Chapter Text
As far as processes go, the so-called ‘shrinking’ is really quite simple.
The first step is ingestion, which Kirk and Spock manage without issue. They’re then instructed to remove all clothing and jewelry — “to prevent injury or suffocation,” Iriimi explains, though that doesn’t do much to help with the inherent awkwardness of the action.
It’s not like nudity is a novel concept for either of them, mind you. Kirk has seen Spock in various states of undress more times than he could conceivably count — and vice versa. You don’t get to the rank of Captain (or first officer, for that matter) without having your share of ‘we shall never speak of this again’ moments with colleagues of all ranks. It’s basically a Starfleet rite of passage.
But this isn’t a mission. They’re not doing this for work. Maybe that’s why the skin on the back of Kirk’s neck starts to tingle when he first hears the order.
“Right here…?” he questions, and the Erisian’s eyes widen.
“Oh, my apologies! We have privacy screens if you would prefer. Please choose quickly, though — you do not want to be stuck in your clothing when the shrinking begins!”
So Kirk shakes his head, insisting, “That won’t be necessary,” and strips down right there and then. He pointedly refuses his instinctual urge to sneak a peek at his first officer doing the very same thing in his periphery. It’s just as he’s tugging off his final sock that Kirk begins to feel a tingling throughout his entire body.
“I think it’s—” the captain starts, only to be interrupted by Spock’s surprised yelp.
This time Jim can’t help but take a look — nudity be damned — and thank God he does.
If he hadn’t been watching when Spock shrunk to a mere six inches tall, he might’ve gone and trampled the poor guy by mistake. Even now, knowing what he knows, he has to squint to get a semi-clear view of him. “You all right, Mr. Spock?” he asks, voice wavering when another tingling sensation wracks his unclothed body.
From below, a tiny, high-pitched voice simply says, “Fascinating.”
Kirk has to bite his tongue to refrain from laughing out loud at the absurdity of it all. “That’s one way to put it, Mr. Spock,” he says, then promptly loses track of his own limbs.
The actual shrinking happens in what feels like an instant. One moment Kirk is watching as Iriimi kneels before his tiny (not to mention very naked) first officer, blue robe in hand. The next he’s lying on his back, looking up at that same smiling alien — now absolutely giant — and wondering if he’s about to be ground into a pulp with one pinch of those four-jointed fingers.
Kirk takes the yellow robe when Iriimi offers it to him, murmuring his thanks whilst simultaneously tugging the thing over his head. He goes on to thank his lucky stars as well — grateful that the fabric doesn’t chafe his sensitive skin (though he certainly wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a pair of similarly-tiny undergarments to round out the whole look). Even the little shoes fit quite nicely once he steps into them.
“Spock?” the Captain calls out, marveling at how differently his voice carries in this once-tiny shack now that it feels more like a sprawling cathedral. “Woah...”
“I will open the door now,” Iriimi announces, and it’s like her voice shakes the whole damn building. Her footsteps are even worse. Finally the shed’s back door swings open, bringing with it a not-insignificant draft, and Kirk shivers.
Spock’s voice is closer than the human expects when he says, “Captain.”
Kirk startles. When he turns left, Spock is right there — looking far more gorgeous than he has any right to in what is essentially a glorified sack. “I knew the blue would suit you,” Jim tells his favorite Vulcan, and Spock raises a single brow.
“You should be quite accustomed to the sight of myself in this particular hue.”
“Actually,” Kirk immediately counters, “Science blues aren’t so saturated — and they’re at least a shade or two lighter, too. So I’m relatively certain I’ve never seen you in this particular shade of blue.”
“I hadn’t realized you paid such close attention,” is Spock’s easy retort.
Kirk feels his whole face growing hot with the responding flush.
From the instant he steps outside of Iriimi’s shed, Kirk is bombarded by none other than nature herself in full force. Another surprise gust of wind sends him barreling into his first officer — still unused to being so damn tiny and weightless, like this — and he just barely manages to bite back a litany of curses whilst doing his best to remain upright.
Already the Captain starts to wonder (privately, of course) if coming here was a giant mistake. Should he have encouraged Spock to stick with him and Bones in the hotel instead?
Then Spock asks, “Where shall we begin?,” finding his captain’s gaze, and Kirk’s ire fades in an instant. It seems he just can’t say no to those big, brown eyes.
“That depends. Is there any pla-kur ritsuri around here…?”
“Not to my knowledge, no. There are, however, a plethora of dandelions — and perhaps even some lilies of the valley, if Iriimi understood my query correctly.”
Kirk can’t help how he gasps out loud in response to that. “Mr. Spock,” he squeaks, teetering between the urge to kiss and tackle his first officer to the ground in equal measure, “You’re spoiling me!”
To which Spock shakes his head. “On the contrary, Jim. Your attendance in and of itself is an indulgence that I do not take lightly. If anyone here is ‘spoiled,’ let it be known that I am he.”
“If you say so,” Kirk counters with a snort. He holds his first officer’s gaze for several long seconds, feeling something warm and fuzzy festering deep within himself. He has to try twice before he can shake the feeling enough to add, “Race you to the tulips?”
“It will be an unfair race, Capt—”
Kirk’s already broken into a sprint by the time his first officer gets with the program. It doesn’t quite help him get the win, mind you, but it certainly brings him closer to the tulip-shaped finish line before Spock manages to surpass him.
“I almost had you there,” he tells the Vulcan between heaving breaths.
To which Spock simply meets his captain’s gaze, eyes warm and knowing, and says nothing at all.
❀ ✿ ❀
“What do you think?”
Kirk cocked his head to the side, assessing the painting from a slightly different angle before decidedly stating, “It’s gorgeous, Spock.”
“What about it do you enjoy most?”
This time the captain couldn’t help but hum his discontent out loud. “Just one thing…?” he questioned, still staring at the abstract mix of color and value with a not-insignificant sense of awe in his tone and on his face. “It’s— I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
It’s a huge painting. Almost double Jim’s height (and with a good amount of width on him, too). Kirk knew before he even read the plaque that it would be a pre-reform piece. The thing practically radiates sensuality, after all, and it just about knocked him on his ass when it first crossed his line of vision upon entering the room.
It was so unlike anything else in the entire Vulcan museum. One of a damn kind.
Speaking of which…
Spock cleared his throat, stepping forward so that he and his captain were shoulder-to-shoulder. “The artist’s use of color is exquisite,” he murmured, pointing to the brightest section of the canvas with one gentle, lithe finger. “It is like nothing I’ve encountered.”
“It’s so… expressive,” Kirk managed eventually, still unable to tear his eyes away from the thing. “How do you pronounce the title?”
“s’Keimen'es.”
“And what does that mean, exactly — y’know, for anyone who might be without a universal translator at this particular moment in time?”
“I suppose ‘From Ferocity’ would be the most accurate translation,” Spock began, his eyes sparkling ever-so-slightly as he spoke. “There is significant debate regarding its eroticism — or lack thereof, depending on the opinion of the viewer. There are some who interpret the painting as wholly combative."
Kirk snorted. “There are? But, I mean… look at the thing. It’s practically oozing with desire. Where’s the violence?”
There was a short pause then. Kirk considered looking away from the piece to gauge his first officer’s reaction. Something, whether it be fear or another nameless beast, held him back. Kept him locked in place until the Vulcan said, “It was once considered a ‘litmus test’ of sorts. The viewer’s interpretation was thought to give insight into that individual’s innermost desires and intentions.”
At which point Kirk’s whole face started to feel hot. “That sounds a bit illogical, doesn’t it?” he managed to squeak out, chancing a peek at his first officer — only to find Spock’s intense gaze boring into his own. Almost like the Vulcan was waiting for this moment. Like he’d been expecting this particular reaction.
“As I said, it is a subject of much debate. Logical or not, however, I am inclined to agree with the implication that you in particular are a ‘lover and not a fighter’ — as my mother might put it. Perhaps, then, the test is accurate.”
“You know you’re allowed to use Earth idioms without a caveat, right? Sometimes humans put it into words perfectly. This just so happens to be one of those times. Embrace it, Mr. Spock. Life’s too short to hide behind your own mother. Especially in your case, where you’d have to crouch to make that work.”
Several seconds passed, and then: “Perhaps I should rethink my previous comment. You seem quite intent upon inciting an altercation at this time.”
But his lips quirked upwards ever-so-slightly whilst he said it, and every word might as well have been dripping with honey for how sweet it made the captain feel inside. “Next painting?” Kirk suggested after a beat, unable to tear his gaze away from the Vulcan’s just yet.
Spock nodded but didn’t move. “Next painting,” he agreed, but the two of them stayed like that until the sound of a fellow patron clearing his throat sent them scurrying away with cheeks flushed.
❀ ✿ ❀
“This feels like a dream,” Kirk whispers, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before them.
“It is certainly uncanny,” Spock hums in agreement, sounding almost amused.
The human’s smile grows. “‘Uncanny,’ Mr. Spock? Try ‘surreal.’ I’ve never seen anything like it! We’ve dealt with our share of megafauna, sure, but— I mean, look at this! Did you ever think you’d see lilies from this angle?”
“I suppose I didn’t.”
When Kirk finally tears his eyes away from the flowers, once again meeting his first officer’s gaze, his assumption of amusement is all but confirmed. “Are you making fun of me?” he questions through a chuckle, but the Vulcan just shakes his head.
“Vulcans do not ‘make fun,’ Jim. I am simply enjoying your company.”
And what’s Kirk supposed to do with that? Not melt into a puddle on the ground?
The majority of the garden’s plant selection comes from Eris itself. Spock’s pamphlets said as much, Kirk’s pretty sure — though he admittedly skimmed the things. He’s always preferred to learn via experience, after all, and he didn’t want to spoil every surprise before they even arrived.
(It helps, of course, to have a co-traveler who is so tightly wound; Jim could’ve shown up without any knowledge at all, and he still would’ve fared just fine under Spock’s meticulous guidance. He’s damn sure of that.)
As they walk between flower stalks, Spock goes on explaining, “It is estimated that nearly thirty percent of all plants in this garden are non-native. Of that thirty percent, more than half hail from Earth.”
“Half, really?”
“Indeed. And not one of the remaining non-native species originates from Vulcan.”
“So what you’re saying is, the Erisians need to step up their game.”
“I am saying nothing of the sort,” Spock counters, though his tone remains light. He opens his mouth again — no doubt to list more fascinating facts for his genuinely interested captain — but before he can get a word in, Kirk gasps at something over his shoulder.
“Is that flower glowing…?”
Before he can think better of it, the captain is grabbing Spock by the wrist. He doesn’t miss the Vulcan’s quiet gasp of surprise, though he elects to ignore it in favor of dragging them both in the direction of quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Only once they’re standing in front of the plant in question, both of their necks craned up to get a better look at the thing, does it occur to the captain that Vulcans kiss with their hands.
Where do wrists fit into that equation, exactly? Kirk wonders, feeling suddenly uncertain as to whether or not he’s just kissed his first officer without consent. Is it a faux-pas to keep holding on like this? Or maybe — God help him — would letting go make things even worse, somehow…?
The Captain is still contemplating this when Spock says, “I believe this is the Erisian Moonflower. It is the national plant of the continent upon which we stand.”
Kirk whistles as he takes in the sight of large white-yellow petals billowing in the wind. “I can see why,” he breathes, still staring up at the thing. Momentarily mesmerized.
“I’m told the effect is even more remarkable after nightfall.”
To which the captain lets out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s too bad we’ll be big again by then,” he muses, stealing another glance at the man still connected to him by a firm grip on the wrist. “Or you will, at least. I’ll be just as tiny as I am now, hitching a ride in your pocket for the rest of eternity…”
“There is still no evidence to support that particular hypothesis, Captain.”
“Sounds like something a guy on the inside might say,” Kirk counters easily. “How do I know this isn’t all an elaborate ploy to get me out of the way so you can make a move for the chair?”
A pause, and then: “You are well aware that I have been offered my own captaincy on more than one occasion. It is by choice that I remain by your side on the Enterprise, Jim.”
Jim. Not Captain. Even though they’re explicitly talking about work.
Kirk’s skin tingles where they’re still connected.
“Shall we look for the lily of the valley?” Spock suggests after a few long seconds, and Jim manages to nod. Even after he lets go of Spock’s wrist, their bodies remain close enough that the backs of their hands keep on brushing together while they walk.
It may very well be the greatest shore leave Jim Kirk has ever experienced.
They’ve just stopped to assess some lilacs when Jim inhales a familiar scent. “Huh,” he murmurs. Spock stops mid-step to assess the sandy-haired human with a raised brow.
“Is something amiss, Jim?” he wonders.
“I didn’t realize it was supposed to rain,” Kirk responds, earning a soft hum of confusion from his Vulcan companion. “What’s that sound for…?”
“My tricorder indicated nothing of the sort.”
And the captain can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Is that what you were doing on that thing all day? Monitoring the weather?”
Spock balks for several moments before getting a hold of himself enough to tightly insist, “I wanted to ensure our excursion would go as planned.”
Kirk blinks. He considers asking for clarification on that last part — because, truly, what ‘planning’ did they do before coming here? — but instead he says, “Well, I’m telling you. It’ll start raining within the next fifteen minutes. I can smell it.”
“You can smell it,” Spock echoes, voice flat. He sounds unconvinced.
“Yes, Mr. Spock. You can either believe me or not. It won’t change the fact that we’re about to get rained on.”
There’s another pause, several seconds too long, before Spock lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “In that case, we should make haste with what time we have left. I believe your favorite flower is just this way…”
It takes longer than ‘just this way’ might suggest, but Kirk and Spock do manage to reach the correct section of the garden before the rainfall starts. They’re standing in front of a gorgeous lily of the valley, close enough to one another that their fingers could easily entwine.
“Is it how you hoped it would feel?” Spock wonders softly, and Kirk hums.
“Better, I think.”
They’re situated just below one of the plant’s vast, arched stems. The white, bell-shaped flowers that dangle from it are close enough for either man to touch. A whimsical part of Kirk wonders if they might ring like a real bell if he were to tap against one with his index finger.
It’s just as Kirk is opening his mouth to voice this nonsensical thought that the first raindrop falls. It’s larger than he’s used to (relatively, of course — considering his current tiny size) and when it hits the ground, it makes a surprisingly loud plop sound. Kirk can’t help but take the next moment as an opportunity to look squarely at his first officer, insisting, “I told you so,” through a boyish grin.
Because he did. Tell Spock so, that is.
“You possess a most uncanny ability indeed,” Spock concedes, startling just slightly when another raindrop hits the ground right in front of them. Water — now paired with the tiniest bit of mud from where it mixes with the dirt on the ground— splashes against their exposed ankles.
Kirk’s actively ignoring the uncomfortable wetness, still riding the high of being right in an argument against Spock, of all people, when a third raindrop decides to land directly on top of his head. It feels almost like a bucket of water being poured over him — soaking Jim past his shoulders in an instant — and the force is nearly enough to knock the human captain on his ass. He can’t help but gasp dramatically whilst wiping the rain from his eyes in the moments that follow.
“We can’t stay out here in the open,” Kirk insists between blinks. A blurry Spock frowns.
“We should return to the building,” the Vulcan suggests, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of himself. More raindrops begin to fall, quickly gaining momentum, and Kirk’s hit again (this time on his left shoulder rather than the top of his head). “It is unsafe to remain—”
“There’s no way we’ll make it!” the captain interrupts, gesturing all around them. He has to raise his voice to be heard, leaning in so close to his Vulcan that he swears he can feel the tips of their noses brush together. Water is trickling down Kirk’s entire person now, absolutely soaking through the golden-yellow fabric of his robe. It even starts to enter his mouth when he shouts, “Quick — under there!”
Spock’s gaze follows the line of Kirk’s arm. It takes no time at all for the Vulcan to decipher his captain’s meaning, dutifully grabbing Jim by the wrist and tugging him closer to the flower they’d been admiring before the rainfall began. Together they take shelter under one of the plant’s large, green leaves — shuddering and shivering as they huddle in close.
So much for the greatest shore leave ever, Kirk thinks, though it’s hard to complain too much when he’s more-or-less cuddling with the object of his affections.
“Perhaps it will subside soon,” Spock suggests after a few silent moments. He doesn’t sound particularly confident.
Five minutes pass. Then, ten more.
The rain doesn’t let up in the slightest. If anything, it falls harder.
They hear Iriimi’s voice calling out in the distance at one point — ‘For your safety, please remain where you are until the weather is clear, Misters!’ — and Kirk scoffs. “Like we could go anywhere if we wanted to,” he mutters. It feels a bit like shouting into the void.
To which Spock sighs.
“What?” Kirk questions, pulling back just slightly to get a better look at the Vulcan — at which point he realizes the poor bastard is shivering. “Oh, Spock. You must be freezing!”
The Vulcan shakes his head. Kirk, in response, scoffs.
“If I’m close to freezing, I can only imagine what it might be like for you.”
“The temperature is suboptimal, I will admit — though still well within the parameters that will allow my body to acclimate in the short-term. Whilst your concern is very much appreciated, Jim, I must insist that you do not worry yourself unduly. I am in no immediate danger.”
To which the human questions, “Yeah? Are you perchance in any unimmediate danger, then?”
“‘Unimmediate’ is not a word,” Spock replies, which isn’t an answer.
Still, Kirk cracks a little smile. “I’d kill you if you died on me. You know that, right?”
It’s a testament to their long-standing friendship that Spock doesn’t bother commenting upon the inherent illogicality of his captain’s empty threat. “I am well aware of this, Jim,” he insists instead, but his voice sounds… far away. Distant.
“Hey now. What’s got you all bent out of shape? If it’s not the temperature — which, fine, I’ll take your damn word for it — then what the hell is it? And don’t say it’s nothing, ‘cause I can tell.”
The expression on Spock’s face twists into something like fright. Kirk feels his own stomach tighten with anticipation.
“Spock. You’re scaring me.”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the Vulcan lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. “Jim,” he breathes, voice just barely above a whisper. The human’s responding shiver has nothing to do with the fact that they’re both soaking wet.
“Why’d you really bring me out here, Spock? What ‘plan’ were you and your tricorder so hellbent on making run smoothly before mother nature had her way?”
The only sound in the silence that follows is their slightly out-of-sync breathing. Kirk almost thinks he’s scared the Vulcan into speechlessness. Then Spock says “Jim” yet again, louder this time, and he sounds… desperate, almost. Maybe even afraid.
Kirk falters. He’s taken aback by the sheer ferocity in the Vulcan’s tone. Before he can think better of it he’s reaching out — cupping that gorgeous face with one palm. “Whatever it is, Spock, we— we can work through it. Is it the pon farr again? Should we be getting you on a shuttle to Vulcan…?”
“No.”
Spock’s teeth chatter, just slightly, beneath Jim's touch. “You’re cold,” he tells the Vulcan plainly, like they didn’t just have this conversation.
Spock nods. “As are you,” he murmurs, brown eyes trailing down to stare at the human’s trembling lips for just a moment.
Kirk’s breath catches. He wonders if this is all an incredibly elaborate dream. “Think you might like to change that?” he tries, feeling strangely out of his element for someone so well-versed in the art of seduction.
Rather than respond verbally, Spock cranes his neck forward ever-so-slightly — connecting their mouths in the softest, most delicate human kiss — and then pulls back just far enough to ask, “Do you feel warmer now?”
“Hmm. Y’know, I’m really not sure. Maybe we ought to try that again…”
Kirk keeps the one hand resting gently on Spock’s cheek. The other wraps itself around the Vulcan’s waist, tugging their bodies close together. Their lips meet for the second time and it’s like fireworks — like electricity running through Jim’s entire being. Spock’s mouth is so warm, his lips so soft…
It’s as easy as breathing, losing themselves in one another.
In a strange twist of fate, the rain lets up not too long after the kissing begins. It takes a moment for them to notice — preoccupied as each man is with getting to know the taste of the other — but eventually, they do.
Eventually, Spock says, “Jim,” and Kirk lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“You really want to go back to staring at flowers, Mr. Spock? When we could be doing this instead…?”
Another searing kiss distracts the Vulcan for approximately ten seconds. Kirk smiles into the gesture, once again enjoying the taste and feel of Spock, and then—
“We have decades left to do this, Jim,” Spock insists, voice soft. He reaches for one of Jim’s hands, maneuvering their fingers into a Vulcan kiss, then adds, “But we can only view the world from this vantage point for the next four point one-five hours. I am simply suggesting that we be economical with our time.”
“Decades, you say?” the human counters, feigning surprise. “Sounds like someone’s being a bit presumptuous…”
Which is when a familiar warmth echoes within Jim’s own mind, nearly startling him out of his tiny, borrowed boots in the process. Need I remind you that I am a touch telepath, James? Spock’s disembodied voice questions — though his lips remain frustratingly shut all the while. I feel your devotion just as strongly as I would my own.
“Fine,” the captain concedes, though he can’t keep the smile from creeping its way across his face — even once he stands and feels the dried mud on his legs beginning to crack and crumble. “C’mon then, Mr. Spock. Let’s go get our credits’ worth…”
The shrinking ends the same as it began — right down to Spock feeling the effects first. There’s a good ten minutes where Jim starts to wonder if he really isn’t going to change back to his normal size, after all. Wonders if he jinxed himself by insisting he’d be stuck this way forever on more than one occasion.
He even starts to survey his options on Spock’s person, in terms of pockets.
Eventually, though, the tingling sensation returns — and Kirk’s regular-sized body along with it.
Soon enough, both men are standing clothed and comfortable inside Iriimi’s shed. “I gotta comm Bones,” Kirk announces, afraid he might forget his promise to the doctor if he puts it off a second longer. “I’ll be right back...”
McCoy picks up almost immediately. “You two made it out in one piece, then?”
“Just barely,” Kirk admits, remembering how the rainwater had gone up past their ankles at one point. He makes sure he’s propped open the back door before he steps further away from the shed, adding, “I’m not sure the meteorologists on this planet are cut out for the job.”
At which point McCoy barks out a laugh (because he’s a sadist, you see). His voice is still wavering with amusement when he says, “I take it you guys got rained on, too. How’s that work, exactly, when you’re only six inches tall?”
Kirk feels his cheeks heating up — reminded, suddenly, of how he and Spock spent the duration of that downpour — and he ends up sputtering around his words. “We, uh— we got a bit soaked, I’ll admit. But we managed to find shelter not too long after the rain started, which… well, y’know. That’s always good.”
McCoy’s responding hum is far too knowing for Kirk’s liking. “Is it now?” he muses, and Jim’s stomach churns. Several seconds pass before the doctor adds, “I take it he finally went for it, then.”
“‘Went for it’?” Kirk questions in turn. The doctor scoffs exaggeratedly.
“This little ‘who, me?’ act might work just fine on pointy ears, my friend, but I’ll have you know it’s wasted on these here round ones. So how ‘bout you just tell me, Jimmy: did the poor bastard finally make a move? Or am I fated to endure another eternity of the two of you hovering around one another like a couple of teenagers?”
The captain nearly chokes on his saliva trying to make sense of the many implications behind his best friend’s decidedly un-minced words.
A few more beats pass, and then: “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” An audible click tells Kirk his friend has ended the call.
After steadying his breath for a few eternity-sized moments, Jim shoves the communicator in his pocket. Then he looks up at a now-cloudless Erisian sky, eyes squinting to accommodate for its brightness, and laughs.
Kirk heads back towards the shed with both hands in his pockets. It’s just as he's about to make his presence known via a well-timed clearing of the throat that he happens to catch the tail end of a very interesting conversation.
“...simply wouldn’t be right,” Iriimi insists. Her voice is tight and firm.
(What wouldn’t be right? Kirk wonders, brow furrowed.)
“I implore you to consider your business before rejecting my offer,” Spock counters in a tone that is somehow equally as patient as it is tense. “I reserved this facility in its entirety so that the Captain and I could enjoy our privacy for the duration of our visit. It is only logical that I present you with increased payment, therefore, to ‘make up’ for the potential lost revenue if others were to request entry.”
“But no others did come!” Iriimi argues, sounding almost exasperated now.
Kirk takes that as his cue to reenter the shed. His eyes easily find Spock, huddled slightly towards the more angular Iriimi, and his chest swells at the sight of them. Kirk doesn’t miss how the Vulcan’s eyes flash with genuine fear, just for a second, when their eyes meet. He doesn’t bother hiding his own devilish smile as his mind digests what he's overheard and connects it to his conversation with the doctor.
I’ve got you now, Mr. Spock, he thinks — already envisioning the drive they’re about to embark upon. Already formulating about a thousand different questions in his head. He can hardly keep it to himself as they mutter their goodbye’s, repeating the Erisian wave to the best of their collective ability.
Once they part ways with Iriimi, Kirk lets his first officer breathe for approximately seven seconds. Then he whirls on Spock, lacing their fingers together and pulling the Vulcan in close. “You rented out the whole place for us…?” he purrs, feeling weightless and filled to the brim all at once.
“It seemed the most logical solution at the time.”
“Wanted me all to yourself, did you?” the captain teases.
Spock’s responding expression is astonishingly open and honest, and his tone even more so. “Indeed I did.”
“Mhm. I see that now. And would a certain mutual friend of ours have been aware of that particular desire when he declined to join us on this little expedition?”
Rather than respond verbally, Spock pulls the captain in close. It’s another ten-or-so minutes of fervent kissing in the parking lot before they return to the aircar, breathless and giddy, and begin their journey back into reality.