[TWBI] Old Man
Title: Old Man
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,218
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Motorbike
"I feel like an old pervert."
I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him. I raise an eyebrow and bring my head back down. "I supposed that would not be a completely inaccurate description."
I hear Jim scoff and feel the tip of my ear flicked. "That's not what I meant."
"Really?" I ask, puzzled. "It is an idiom?"
He hesitates. "It just… carries a connotation."
"What would that be?" I shift so that I am more on top of him and not stuck between him and the back of the couch.
"Well, it sorta implies a creepy old guy who goes after naive innocent young boys and girls for their bodies," he explains.
I frown slightly. I feel a hand rub the ribs on my side. "I am older than you."
"Well, yeah technically, but not physically. Physically you're in your prime. You're comparable to a 30 year-old human."
"It is true Vulcans have longer life spans," I concede.
"So you look like a naïve young man and I," he sighs. "I look like I'm robbing the cradle."
I consider it for a moment. "It could also be said that you appear to be a wise old man and I appear to be 'robbing the grave'."
I feel Jim's stomach rumble with silent laughter. "Think people are calling you a gold digger? Going after my money?"
"I have more money than you, due to my longer career and family inheritance."
He sighs again. "Yeah, but unless you're going to be walking around with your age and credits written on your back, people aren't going to know that."
I sit up and straddle my lover's hips, my hands on the thick gold sweater on his pectorals. The human always loved gold. No doubt his captaincy had a hand in that.
Jim's hair was mostly gray. His hands are calloused and rough. His skin is wrinkled and not as smooth as it had once been. His visual scars, great in number compared to other admirals but very small in number when compared to the number of injuries that he has actually suffered, have faded; or rather his skin has faded to a paler color similar to the scars. While he was in better shape than most of the men his age, he was not as fit as he once was. He did not have the energy or the strength he once did.
I, on the other hand, have changed very little since the beginning of our first five-year commission. My features are slightly more angular. My eyebrows and hair are slightly more unruly but no trace of gray yet. I am still as fit as I had been 44 years ago. I am just as strong, if not a bit stronger.
"I have never known you to care what others think, Jim."
He smirks. "That's because everyone thought I was awesome."
I roll my eyes, a human trait I have picked up over the years. I move my hands over his chest; the sweater causes the muscles to be less defined, but they are there. "You are still beautiful."
He winces. "At least call me handsome. Or dashing. Or, I don't know, hot. I feel like I'm some girl in a pageant when you call me beautiful."
I kiss his neck. "You are all these things."
"Aw, damnnit Spock, don't make me blush."
I pull back and put my hands on his cheeks, rubbing the reddened color with my thumbs. "I like when you blush. It's very alien."
"Is there anything you don't like about me?"
I tilt my head to the side. "Your breath in the morning is rather foul."
"Yeah, but that's with all humans, all that bacteria. What else?"
"You snore."
"What? No I don't!" he says defensively.
"You do. How would you know if you do not? You are asleep."
He frowns. "I've recorded myself. I don't snore."
"You have recorded yourself while you've slept?" I ask incredulously.
"Yeah, so don't lie."
I frown. "Vulcans do not lie."
"No, but they like to stretch the truth," Jim counters with a smile. "What you consider snoring, everyone else considers heavy breathing."
"Perhaps. If it puts your mind at ease, I find it hard to sleep without your loud 'heavy breathing'."
His smile grows. "Maybe it does a little."
I kiss his stubbled chin as my hands travel down rest on his upper arms. I want him to take the sweater off since I do not appreciate the barrier it creates, but I do not wish to move from my position on top of him. My indecisiveness causes me to once again realize I have spent far too much time with humans.
I feel his hands fidget on my thighs. "You'll find someone else, right?" His voice is anxious. "When I'm gone?"
I kiss along his jaw. "I doubt it."
Jim shifts underneath me. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
My automatic response would be to say that Vulcans do not feel emotions; therefore I could not feel unhappy once Jim was… but it would be a lie. "You have made my standards very high, Jim," I murmur. "It would be very difficult to find someone better than you. I could not bring myself to settle for any less."
The human laughs and slips his hands under my shirt. His rough palms are cool and familiar on my waist and I can feel a strong tingle shoot up my spine. "I think you got the short end of the stick here."
I stop my ministrations and pull back. "How does one identify if the end of a stick is short or long?" I ask.
He looks at me as if he is trying to decide if I am being purposefully obtuse or not. While I would not admit aloud that I enjoy feigning ignorance (especially in the presence of others with whom I am not well acquainted and believe me to be serious), I am confused by the expression. Because Jim uses them often, I have managed to become fairly proficient at deciphering all of the strange idioms that human use, but there are still some that I do not understand. Of course, the origins of such phrases are usually lost on humans; they can explain what it means but not where it comes from.
"I have no idea," he finally says, knowing I am not just 'pulling his leg' (another phrase I never quite understood). Instead of attempting to explain it, he revises his comment to one he knows I will recognize. "I think you drew the short straw in this relationship." Even if I still think it is strange.
"Why do you say that?"
"Not only will I probably never have to live without you, I get to fuck a sexy young man for the rest of my life. You get a wrinkly old raisin."
I lean down and kiss the side of his mouth. "I do have a fondness for raisins."
He laughs again, even harder than the previous times. I can smell coffee and rum on his breath, his cup only half empty and most likely cold now. "Good. Although honestly, I like grapes better."
"Grapes?"
"If I'm a raisin," Jim suddenly pinches my posterior, "guess who's the grape."
Next: Merry Christmas!
Series: That Would Be Illogical
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,218
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Summary: This is not the first illogical action I have ever participated in because of James Tiberius Kirk. I doubt it will be the last. Masterlist
Previous: Motorbike
"I feel like an old pervert."
I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him. I raise an eyebrow and bring my head back down. "I supposed that would not be a completely inaccurate description."
I hear Jim scoff and feel the tip of my ear flicked. "That's not what I meant."
"Really?" I ask, puzzled. "It is an idiom?"
He hesitates. "It just… carries a connotation."
"What would that be?" I shift so that I am more on top of him and not stuck between him and the back of the couch.
"Well, it sorta implies a creepy old guy who goes after naive innocent young boys and girls for their bodies," he explains.
I frown slightly. I feel a hand rub the ribs on my side. "I am older than you."
"Well, yeah technically, but not physically. Physically you're in your prime. You're comparable to a 30 year-old human."
"It is true Vulcans have longer life spans," I concede.
"So you look like a naïve young man and I," he sighs. "I look like I'm robbing the cradle."
I consider it for a moment. "It could also be said that you appear to be a wise old man and I appear to be 'robbing the grave'."
I feel Jim's stomach rumble with silent laughter. "Think people are calling you a gold digger? Going after my money?"
"I have more money than you, due to my longer career and family inheritance."
He sighs again. "Yeah, but unless you're going to be walking around with your age and credits written on your back, people aren't going to know that."
I sit up and straddle my lover's hips, my hands on the thick gold sweater on his pectorals. The human always loved gold. No doubt his captaincy had a hand in that.
Jim's hair was mostly gray. His hands are calloused and rough. His skin is wrinkled and not as smooth as it had once been. His visual scars, great in number compared to other admirals but very small in number when compared to the number of injuries that he has actually suffered, have faded; or rather his skin has faded to a paler color similar to the scars. While he was in better shape than most of the men his age, he was not as fit as he once was. He did not have the energy or the strength he once did.
I, on the other hand, have changed very little since the beginning of our first five-year commission. My features are slightly more angular. My eyebrows and hair are slightly more unruly but no trace of gray yet. I am still as fit as I had been 44 years ago. I am just as strong, if not a bit stronger.
"I have never known you to care what others think, Jim."
He smirks. "That's because everyone thought I was awesome."
I roll my eyes, a human trait I have picked up over the years. I move my hands over his chest; the sweater causes the muscles to be less defined, but they are there. "You are still beautiful."
He winces. "At least call me handsome. Or dashing. Or, I don't know, hot. I feel like I'm some girl in a pageant when you call me beautiful."
I kiss his neck. "You are all these things."
"Aw, damnnit Spock, don't make me blush."
I pull back and put my hands on his cheeks, rubbing the reddened color with my thumbs. "I like when you blush. It's very alien."
"Is there anything you don't like about me?"
I tilt my head to the side. "Your breath in the morning is rather foul."
"Yeah, but that's with all humans, all that bacteria. What else?"
"You snore."
"What? No I don't!" he says defensively.
"You do. How would you know if you do not? You are asleep."
He frowns. "I've recorded myself. I don't snore."
"You have recorded yourself while you've slept?" I ask incredulously.
"Yeah, so don't lie."
I frown. "Vulcans do not lie."
"No, but they like to stretch the truth," Jim counters with a smile. "What you consider snoring, everyone else considers heavy breathing."
"Perhaps. If it puts your mind at ease, I find it hard to sleep without your loud 'heavy breathing'."
His smile grows. "Maybe it does a little."
I kiss his stubbled chin as my hands travel down rest on his upper arms. I want him to take the sweater off since I do not appreciate the barrier it creates, but I do not wish to move from my position on top of him. My indecisiveness causes me to once again realize I have spent far too much time with humans.
I feel his hands fidget on my thighs. "You'll find someone else, right?" His voice is anxious. "When I'm gone?"
I kiss along his jaw. "I doubt it."
Jim shifts underneath me. "I don't want you to be unhappy."
My automatic response would be to say that Vulcans do not feel emotions; therefore I could not feel unhappy once Jim was… but it would be a lie. "You have made my standards very high, Jim," I murmur. "It would be very difficult to find someone better than you. I could not bring myself to settle for any less."
The human laughs and slips his hands under my shirt. His rough palms are cool and familiar on my waist and I can feel a strong tingle shoot up my spine. "I think you got the short end of the stick here."
I stop my ministrations and pull back. "How does one identify if the end of a stick is short or long?" I ask.
He looks at me as if he is trying to decide if I am being purposefully obtuse or not. While I would not admit aloud that I enjoy feigning ignorance (especially in the presence of others with whom I am not well acquainted and believe me to be serious), I am confused by the expression. Because Jim uses them often, I have managed to become fairly proficient at deciphering all of the strange idioms that human use, but there are still some that I do not understand. Of course, the origins of such phrases are usually lost on humans; they can explain what it means but not where it comes from.
"I have no idea," he finally says, knowing I am not just 'pulling his leg' (another phrase I never quite understood). Instead of attempting to explain it, he revises his comment to one he knows I will recognize. "I think you drew the short straw in this relationship." Even if I still think it is strange.
"Why do you say that?"
"Not only will I probably never have to live without you, I get to fuck a sexy young man for the rest of my life. You get a wrinkly old raisin."
I lean down and kiss the side of his mouth. "I do have a fondness for raisins."
He laughs again, even harder than the previous times. I can smell coffee and rum on his breath, his cup only half empty and most likely cold now. "Good. Although honestly, I like grapes better."
"Grapes?"
"If I'm a raisin," Jim suddenly pinches my posterior, "guess who's the grape."
Next: Merry Christmas!