Half a Dream Away | STXI | PG-13 | Part 2/?
Title: Half a Dream Away II
Beta: rainbowstrlght ;special thanks to verizonhorizon for her brilliant brainstorming!
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: PG-13 [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~2,600
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress.
Summary: In reply to a st_xi_kink_meme prompt from lallyloo, of the lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you /I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: Well, the mob has spoken, and I have answered! What was once a one-shot is now going to be a series, and an AU, at that. Of course, the first part could be read as a one-shot, if you like, too! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next instalment.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
chapter I
“You headin’ out again?” Bones drawls, not looking up from his PADD of patient files.
“Who are you, my mother?” Jim asks, but he’s smiling as he shrugs on his motorcycle jacket. His mood has risen exponentially, despite having failed the Kobayashi Maru once again - as Jim’s hack code had royally bombed, and it was a disaster. But some things in life are more important than exams.
“Might as well be, the amount of shit I pull you out of.” This time Bones aims a look at Jim; his stare is scalpel-sharp, as always. “You’re in an awfully chipper mood these days. Thought you’d be busy gripin’ about the unfairness of the Maru.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Bones, please -give me more credit than that. I don’t sulk. I’m not a teenaged girl.”
Bones waves the PADD in Jim’s vicinity accusingly. “Can it, kid. You’ve been walkin’ around with hearts in your eyes for a goddamn week now. It’s makin’ me sick. Might have to hypo myself in the neck to get rid of this blasted nausea.”
“Then look away, Doctor, look away - ‘cause these hearts aren’t leaving any time soon.” Jim grabs an apple from their desolate fruit bowl and crunches into it obnoxiously.
Bones’ scowl could have Klingons weeping into their glittering sashes. “This about that Taila person you’re always moanin’ for?”
Jim raises his brows and speaks around a full mouth of juicy apple. “I hardly moan, Bones. And yes, yes it is Taila, if you’ve gotta be nosy.”
Taila, being Spock - Bones didn’t need to know the details. What could Jim even say? ‘By the way, those dreams I’ve been having? Yeah, about a Vulcan I’ve never met -and I’m kinda sorta irreparably in love with him. Cool by you?’
Yeah -no.
This time it’s Bones’ turn to bark a short laugh. “You moan, believe me. It plagues my nightmares; right up there with being flung out an airlock and being stuck in an turbolift with Jocelyn.” He turns away from Jim, and slouches into his seat. He’s already curled around his PADD as Jim is making his way to the door. “Hey - don’t do anything stupid.”
“Whatever you say, Mom!” Jim calls over his shoulder.
The door slides shut before he can make out which colourful oath Bones hollers at his retreating form.
***
He is there. Spock is there. Finally.
Jim’s heart leaps into his throat and sits on his voice box. It doesn’t matter -forming words is hardly something Jim expects to master around the literal man of his dreams.
The cliffs leading toward the beach are treacherous, but Jim shimmies down the side with the ease of a mountain goat. He’s been coming to these cliffs for a week, now. Every sunny day, after his classes -hell, every cloudy day, as well. Jim’s silhouette haunts the beach as the sun sets.
This was all Spock’s fault, of course. Jim has been waiting for him -okay, he’s been stalking him.
Minor detail.
The day after the Kobayashi Maru failure, Jim had sulked -yes, he had indeed sulked for a time- towards the deserted patch of beach, in hopes of clearing his mind. Instead, he had encountered the same sight as this day.
Only this time, he is prepared. Kind of.
Improvisation has always been Jim’s forte, anyway.
Warm, golden sand filters between Jim’s toes, and the air is damp and salty in his nostrils. Jim squints into the heavy sun on the horizon; where his eyes fix upon the distant figure in the raging sea. Surfing.
Jim’s smile is wide and welcoming, and just a bit cocky when he catches Spock whipping his head around; as if sensing the stare from so many metres apart.
He feels me, too, Jim muses with a miniature sigh of pleasure.
It doesn’t take long for Spock to reach the shallows. The board under his arm is short and white with a thick, red stripe down the centre. Spock’s clinging wet suit is pure black with white piping.
Jim’s mouth is suddenly dry as the Vulcan strides from the turbulent water. His hair is slicked back and infinitely dark, and Jim can make out droplets of water clinging to those spiky lashes. Spock looks severe and beautiful and dangerous, and Jim knows what he looks like naked - and that’s all he can think on a broken loop.
“Spock.” Jim just likes to say his name; imagines all the ways to say it. A breathy sigh, an extravagant moan, an insistent demand, a keening plead, a - “Fancy meeting you here. Weird.”
Spock inclines his head, as a bead of ocean drips down the hollow of his pale cheek - Jim wants to lick it. “Indeed. As you say, weird.”
Whatever Jim plans on saying next is locked into an unforgiving chokehold, as Spock spears his board into the glimmering sand, and begins to unzip the front of his wetsuit to the waist. Hauntingly pale skin is like sliver of moonlight down Spock’s centre; and Jim idly wonders if he ever needs to go to space if he has this.
In sharp, clinical movements, Spock efficiently strips his arms and torso out of the suit; allowing the rubbery material to hang down at his lean waist. The Vulcan’s hipbones protrude like shark fins, and once more Jim is reminded of the risk he’s taking with this entire mission.
Jim doesn’t care if he gets bitten. Doesn’t care if he’s swallowed by this unrelenting obsession; ripped to unrecognisable shreds, and spit back out to sea. The moment Jim had relented to his dreams -admitted his heart belonged to a man who did not exist - he was already too far out for any life raft to save him.
“Um -” the noise uttered from Jim’s throat siphons off to a quickly banked groan, as Spock’s aims a heavy-lidded, droll look his way.
Jim wonders if he’s had an allergic reaction to sand, or something, because he feels his cheeks go scarlet. “I didn’t think Vulcans swam -or surfed, for that matter.” Jim stuffs his hands his pockets, and wishes he was skimming them down those long, graceful legs; fingertips tangling in the dark, wiry hairy that clung damply to Spock’s calves.
The half-naked Vulcan flicks a look down, and Jim imagines he’s calculating his speech before he speaks. He’s right.
“As a member of Starfleet, it was necessary to complete my swimming requirements. I found that I...” Spock hesitates, with a sliver of uncertainty.
“Enjoyed it?” Jim supplies, as he leans forward with a cheeky smile. He sees Spock’s tight-lipped displeasure at the use of an emotional word, and that only has Jim laughing.
Spock pitches his voice above the soft chortles. “I found that I had a natural affinity for aquatic activities. Vulcan balance and strength is superior to humans’, as are my surfing skills.”
Jim puts on a sober face, but the corners of his lips twitch. “Oh, I’ll bet they are. Strange, though, isn’t it?” He shrugs off his jacket and chucks it onto a dune.
Jim flops back into the sand, and wishes he’d worn fewer clothes. Legs splayed out before him, Jim props himself up on his elbows and squints up at the haloed version of Spock standing before him. “I mean, Vulcans don’t like water as a physiological rule. There must be something special about you.”
The Vulcan takes a stilted step forward, with his chin canted in curiosity. “It appears you are versed in the ways of my race. That is an unusual quality for a cadet.”
This was beginning to feel like an exam, and Jim was growing tired of tests that he might lose. Of course, he couldn’t simply come out with the fact that he’d been secretly studying Vulcans - ever since he’d been able to identify the pointy-eared man in his dreams.
“It’s Starfleet -aliens talk,” Jim replies shortly. With a coy curve of lips, Jim peers up at the Vulcan with what he hopes is his best doe-eyed look, and pats the sand beside him. “You gotta see the clouds from here.”
That gleans an interesting reaction. Spock’s brows thunk down, weighted heavily in confusion. He blatantly studies Jim, as if he were a lunatic. “I can see the clouds from here, Mr. Kirk.”
Jim shakes his head with a contrived frown. “Oh no, Mr. Spock. They’re special from down here. Why don’t you have a look -for the sake of scientific study, of course?”
Spock looks as if he wants to sigh, but relents. He daintily sits back in the sand, a good two feet away from Jim. With legs bent, and arms draped over his knees, Spock looks to the sky.
For a moment, Jim can only stare at the sharp relief of Spock’s profile. The distinct ears - the way that slick, black hair shines like a raven’s wing in the sunlight - the straight nose and angular cheeks. Jim wants to press his lips to the sharp juncture of jaw to neck. That spot just below his ear. It’ll taste salty from the sea, hot from his skin, and smell like musky incense.
Jim knows so much about this man and yet, nothing at all.
A smooth inflection wedges betweens Jim’s reverie. “I see nothing irregular about these clouds.”
“That’s because you’re not lying down.”
Without warning, Jim shifts on his hip and presses a hand to Spock’s shoulder; urging him back with a light push. Spock’s snaps a look towards Jim, with his pupils swelling black and all-encompassing.
Jim freezes. Their faces are close, with their lips some negligible breathes apart. His eyelashes flutter, and his hand remains flush against Spock’s shoulder - flesh that’s scorching as a sun-burn; skin that Jim has only caressed in the writhing recesses of his mind.
Spock falls back, and they are apart. Jim feels like an empty shell.
Following suit, Jim flings himself onto the sand; his limbs stretched out like a starfish, as he soaks in the sun. Jim points up. “See that cloud?” He angles his head towards Spock, but his eyes look to the sky. “What does it look like to you?”
“A cumulus cloud,” Spock replies, unblinking. “Often a precursor to cumulonimbus clouds, indicative of an incoming storm. It is going to rain.”
Jim sputters a laugh, and shakes his head at the puffy, cheerful clouds drifting above them. “Wow, you’re romantic.”
Disdain drips off the Vulcan’s husky baritone. “It would be extremely illogical to find clouds seductive.”
“Well,” Jim barrels forward, unwilling to mask his grin. “I think that cloud looks like a Klingon Warbird.”
It’s Spock’s turn to loll his head to the side, and stare at Jim with what must be the most expressionless look in existence. “The cloud is a cloud, Jim. It is not an enemy military ship. Are you in proper health?”
Oh, and Jim just wants to hug him, so badly. His muscles whimper and cry from the strain of holding himself back. He releases the tension with a carefree laugh. “Come on, Spock! Where’s your sense of imagination? That cloud looks like a sehlat, doesn’t it?”
Spock spares a glance up. “No. It does not. How do you know what a sehlat is?”
“Saw one at the zoo,” Jim lies quickly; and they both know that’s not true. “Are you saying you can’t imagine shapes in the clouds?”
“Vulcans strive for intellect over imagination, Mr. Kirk. It is the most logical pursuit of one’s life.”
Jim scoffs and rolls on his side; resting his sandy cheek in his palm. “Bullshit. Without imagination and innovation, there would be no inventors, or inventions, or progression through your precious sciences.”
Spock rolls to face Jim with equal determination. “Innovation is based in curiosity and logic, not idle dreams, Mr. Kirk.”
“Jim,” he corrects sharply. “Call me Jim.”
The Vulcan fractionally raises a brow.
Jim mimics the motion with both brows, because hell if he can do it with one. “Are you saying you don’t dream?”
Spock’s gaze ricochets from Jim, to the sand, and back. “I fail to understand how the topic is your concern.”
“Just a friendly question,” Jim replies smoothly, but he feels a tingle of excitement in his fingers and toes. That wasn’t a ‘no’. He snorts a little laugh and reaches out - dusting a bit of sand that clings precariously to one of Spock’s eyebrows. A gesture any lover would do for another; fussy, helpful, affectionate.
But they are not lovers, and Jim’s body -one so accustomed to arching beneath the touch of this Vulcan- refuses to acknowledge this inherent fact.
Jim averts his eyes from the stony face before him, and shifts on to his back once more. He stares blandly at the sky, and suddenly the warmth of the sand beneath his limbs just doesn’t cut it.
With a parched murmur, Jim offers, “I have dreams -almost every night, since I was a kid. They’re always about the same person -a person I don’t know.” His breath hiccups, as does his thudding heart. “Speculation?”
“Dreams are essentially the waste disposal system of the psyche,” Spock replies tightly. “They are arbitrary responses to the brain’s neural processes, while in repose. Dreams carry no relevance to reality. They are not omens, nor are they messages to be heeded by any logical being.”
“You seem to have a lot of opinions on something you don’t claim to experience,” Jim murmurs lazily; folding his arms behind his head. A cool breeze slinks across the beach, and he marvels over the fact that it probably is going to rain.
Spock is silent, and once more Jim is painfully cognisant of the Vulcan’s avoidance. He attempts to quell the elation rising in his throat. “In case you were at all curious, I happen to think dreams are a fraction of our subconscious -more than that, sometimes. I mean, sure you have those random dreams where you’re like, swimming in a bowl of cereal or something, but then -well, once in a while you can experience some really cool shit,” Jim finishes lamely. He braves a glance at Spock, and sees that the man’s eyes are closed, with his face raised to the darkening sky.
Jim’s surprises himself with the sound of his own child-like voice. “You’ve never had a dream come true, Spock?”
“I do not know,” the Vulcan admits softly, and Jim frowns.
It’s then that he notices the prickled flesh of Spock’s arm beside him. “Are you cold?” Jim jerks into a sitting position, already twisting to grab for his jacket. “Shit, I forgot. Super-high body temperature, and all that.” Jim thrusts the coat onto Spock’s lap, once the Vulcan sits up.
Spock’s fingers clamp lightly around the faded fabric; and Jim experiences an unabashedly erotic shiver beneath his skin, at the concept of the Vulcan wearing something that is his.
Jim is speared with a questioning stare as Spock’s tone borders on accusatory. “How do you -”
“Listen, I-I gotta go.” Jim scrambles clumsily to his feet, with sand flying haphazardly into the air. Spock is still sitting in the sand, possibly dumbfounded; though it’s almost impossible to tell. “Find me when you want to return the jacket, okay? I’m sure you’ll figure out where I am.”
Just like I found you.
Jim stumbles away backwards, because -fuck- he really can’t bear to look away. He laughs out loud at his own ridiculousness, sends a wild wave to Spock, and finally turns to run back up the dubious cliff path.
It was a rocky climb - and Jim nearly broke his neck - but damn if it wasn’t worth it.
***
chapter III.
Beta: rainbowstrlght ;special thanks to verizonhorizon for her brilliant brainstorming!
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: PG-13 [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~2,600
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress.
Summary: In reply to a st_xi_kink_meme prompt from lallyloo, of the lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you /I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: Well, the mob has spoken, and I have answered! What was once a one-shot is now going to be a series, and an AU, at that. Of course, the first part could be read as a one-shot, if you like, too! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next instalment.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
chapter I
“You headin’ out again?” Bones drawls, not looking up from his PADD of patient files.
“Who are you, my mother?” Jim asks, but he’s smiling as he shrugs on his motorcycle jacket. His mood has risen exponentially, despite having failed the Kobayashi Maru once again - as Jim’s hack code had royally bombed, and it was a disaster. But some things in life are more important than exams.
“Might as well be, the amount of shit I pull you out of.” This time Bones aims a look at Jim; his stare is scalpel-sharp, as always. “You’re in an awfully chipper mood these days. Thought you’d be busy gripin’ about the unfairness of the Maru.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Bones, please -give me more credit than that. I don’t sulk. I’m not a teenaged girl.”
Bones waves the PADD in Jim’s vicinity accusingly. “Can it, kid. You’ve been walkin’ around with hearts in your eyes for a goddamn week now. It’s makin’ me sick. Might have to hypo myself in the neck to get rid of this blasted nausea.”
“Then look away, Doctor, look away - ‘cause these hearts aren’t leaving any time soon.” Jim grabs an apple from their desolate fruit bowl and crunches into it obnoxiously.
Bones’ scowl could have Klingons weeping into their glittering sashes. “This about that Taila person you’re always moanin’ for?”
Jim raises his brows and speaks around a full mouth of juicy apple. “I hardly moan, Bones. And yes, yes it is Taila, if you’ve gotta be nosy.”
Taila, being Spock - Bones didn’t need to know the details. What could Jim even say? ‘By the way, those dreams I’ve been having? Yeah, about a Vulcan I’ve never met -and I’m kinda sorta irreparably in love with him. Cool by you?’
Yeah -no.
This time it’s Bones’ turn to bark a short laugh. “You moan, believe me. It plagues my nightmares; right up there with being flung out an airlock and being stuck in an turbolift with Jocelyn.” He turns away from Jim, and slouches into his seat. He’s already curled around his PADD as Jim is making his way to the door. “Hey - don’t do anything stupid.”
“Whatever you say, Mom!” Jim calls over his shoulder.
The door slides shut before he can make out which colourful oath Bones hollers at his retreating form.
***
He is there. Spock is there. Finally.
Jim’s heart leaps into his throat and sits on his voice box. It doesn’t matter -forming words is hardly something Jim expects to master around the literal man of his dreams.
The cliffs leading toward the beach are treacherous, but Jim shimmies down the side with the ease of a mountain goat. He’s been coming to these cliffs for a week, now. Every sunny day, after his classes -hell, every cloudy day, as well. Jim’s silhouette haunts the beach as the sun sets.
This was all Spock’s fault, of course. Jim has been waiting for him -okay, he’s been stalking him.
Minor detail.
The day after the Kobayashi Maru failure, Jim had sulked -yes, he had indeed sulked for a time- towards the deserted patch of beach, in hopes of clearing his mind. Instead, he had encountered the same sight as this day.
Only this time, he is prepared. Kind of.
Improvisation has always been Jim’s forte, anyway.
Warm, golden sand filters between Jim’s toes, and the air is damp and salty in his nostrils. Jim squints into the heavy sun on the horizon; where his eyes fix upon the distant figure in the raging sea. Surfing.
Jim’s smile is wide and welcoming, and just a bit cocky when he catches Spock whipping his head around; as if sensing the stare from so many metres apart.
He feels me, too, Jim muses with a miniature sigh of pleasure.
It doesn’t take long for Spock to reach the shallows. The board under his arm is short and white with a thick, red stripe down the centre. Spock’s clinging wet suit is pure black with white piping.
Jim’s mouth is suddenly dry as the Vulcan strides from the turbulent water. His hair is slicked back and infinitely dark, and Jim can make out droplets of water clinging to those spiky lashes. Spock looks severe and beautiful and dangerous, and Jim knows what he looks like naked - and that’s all he can think on a broken loop.
“Spock.” Jim just likes to say his name; imagines all the ways to say it. A breathy sigh, an extravagant moan, an insistent demand, a keening plead, a - “Fancy meeting you here. Weird.”
Spock inclines his head, as a bead of ocean drips down the hollow of his pale cheek - Jim wants to lick it. “Indeed. As you say, weird.”
Whatever Jim plans on saying next is locked into an unforgiving chokehold, as Spock spears his board into the glimmering sand, and begins to unzip the front of his wetsuit to the waist. Hauntingly pale skin is like sliver of moonlight down Spock’s centre; and Jim idly wonders if he ever needs to go to space if he has this.
In sharp, clinical movements, Spock efficiently strips his arms and torso out of the suit; allowing the rubbery material to hang down at his lean waist. The Vulcan’s hipbones protrude like shark fins, and once more Jim is reminded of the risk he’s taking with this entire mission.
Jim doesn’t care if he gets bitten. Doesn’t care if he’s swallowed by this unrelenting obsession; ripped to unrecognisable shreds, and spit back out to sea. The moment Jim had relented to his dreams -admitted his heart belonged to a man who did not exist - he was already too far out for any life raft to save him.
“Um -” the noise uttered from Jim’s throat siphons off to a quickly banked groan, as Spock’s aims a heavy-lidded, droll look his way.
Jim wonders if he’s had an allergic reaction to sand, or something, because he feels his cheeks go scarlet. “I didn’t think Vulcans swam -or surfed, for that matter.” Jim stuffs his hands his pockets, and wishes he was skimming them down those long, graceful legs; fingertips tangling in the dark, wiry hairy that clung damply to Spock’s calves.
The half-naked Vulcan flicks a look down, and Jim imagines he’s calculating his speech before he speaks. He’s right.
“As a member of Starfleet, it was necessary to complete my swimming requirements. I found that I...” Spock hesitates, with a sliver of uncertainty.
“Enjoyed it?” Jim supplies, as he leans forward with a cheeky smile. He sees Spock’s tight-lipped displeasure at the use of an emotional word, and that only has Jim laughing.
Spock pitches his voice above the soft chortles. “I found that I had a natural affinity for aquatic activities. Vulcan balance and strength is superior to humans’, as are my surfing skills.”
Jim puts on a sober face, but the corners of his lips twitch. “Oh, I’ll bet they are. Strange, though, isn’t it?” He shrugs off his jacket and chucks it onto a dune.
Jim flops back into the sand, and wishes he’d worn fewer clothes. Legs splayed out before him, Jim props himself up on his elbows and squints up at the haloed version of Spock standing before him. “I mean, Vulcans don’t like water as a physiological rule. There must be something special about you.”
The Vulcan takes a stilted step forward, with his chin canted in curiosity. “It appears you are versed in the ways of my race. That is an unusual quality for a cadet.”
This was beginning to feel like an exam, and Jim was growing tired of tests that he might lose. Of course, he couldn’t simply come out with the fact that he’d been secretly studying Vulcans - ever since he’d been able to identify the pointy-eared man in his dreams.
“It’s Starfleet -aliens talk,” Jim replies shortly. With a coy curve of lips, Jim peers up at the Vulcan with what he hopes is his best doe-eyed look, and pats the sand beside him. “You gotta see the clouds from here.”
That gleans an interesting reaction. Spock’s brows thunk down, weighted heavily in confusion. He blatantly studies Jim, as if he were a lunatic. “I can see the clouds from here, Mr. Kirk.”
Jim shakes his head with a contrived frown. “Oh no, Mr. Spock. They’re special from down here. Why don’t you have a look -for the sake of scientific study, of course?”
Spock looks as if he wants to sigh, but relents. He daintily sits back in the sand, a good two feet away from Jim. With legs bent, and arms draped over his knees, Spock looks to the sky.
For a moment, Jim can only stare at the sharp relief of Spock’s profile. The distinct ears - the way that slick, black hair shines like a raven’s wing in the sunlight - the straight nose and angular cheeks. Jim wants to press his lips to the sharp juncture of jaw to neck. That spot just below his ear. It’ll taste salty from the sea, hot from his skin, and smell like musky incense.
Jim knows so much about this man and yet, nothing at all.
A smooth inflection wedges betweens Jim’s reverie. “I see nothing irregular about these clouds.”
“That’s because you’re not lying down.”
Without warning, Jim shifts on his hip and presses a hand to Spock’s shoulder; urging him back with a light push. Spock’s snaps a look towards Jim, with his pupils swelling black and all-encompassing.
Jim freezes. Their faces are close, with their lips some negligible breathes apart. His eyelashes flutter, and his hand remains flush against Spock’s shoulder - flesh that’s scorching as a sun-burn; skin that Jim has only caressed in the writhing recesses of his mind.
Spock falls back, and they are apart. Jim feels like an empty shell.
Following suit, Jim flings himself onto the sand; his limbs stretched out like a starfish, as he soaks in the sun. Jim points up. “See that cloud?” He angles his head towards Spock, but his eyes look to the sky. “What does it look like to you?”
“A cumulus cloud,” Spock replies, unblinking. “Often a precursor to cumulonimbus clouds, indicative of an incoming storm. It is going to rain.”
Jim sputters a laugh, and shakes his head at the puffy, cheerful clouds drifting above them. “Wow, you’re romantic.”
Disdain drips off the Vulcan’s husky baritone. “It would be extremely illogical to find clouds seductive.”
“Well,” Jim barrels forward, unwilling to mask his grin. “I think that cloud looks like a Klingon Warbird.”
It’s Spock’s turn to loll his head to the side, and stare at Jim with what must be the most expressionless look in existence. “The cloud is a cloud, Jim. It is not an enemy military ship. Are you in proper health?”
Oh, and Jim just wants to hug him, so badly. His muscles whimper and cry from the strain of holding himself back. He releases the tension with a carefree laugh. “Come on, Spock! Where’s your sense of imagination? That cloud looks like a sehlat, doesn’t it?”
Spock spares a glance up. “No. It does not. How do you know what a sehlat is?”
“Saw one at the zoo,” Jim lies quickly; and they both know that’s not true. “Are you saying you can’t imagine shapes in the clouds?”
“Vulcans strive for intellect over imagination, Mr. Kirk. It is the most logical pursuit of one’s life.”
Jim scoffs and rolls on his side; resting his sandy cheek in his palm. “Bullshit. Without imagination and innovation, there would be no inventors, or inventions, or progression through your precious sciences.”
Spock rolls to face Jim with equal determination. “Innovation is based in curiosity and logic, not idle dreams, Mr. Kirk.”
“Jim,” he corrects sharply. “Call me Jim.”
The Vulcan fractionally raises a brow.
Jim mimics the motion with both brows, because hell if he can do it with one. “Are you saying you don’t dream?”
Spock’s gaze ricochets from Jim, to the sand, and back. “I fail to understand how the topic is your concern.”
“Just a friendly question,” Jim replies smoothly, but he feels a tingle of excitement in his fingers and toes. That wasn’t a ‘no’. He snorts a little laugh and reaches out - dusting a bit of sand that clings precariously to one of Spock’s eyebrows. A gesture any lover would do for another; fussy, helpful, affectionate.
But they are not lovers, and Jim’s body -one so accustomed to arching beneath the touch of this Vulcan- refuses to acknowledge this inherent fact.
Jim averts his eyes from the stony face before him, and shifts on to his back once more. He stares blandly at the sky, and suddenly the warmth of the sand beneath his limbs just doesn’t cut it.
With a parched murmur, Jim offers, “I have dreams -almost every night, since I was a kid. They’re always about the same person -a person I don’t know.” His breath hiccups, as does his thudding heart. “Speculation?”
“Dreams are essentially the waste disposal system of the psyche,” Spock replies tightly. “They are arbitrary responses to the brain’s neural processes, while in repose. Dreams carry no relevance to reality. They are not omens, nor are they messages to be heeded by any logical being.”
“You seem to have a lot of opinions on something you don’t claim to experience,” Jim murmurs lazily; folding his arms behind his head. A cool breeze slinks across the beach, and he marvels over the fact that it probably is going to rain.
Spock is silent, and once more Jim is painfully cognisant of the Vulcan’s avoidance. He attempts to quell the elation rising in his throat. “In case you were at all curious, I happen to think dreams are a fraction of our subconscious -more than that, sometimes. I mean, sure you have those random dreams where you’re like, swimming in a bowl of cereal or something, but then -well, once in a while you can experience some really cool shit,” Jim finishes lamely. He braves a glance at Spock, and sees that the man’s eyes are closed, with his face raised to the darkening sky.
Jim’s surprises himself with the sound of his own child-like voice. “You’ve never had a dream come true, Spock?”
“I do not know,” the Vulcan admits softly, and Jim frowns.
It’s then that he notices the prickled flesh of Spock’s arm beside him. “Are you cold?” Jim jerks into a sitting position, already twisting to grab for his jacket. “Shit, I forgot. Super-high body temperature, and all that.” Jim thrusts the coat onto Spock’s lap, once the Vulcan sits up.
Spock’s fingers clamp lightly around the faded fabric; and Jim experiences an unabashedly erotic shiver beneath his skin, at the concept of the Vulcan wearing something that is his.
Jim is speared with a questioning stare as Spock’s tone borders on accusatory. “How do you -”
“Listen, I-I gotta go.” Jim scrambles clumsily to his feet, with sand flying haphazardly into the air. Spock is still sitting in the sand, possibly dumbfounded; though it’s almost impossible to tell. “Find me when you want to return the jacket, okay? I’m sure you’ll figure out where I am.”
Just like I found you.
Jim stumbles away backwards, because -fuck- he really can’t bear to look away. He laughs out loud at his own ridiculousness, sends a wild wave to Spock, and finally turns to run back up the dubious cliff path.
It was a rocky climb - and Jim nearly broke his neck - but damn if it wasn’t worth it.
***
chapter III.