kirk)
These Fevered Dreams
by Keelywolfe
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Notes: This isn't quite a sequel to This Rebellious Nature. It's more like an AU of it, because, well, I can never leave well enough alone. That said, it will make no sense if you haven't read that one, so stroll down that story first before you give this a try.
Summary: It's the day after the events in This Rebellious Nature and Spock is suffering the consequences of his impulsive actions.
~~*~~
Illness was not something Spock was overly familiar with. As a healthy child, he had grown to a healthy adult and aside from the occasional childhood malady, he had in excellent physical condition. Certainly he had never 'caught cold' in the human terminology. Until now. His first visit to Earth brought to him his first bout of feverish illness.
The first rush of fever brought Spock dreams, a mingle of reality and fancy, an almost memory of rain. Of cool lips against his own and cooler water trailing down his cheeks. He woke to the lingering threads of it, seeming less a reality in the gray, damp light of the day.
Caught as he was in a sickening throb of unnatural heat, Spock shifted on his sweat-sticky sheets fitfully, and finally reached for the glass of water on his side table to ease the dryness of his mouth. His hands still felt sleepy and clumsy, and he almost fumbled it to the floor, felt the glass tipping beneath his fingertips and he was already resigned to forcing himself from the bed to get a fresh glass, his thirst too strong to ignore and...
Cool hands caught his own, steadying the glass. "Careful, there. Let me."
Gratefully, he accepted the light pressure of a straw against his lips, drawing cool water down his parched throat. It was only when his thirst was satisfied did he realize that he should be alone, that his father had left him here while he attended to his duties.
Spock opened his eyes carefully and saw bare feet, followed them up a pair of damp trousers and shirt to a face that he had seen twice recently, once in reality and once in dream.
Jim wiggled his bare toes against the carpet. "I left my boots at the door. Didn't want to get too much water all over the floors. I was standing out in the rain for a long time."
No accusation but Spock felt a slight flush stain his cheeks regardless. "My apologies."
He stared at the Human sitting next to his bed, slouched in the chair as though it were made especially for him. Perhaps it was, never before had he seen furniture cradle a body so lovingly.
Perhaps his fever was worsening.
The reality of Jim sitting here in his rooms at the Vulcan Embassy, his wet clothes dripping small puddles onto the floor, suddenly penetrated his fever-fogged mind.
"How...what are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely, struggling to sit up.
"What am I doing here?" Jim shrugged. "You didn't show up so I figured I'd better come to you."
Human logic. He should have realized. Cool hands lightly cupped his cheeks and Spock leaned into them almost helplessly, a faint groan catching in his throat because it felt wonderful against his overheated skin.
Breath against his ear, still cooler than his own. "I know that Vulcans are supposed to be warmer than Humans but this seems excessive."
There was a frown in Jim's voice but Spock did not open his eyes to see it. "Yes, I currently have a fever."
"Shouldn't you see a doctor then?" A deeper frown, Spock imagined in those soft words, even as Jim's lips brushed the sensitive skin of his ear. He shivered in spite of his fever, breath catching.
"I have. The fever is currently assisting in the removal of the virus in my system."
"If you say so." The doubt in Jim's voice indicated that he did not agree with the doctor's assessment, as did the light touch of his hands still on Spock's face, still cool enough to make him sigh softly and lean into the touch.
"I do not believe I will be available for any activities today," Spock informed him with no small amount of bemusement. His illness today was a direct result of, 'getting into some more trouble,' as Jim had phrased it. Searching for trouble had certainly led him to it. Never had he suspected, however, that trouble might come looking for him in the form of a cocky grin and blue eyes.
Spock could not prevent some small amount of regret when Jim pulled his hands away, ruthlessly repressed it as he opened his eyes.
That same grin was on Jim's face now as he poured more water into the glass and offered it again. "No, I don't think you are. Would you have met me?"
Spock drank again deeply and told himself that he wasn't avoiding the directness of Jim's gaze. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you weren't lying here right now with God knows what kind of fever, would you have actually come to see me?"
"I am uncertain," Spock admitted. "Perhaps."
Jim's grin wasn't angry and his laughter was as sweet and genuine as it had been in Spock's dream, in his memory. "Then it's a good thing I came here, isn't it. Saved you from breaking a promise."
"Yes," he agreed softly. He closed his eyes again against the rising shimmer in his vision, hot, so hot, and if his fever worsened further he would have to induce a healing trance as the doctor had suggested earlier. It was likely that he should do it now, it was logical, much more logical than his urge to continue listening to Jim's voice, to this Human that he barely even knew."How did you get in?"
"Simple, you left an invitation for me at the front door."
"I did not."
"No," Jim agreed. "But the computer thinks you did."
Illogical and now illegal. A wealth of trouble in this, all to be laid at this Human's feet.
Spock turned his head, searching for a cool place and let Jim's voice wash over him again.
"Let me ask you another one," Jim asked, softly, and his hands returned, cool fingertips against Spock's temples and there was no stifling his grateful sigh. "Knowing what happened later, how sick you'd be today, would you still have gone with me?"
"It is illogical to estimate an impossible scenario," Spock informed him hoarsely.
"It was illogical for you to come with me the first time. Would you do it again?" Jim persisted.
The taste of his mouth in the rain, a silvery curtain of wetness around them as Jim touched him, touched him, whispered things to him, dark and sweet as syrup. The memory was arousing even now and Spock wet his lips, let one hand trail down his bare chest and heard Jim draw a sharp breath. He was naked beneath the sheets, having shed his stifling underclothes hours before and it was tempting to push the sheets aside, to lose himself in the fevered recollection of slick rain and damp, human skin.
Jim caught him by the wrist with two fingers, stilling him and Spock moaned faintly, arching up into the roughness of his sheets against him.
"Don't." Jim murmured, unsteadily. "Don't...do you know what I thought, when I saw you sitting there yesterday?"
"It would be impossible for me to know your thoughts," Spock whispered, breath catching as Jim's grip shifted, his fingers drifting along the back of Spock's hand in the approximation of a kiss. Jim spoke Vulcan, knew something of his people, he had to know, he had to...feverish thoughts tumbling over each other. "But I can assume that you frequently engage in sexual exploits with others. You seemed fascinated with my heritage and that might imply that you saw me as an opportunity to indulge with a Vulcan."
Again, laughter, and Spock was not so familiar with the sound of it that he could interpret it, different from Jim's earlier humor. "That's pretty good. Wrong, but good."
"Perhaps you would care to explain?" The bed shifted as weight settled on it, one knee resting against Spock's hip and he didn't look up at Jim looming over him, reached blindly for him and could only make a helpless, lost sound as his hands were caught, pushed back and pinned against the bed. Tight grip that he could break easily, even ill, and yet he only lay there was Jim straddled him, separated only by thin cloth.
"You aren't the first person I've fucked, that's true," Jim said, softly. "But you are the first one I've gone through all this effort to find. It was pretty easy to find the only Vulcan name on the passenger manifest, that's true, and it was pretty easy to find that same name in the Vulcan Embassy's computer so I could find out where you were staying. Breaking in here, though, that wasn't so easy. I don't look very Vulcan."
"No," Spock shuddered, as Jim moved, undulated against him, it was the only proper word and Spock's Standard was excellent but he could not articulate what he wanted, could only arch up, writhing against the sheets and Jim in a silent plea for more.
"So I did that for you." Jim's voice was closer now, leaning forward. "And you’re the first person I ever begged to come back to me."
It was difficult to speak, forcing words past his strangling need."I...I recall it as...more of an order or a demand."
This time the laughter was pressed into Spock's throat, Jim's mouth cool and wet against his skin."I guess if you didn't hear me begging, then that would explain why you weren't going to come back." The faintest edge of teeth against his throat, not quite enough to mark him before Jim pulled back and Spock had to force his eyes open, to look at Jim above him.
He was pinned against his own bed, staring hazily up at Jim and watched those wet, red lips murmur to him, "Want to hear me beg again?"
"Yes," Spock hissed out, because he did, he wanted that voice to speak to him, invade his overheated body and thoughts. Yes, please.
"Yes," Jim echoed, rolling his hips again and Jim was so easy to move with, as effortlessly as it had been in the rain and this wasn't as good as it had been then, the only point of skin contact was Jim's hands on his wrists. Spock wanted Jim's mouth against his own, wanted to taste, to bite, but he also needed to hear him, his words almost like a caress. "Do you know what I want to do to you? What I'd let you do? I saw you sitting there and I wanted, I touched you right then even though I know Vulcans don't do that. I wanted and you came with me even though it was illogical, so what does that mean, I wonder? Think we're fated to be together, Svai?"
"I do not...believe in fate," Spock choked out.
"Neither do I but talking about it sure turned you on." Finally, Jim's mouth on his own, the hard scrape of their teeth clashing made Spock wince but he only pushed into it harder, pressed his tongue into the eager wet heat of Jim's mouth. Eager, yes, easy, and Spock wanted him.
Wanted him enough to tug at the grip on his wrists, a silent request that was ignored. He twisted his mouth free enough to murmur, "I do not appreciate fabrications."
"You think I'm lying?" Jim's grin was still sharp, "I meant every word. You want to fuck me? Then do it."
"I was under the impression would you prefer fucking me." The vulgarity did not stutter on his tongue, not the slightest hint that he'd had some difficulty speaking it. Nothing that would justify the sudden surge of heat in Jim's eyes. "If that is the case..."
He let the sentence dangle, shifting position on the bed into something slightly more provocative, spreading his legs and canting his hips upward, offering. If that is the case, then I am right here.
For the first time, uncertainty crept across Jim's face, blunting the normal confidence.
"Normally, I'd be all over you, but I'm not sure that's a good idea today." A cool thumb stroked across his forehead, testingly.
Now was not the time for nobility, not with heat, unnatural and otherwise, pouring through Spock's veins and pooling between his legs. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed searching for trouble."
"Yeah, and believe me, you have trouble written all over you," Jim said tersely, "I guessed that the first goddamned minute I saw you sitting there, reading, looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.
Protest of that opinion and confusion over the assertion warred to be spoken, he was a model student and son, hardly trouble, and butter would melt easily in his mouth even at his normal body temperature. Those words died as Jim leaned in, his eyes dropping to Spock's mouth.
"And I still just had to talk to you," Jim whispered hoarsely, licking Spock's lips vulgarly. "And I probably broke twenty laws with regards to the foreign diplomacy and espionage just to see you today. But you have a nasty fever and I'm not even sure you really believe I'm here. Much as I want you, I can't--"
Jim broke off, almost yelping as Spock finally broke his grip and flipped him over so that Spock was looming over startled blue eyes and protesting lips that he silenced with his own. The heat in him was volcanic, desperate as he worked a hand between them, tearing the fastenings of Jim's trousers in his haste and Spock didn't care, didn't care, only knew that he needed bare skin against his own. Every fragment of his control shattered away from him like overheated glass at Jim's strangled shout as he wrapped a hand around both of them, disjointed thrusts into his grasp that was nothing like their chilled coupling in the rain. This was heat, Jim's mouth on his own and the faint iron tang of Human blood in his mouth as Spock tore his lips free, threw back his head and shouted his release.
Long moments passed and Spock blurrily came to realize that Jim was struggling for breath. Struggling because Spock was crushing him into the bed and with no small amount of effort he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down on him.
And perhaps that was an error on his part. Jim's eyes were deep, shocked blue, his mouth swollen and enticing. It hardly seemed possible to feel a stirring at the sight of it and yet...
"Damn," Jim slurred out, his voice blurred with satisfaction, "You really--" The dazed look abruptly dropped from his gaze and with surprisingly strength he pushed Spock away from him and scrambled from the bed, yanking the blankets up to Spock's chin and straightening his own clothes quickly before he threw himself into the chair.
The door opened only moments after he'd settled himself to admit Spock's father and whatever words Sarek had been about to speak, perhaps inquiring as to the state of Spock's health, died as he saw the Human sitting at his son's bedside.
"You have a guest," Sarek said with a perfect lack of emotion. "The embassy is not known for permitting visitors without certain permissions. If I may ask, how did you come to be here?"
"I left an invitation for him," Spock said, before Jim could answer. Not a lie, the computer would agree with him.
He met his father's eyes calmly, even with the state of his bedclothes, the obvious scents of his room. With some previously unsuspected insight Jim remained silent, a faint, pleasantly friendly smile on his face.
"Well, then," Sarek said, finally. "As I'm certain your visit is concluded, may I ask you to excuse us so that I may speak with my son."
"Sure," Jim said agreeably, and didn't move.
Sarek's lips thinned visibly and Spock winced inwardly. Yesterday had not been spoken of but there would be a harsh lecture from this, of that he was certain.
"I will allow you to say your goodbyes," Sarek announced before he left the room.
Yes, certainly a lecture if not punishment and Spock would accept both willingly. Jim's mouth was still faintly swollen and as Spock watched it curved into that sharp grin, blue eyes meeting his own.
Well worth any lecture.
"I think your fever is better," Jim said softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Spock's cheek.
"Yes," Spock said, softly and Jim laughed again into the quiet between them.
"I better get out of here. See you around, Svai."
"That is not my name," Spock reminded him.
An oh, so Human grin lit Jim's face. "You haven't told me your name."
It was arguably true. Twice now he had been close to this Human, closer than he had been to anyone else in the entirety of his life and he still had yet to inform him of his own name. The logical thing would be to tell him now and put the question to rest.
Spock held Jim's gaze and said nothing, only watched as that sweet grin widened. He leaned in, let his lips just brush against Spock's before he stood. The door opened for him and revealed his father still waiting in the hallway, perhaps already composing a lecture for his wayward son.
"I'll catch you later, Svai," Jim called, giving his father a polite nod as he walked past, bare feet padding softly against the floor. A prophetic statement, perhaps. Spock suspected that he was already well on his way to being caught.
Spock settled back into his bed, straightened his blankets as he prepared himself for his father, perhaps his mother as well if Sarek determined he needed to speak to his wife about their son's indiscretions.
And perhaps his fever was still lingering because as he let his eyes close, Spock found he was drifting to sleep, falling gently back into a dream of blue eyes, or rather, a memory and a voice, so very Human, calling him by a name that wasn't his own.
-finis-
by Keelywolfe
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Notes: This isn't quite a sequel to This Rebellious Nature. It's more like an AU of it, because, well, I can never leave well enough alone. That said, it will make no sense if you haven't read that one, so stroll down that story first before you give this a try.
Summary: It's the day after the events in This Rebellious Nature and Spock is suffering the consequences of his impulsive actions.
~~*~~
Illness was not something Spock was overly familiar with. As a healthy child, he had grown to a healthy adult and aside from the occasional childhood malady, he had in excellent physical condition. Certainly he had never 'caught cold' in the human terminology. Until now. His first visit to Earth brought to him his first bout of feverish illness.
The first rush of fever brought Spock dreams, a mingle of reality and fancy, an almost memory of rain. Of cool lips against his own and cooler water trailing down his cheeks. He woke to the lingering threads of it, seeming less a reality in the gray, damp light of the day.
Caught as he was in a sickening throb of unnatural heat, Spock shifted on his sweat-sticky sheets fitfully, and finally reached for the glass of water on his side table to ease the dryness of his mouth. His hands still felt sleepy and clumsy, and he almost fumbled it to the floor, felt the glass tipping beneath his fingertips and he was already resigned to forcing himself from the bed to get a fresh glass, his thirst too strong to ignore and...
Cool hands caught his own, steadying the glass. "Careful, there. Let me."
Gratefully, he accepted the light pressure of a straw against his lips, drawing cool water down his parched throat. It was only when his thirst was satisfied did he realize that he should be alone, that his father had left him here while he attended to his duties.
Spock opened his eyes carefully and saw bare feet, followed them up a pair of damp trousers and shirt to a face that he had seen twice recently, once in reality and once in dream.
Jim wiggled his bare toes against the carpet. "I left my boots at the door. Didn't want to get too much water all over the floors. I was standing out in the rain for a long time."
No accusation but Spock felt a slight flush stain his cheeks regardless. "My apologies."
He stared at the Human sitting next to his bed, slouched in the chair as though it were made especially for him. Perhaps it was, never before had he seen furniture cradle a body so lovingly.
Perhaps his fever was worsening.
The reality of Jim sitting here in his rooms at the Vulcan Embassy, his wet clothes dripping small puddles onto the floor, suddenly penetrated his fever-fogged mind.
"How...what are you doing here?" he asked hoarsely, struggling to sit up.
"What am I doing here?" Jim shrugged. "You didn't show up so I figured I'd better come to you."
Human logic. He should have realized. Cool hands lightly cupped his cheeks and Spock leaned into them almost helplessly, a faint groan catching in his throat because it felt wonderful against his overheated skin.
Breath against his ear, still cooler than his own. "I know that Vulcans are supposed to be warmer than Humans but this seems excessive."
There was a frown in Jim's voice but Spock did not open his eyes to see it. "Yes, I currently have a fever."
"Shouldn't you see a doctor then?" A deeper frown, Spock imagined in those soft words, even as Jim's lips brushed the sensitive skin of his ear. He shivered in spite of his fever, breath catching.
"I have. The fever is currently assisting in the removal of the virus in my system."
"If you say so." The doubt in Jim's voice indicated that he did not agree with the doctor's assessment, as did the light touch of his hands still on Spock's face, still cool enough to make him sigh softly and lean into the touch.
"I do not believe I will be available for any activities today," Spock informed him with no small amount of bemusement. His illness today was a direct result of, 'getting into some more trouble,' as Jim had phrased it. Searching for trouble had certainly led him to it. Never had he suspected, however, that trouble might come looking for him in the form of a cocky grin and blue eyes.
Spock could not prevent some small amount of regret when Jim pulled his hands away, ruthlessly repressed it as he opened his eyes.
That same grin was on Jim's face now as he poured more water into the glass and offered it again. "No, I don't think you are. Would you have met me?"
Spock drank again deeply and told himself that he wasn't avoiding the directness of Jim's gaze. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you weren't lying here right now with God knows what kind of fever, would you have actually come to see me?"
"I am uncertain," Spock admitted. "Perhaps."
Jim's grin wasn't angry and his laughter was as sweet and genuine as it had been in Spock's dream, in his memory. "Then it's a good thing I came here, isn't it. Saved you from breaking a promise."
"Yes," he agreed softly. He closed his eyes again against the rising shimmer in his vision, hot, so hot, and if his fever worsened further he would have to induce a healing trance as the doctor had suggested earlier. It was likely that he should do it now, it was logical, much more logical than his urge to continue listening to Jim's voice, to this Human that he barely even knew."How did you get in?"
"Simple, you left an invitation for me at the front door."
"I did not."
"No," Jim agreed. "But the computer thinks you did."
Illogical and now illegal. A wealth of trouble in this, all to be laid at this Human's feet.
Spock turned his head, searching for a cool place and let Jim's voice wash over him again.
"Let me ask you another one," Jim asked, softly, and his hands returned, cool fingertips against Spock's temples and there was no stifling his grateful sigh. "Knowing what happened later, how sick you'd be today, would you still have gone with me?"
"It is illogical to estimate an impossible scenario," Spock informed him hoarsely.
"It was illogical for you to come with me the first time. Would you do it again?" Jim persisted.
The taste of his mouth in the rain, a silvery curtain of wetness around them as Jim touched him, touched him, whispered things to him, dark and sweet as syrup. The memory was arousing even now and Spock wet his lips, let one hand trail down his bare chest and heard Jim draw a sharp breath. He was naked beneath the sheets, having shed his stifling underclothes hours before and it was tempting to push the sheets aside, to lose himself in the fevered recollection of slick rain and damp, human skin.
Jim caught him by the wrist with two fingers, stilling him and Spock moaned faintly, arching up into the roughness of his sheets against him.
"Don't." Jim murmured, unsteadily. "Don't...do you know what I thought, when I saw you sitting there yesterday?"
"It would be impossible for me to know your thoughts," Spock whispered, breath catching as Jim's grip shifted, his fingers drifting along the back of Spock's hand in the approximation of a kiss. Jim spoke Vulcan, knew something of his people, he had to know, he had to...feverish thoughts tumbling over each other. "But I can assume that you frequently engage in sexual exploits with others. You seemed fascinated with my heritage and that might imply that you saw me as an opportunity to indulge with a Vulcan."
Again, laughter, and Spock was not so familiar with the sound of it that he could interpret it, different from Jim's earlier humor. "That's pretty good. Wrong, but good."
"Perhaps you would care to explain?" The bed shifted as weight settled on it, one knee resting against Spock's hip and he didn't look up at Jim looming over him, reached blindly for him and could only make a helpless, lost sound as his hands were caught, pushed back and pinned against the bed. Tight grip that he could break easily, even ill, and yet he only lay there was Jim straddled him, separated only by thin cloth.
"You aren't the first person I've fucked, that's true," Jim said, softly. "But you are the first one I've gone through all this effort to find. It was pretty easy to find the only Vulcan name on the passenger manifest, that's true, and it was pretty easy to find that same name in the Vulcan Embassy's computer so I could find out where you were staying. Breaking in here, though, that wasn't so easy. I don't look very Vulcan."
"No," Spock shuddered, as Jim moved, undulated against him, it was the only proper word and Spock's Standard was excellent but he could not articulate what he wanted, could only arch up, writhing against the sheets and Jim in a silent plea for more.
"So I did that for you." Jim's voice was closer now, leaning forward. "And you’re the first person I ever begged to come back to me."
It was difficult to speak, forcing words past his strangling need."I...I recall it as...more of an order or a demand."
This time the laughter was pressed into Spock's throat, Jim's mouth cool and wet against his skin."I guess if you didn't hear me begging, then that would explain why you weren't going to come back." The faintest edge of teeth against his throat, not quite enough to mark him before Jim pulled back and Spock had to force his eyes open, to look at Jim above him.
He was pinned against his own bed, staring hazily up at Jim and watched those wet, red lips murmur to him, "Want to hear me beg again?"
"Yes," Spock hissed out, because he did, he wanted that voice to speak to him, invade his overheated body and thoughts. Yes, please.
"Yes," Jim echoed, rolling his hips again and Jim was so easy to move with, as effortlessly as it had been in the rain and this wasn't as good as it had been then, the only point of skin contact was Jim's hands on his wrists. Spock wanted Jim's mouth against his own, wanted to taste, to bite, but he also needed to hear him, his words almost like a caress. "Do you know what I want to do to you? What I'd let you do? I saw you sitting there and I wanted, I touched you right then even though I know Vulcans don't do that. I wanted and you came with me even though it was illogical, so what does that mean, I wonder? Think we're fated to be together, Svai?"
"I do not...believe in fate," Spock choked out.
"Neither do I but talking about it sure turned you on." Finally, Jim's mouth on his own, the hard scrape of their teeth clashing made Spock wince but he only pushed into it harder, pressed his tongue into the eager wet heat of Jim's mouth. Eager, yes, easy, and Spock wanted him.
Wanted him enough to tug at the grip on his wrists, a silent request that was ignored. He twisted his mouth free enough to murmur, "I do not appreciate fabrications."
"You think I'm lying?" Jim's grin was still sharp, "I meant every word. You want to fuck me? Then do it."
"I was under the impression would you prefer fucking me." The vulgarity did not stutter on his tongue, not the slightest hint that he'd had some difficulty speaking it. Nothing that would justify the sudden surge of heat in Jim's eyes. "If that is the case..."
He let the sentence dangle, shifting position on the bed into something slightly more provocative, spreading his legs and canting his hips upward, offering. If that is the case, then I am right here.
For the first time, uncertainty crept across Jim's face, blunting the normal confidence.
"Normally, I'd be all over you, but I'm not sure that's a good idea today." A cool thumb stroked across his forehead, testingly.
Now was not the time for nobility, not with heat, unnatural and otherwise, pouring through Spock's veins and pooling between his legs. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed searching for trouble."
"Yeah, and believe me, you have trouble written all over you," Jim said tersely, "I guessed that the first goddamned minute I saw you sitting there, reading, looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.
Protest of that opinion and confusion over the assertion warred to be spoken, he was a model student and son, hardly trouble, and butter would melt easily in his mouth even at his normal body temperature. Those words died as Jim leaned in, his eyes dropping to Spock's mouth.
"And I still just had to talk to you," Jim whispered hoarsely, licking Spock's lips vulgarly. "And I probably broke twenty laws with regards to the foreign diplomacy and espionage just to see you today. But you have a nasty fever and I'm not even sure you really believe I'm here. Much as I want you, I can't--"
Jim broke off, almost yelping as Spock finally broke his grip and flipped him over so that Spock was looming over startled blue eyes and protesting lips that he silenced with his own. The heat in him was volcanic, desperate as he worked a hand between them, tearing the fastenings of Jim's trousers in his haste and Spock didn't care, didn't care, only knew that he needed bare skin against his own. Every fragment of his control shattered away from him like overheated glass at Jim's strangled shout as he wrapped a hand around both of them, disjointed thrusts into his grasp that was nothing like their chilled coupling in the rain. This was heat, Jim's mouth on his own and the faint iron tang of Human blood in his mouth as Spock tore his lips free, threw back his head and shouted his release.
Long moments passed and Spock blurrily came to realize that Jim was struggling for breath. Struggling because Spock was crushing him into the bed and with no small amount of effort he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down on him.
And perhaps that was an error on his part. Jim's eyes were deep, shocked blue, his mouth swollen and enticing. It hardly seemed possible to feel a stirring at the sight of it and yet...
"Damn," Jim slurred out, his voice blurred with satisfaction, "You really--" The dazed look abruptly dropped from his gaze and with surprisingly strength he pushed Spock away from him and scrambled from the bed, yanking the blankets up to Spock's chin and straightening his own clothes quickly before he threw himself into the chair.
The door opened only moments after he'd settled himself to admit Spock's father and whatever words Sarek had been about to speak, perhaps inquiring as to the state of Spock's health, died as he saw the Human sitting at his son's bedside.
"You have a guest," Sarek said with a perfect lack of emotion. "The embassy is not known for permitting visitors without certain permissions. If I may ask, how did you come to be here?"
"I left an invitation for him," Spock said, before Jim could answer. Not a lie, the computer would agree with him.
He met his father's eyes calmly, even with the state of his bedclothes, the obvious scents of his room. With some previously unsuspected insight Jim remained silent, a faint, pleasantly friendly smile on his face.
"Well, then," Sarek said, finally. "As I'm certain your visit is concluded, may I ask you to excuse us so that I may speak with my son."
"Sure," Jim said agreeably, and didn't move.
Sarek's lips thinned visibly and Spock winced inwardly. Yesterday had not been spoken of but there would be a harsh lecture from this, of that he was certain.
"I will allow you to say your goodbyes," Sarek announced before he left the room.
Yes, certainly a lecture if not punishment and Spock would accept both willingly. Jim's mouth was still faintly swollen and as Spock watched it curved into that sharp grin, blue eyes meeting his own.
Well worth any lecture.
"I think your fever is better," Jim said softly, reaching out to brush his fingers across Spock's cheek.
"Yes," Spock said, softly and Jim laughed again into the quiet between them.
"I better get out of here. See you around, Svai."
"That is not my name," Spock reminded him.
An oh, so Human grin lit Jim's face. "You haven't told me your name."
It was arguably true. Twice now he had been close to this Human, closer than he had been to anyone else in the entirety of his life and he still had yet to inform him of his own name. The logical thing would be to tell him now and put the question to rest.
Spock held Jim's gaze and said nothing, only watched as that sweet grin widened. He leaned in, let his lips just brush against Spock's before he stood. The door opened for him and revealed his father still waiting in the hallway, perhaps already composing a lecture for his wayward son.
"I'll catch you later, Svai," Jim called, giving his father a polite nod as he walked past, bare feet padding softly against the floor. A prophetic statement, perhaps. Spock suspected that he was already well on his way to being caught.
Spock settled back into his bed, straightened his blankets as he prepared himself for his father, perhaps his mother as well if Sarek determined he needed to speak to his wife about their son's indiscretions.
And perhaps his fever was still lingering because as he let his eyes close, Spock found he was drifting to sleep, falling gently back into a dream of blue eyes, or rather, a memory and a voice, so very Human, calling him by a name that wasn't his own.
-finis-