Work Text:
Trektober2020: Only One Bed
Jim was an idiot.
Never before had he done something so stupid in all his godamned life. The current predicament in which he found himself, he thought, really took the cake.
And it was all because of his insatiable crush on his First Officer... and the fact that his very lovely Yeoman, Lacey Tuck, had transferred to another department on the ship, which was a good move for her career, but now Jim was left with all number of tasks he had no idea how to tackle. He had no clue that looking after him was such a chore and consisted of so much paperwork .
Tuck had very graciously offered to help him fill out his registration to the Interplanetary Security Conference, but he had declined - how hard could it be? You just filled out a form and sent it off to the event organizers. The most difficult task was remembering to attach a copy of his current allergy screening after he ticked off, ‘yes’ under ‘special dietary requirements’.
Turns out, it was more complicated than he had anticipated - several forms and a whole process more complicated.
The worst of which was, surprisingly, deciding on accommodations. The task seemed benign enough; but, Jim had been lulled into a false sense of independence. Partially because one of the questions was regarding how many rooms would be necessary.
That was easy enough - it was just he and Spock attending. They’d shared rooms before, so they really only needed the one. At first, it had been to keep Jim well behaved when attending these functions (he was less likely to find nighttime company with the wrong diplomat when he had a roommate) but now, the spirit of being cost-effective was an easy argument to make to himself.
Spock never seemed to mind; in fact he had been prepared for a single, shared room the moment they stepped foot in the hotel. He’d followed Jim straight away down the hall, stopping outside the door with an expectant expression on his face as Jim fumbled with his PADD for the door code.
His fingers felt like sausages - useless. He was glad the hotel had done away with keys; he was certain he would have dropped them several times by now. Nervous energy crawled up and down his skin like ants on a hill. And, really, the nerves were unnecessary; yet every time he chanted this to himself in his head, his stomach would swoop and his fingers would fumble on his PADD.
Because he had arranged their accommodations and the moment Jim pulled himself together and unlocked the door to their shared room, the evidence of the final question on the form he’d filled out himself would make itself painfully known.
The door swung inwards.
"Captain," Spock's voice was all slow-curling smoke and top-shelf brandy.
One bed or two?
"Yes, Mr. Spock?"
"There is only one bed."
"There is only one bed," Jim repeated, injecting as much positive certainty into the sentence as he could. He chanced a glance at his First Officer. He was looking at Jim in that way he had started to recently: a little too dark and like he was a predator and Jim was most definitely the prey.
What had he done?
Spock continued to stare at him and Jim was unable to do anything else, caught in the snare of his gaze. His eyes looked like molten syrup caught under the shadows of his lashes. His mouth was doing that complicated thing that happened when emotions were being suppressed - only, Jim could not decipher if it was a smile or something else that was being pushed back and out of existence. Then, Spock broke the spell and swept into the room like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It most certainly was not. Jim's heart was rabbiting against his ribs and his palms had begun to sweat.
“Do you have a preference on the side?” Spock was asking, standing at the foot of the bed, turning to look at Jim over his shoulder. “To sleep on.” Spock prompted when Jim’s mouth refused to connect the answer in his head to his voice box.
“No preference,” he choked out.
Actually, he preferred whichever side was closest to the bathroom, but his brain was screaming that he would be happy so long as Spock was on top of him, and he was a little busy wrestling that before it made it all the way to his mouth.
The chronometer on the wall happily ticked up a minute, bringing him closer to when he was going to suffer the consequences of his actions. Namely, lay down next to Spock and attempt to rest like having his warm, sleep-pliant body next to him, only a few inches away, was totally fine.
(It wasn’t fine, and Jim was an idiot).