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Spock has a special way of showing amusement outside of eyebrow lifts and hidden smiles, though his smiles are still Jim’s favourite—the way the corner of his lips quiver for a moment before they’re ruled back to a neutral expression is endlessly endearing to Jim in ways he could never explain.
Spock has a habit of stretching his fingers out when he’s delighted. As far as Jim knows it has nothing to do with Vulcans’ whole deal with hands, but that’s the extent of Spock’s acknowledgement of his quirk, which he consistently ignores Jim over out of the pettiness he also refuses to recognise.
Jim’s first experience with it is long after they get together, when, in bed, he tells a joke that Spock’s face insists is not funny, but his fingers stretch out for a second on Jim’s chest. Jim thinks nothing of it and assumes it as a gesture more or less meaning, “Please shut up. I love you, but you make bad choices.” Jim, of course, later figures out that the gesture for that is usually a prolonged shutting of his eyes.
The second time it happens is when, on a diplomatic mission with a particularly entitled Starfleet advisor, Jim gets visibly pissed and Spock has to physically pull him away from the conversation. Jim, full of spite and his ever strong dislike for selfishness, tells the advisor in a kinder, more tactful way to, “Go fuck yourself.” Spock’s hand around Jim’s arm extends out and then repositions itself around Jim, dragging him out of the conference room.
It happens more and more after that, so much that Jim notices it even when Spock’s fingers are not on him. When Chekov makes exaggerated jokes about the greatness of Russia with so much feigned innocence that he gets mistaken as genuine, Spock, with his hands clasped behind his back, stretches his fingers outward, though his face remains flat.
Jim finally asks him about it one day. They’re in Spock’s room, Jim on his bed and Spock working on his table.
“Why do you do that?” Jim asks, “That thing with your hands. What’s it mean?”
Spock turns to him with a questioning look. “There are many things I do with my hands, Jim, as you know.”
Jim rolls his eyes, smiling. “Very funny, Mister Spock. You know, that— you stretch your hands when something’s funny.”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Spock insists. He turns back to his work, though, proving that he knows exactly what it is.
“You lie a lot for a Vulcan,” Jim says.
Spock is silent for a few seconds before he stands up, joining Jim on the bed. He looks at Jim, placing a hand on his chest. “I do not lie. I exaggerate.”
Jim nods, disbelieving. “Sure, babe. Okay.”
Spock’s fingers stretch out on the fabric of Jim’s uniform, dragging it back with the pads of his fingers when he proceeds to curl his hand into a fist.
Jim looks down and puts his hand on Spock’s, willing it to unravel and holding his fingers in his hand. He looks up at Spock.
Spock says nothing, but his face is flushed. Jim still doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed every time he inadvertently shows affection for Jim, but that he does so is endearing.
Jim drops the topic and instead places himself on top of Spock, almost like a starfish crushing him. He nuzzles into Spock’s neck, and Spock’s fingers, repositioned on his back, extend out in happiness.
awe, n.: There are things about you that are endlessly fascinating; small, mundane things that from my love are treated with wonderment.