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The waves lapped gently at the sand which lay beneath the stone wall they sat on. Jim glanced at Spock beside him before gazing back at the sun setting over the water. It was a peculiar grief that he had felt when the Enterprise had been retired; something between sweet nostalgia for the time he had spent on the ship and the people he had shared it with, and stabbing pain at losing it and knowing he would never get it back. Well, he thought, it was mostly the latter. He and Spock had decided to come here almost without words. The idea of being separate from one another was inconceivable to them both, and when Spock had suggested this planet Jim had simply agreed.
It felt odd to have so much time all of a sudden; no longer hurrying about giving commands or scanning space or assembling away teams. All the indescribable feelings they had for each other were not confined to stolen glances from the captain’s chair, beaming smiles at entirely unemotional sensor readouts and brief conversations heard by the entire bridge crew. Somehow the rigid confines had made it easier to bear, and when the emotions expanded to fill the space of every second they had together now they became almost unendurable. Jim shifted slightly, uncomfortable at the thought of it. Spock noticed immediately, of course, and looked up at him with concern.
“Jim, are you alright?” Spock asked. Jim smiled slightly.
“Yes, Spock. I-” he hesitated, when he could find no words which could possibly describe what he wanted to say. Abruptly, Spock raised his hand and placed his fingers gently on Jim’s face. Jim blinked in surprise, but Spock had already closed his eyes. Jim relaxed into the feeling of Spock’s fingers touching him and allowed the Vulcan to meld with him. They had done this many times before, and the connection to the other’s mind was as natural as breathing. Jim could feel the reaching of Spock’s mind into his consciousness, transcending words and seeing only emotion. It was a sort of pressing, probing sensation, one that was only tolerable because it was Spock doing it.
The memories of their time together on the Enterprise materialised, gently swirling around them as though floating in water. Even though they were very used to melding, they had an unspoken agreement not to examine too closely all that they felt for each other. It was easier that way, never to acknowledge that which was all-consuming and would irrevocably change their relationship should it come to light. But Jim was tired of it; they had spent far too long hiding and he knew the time had come to surrender. He took a shaky breath and concentrated on dissolving the block he had so carefully constructed over his feelings.
Suddenly it all broke apart. Years of repression fell away, and Jim sank into the pressure of Spock’s hand. The aching longing they both felt appeared in sharp focus, after so long hidden and desperately buried. It was euphoric, like blinding sunshine on something too long kept in the dark. Jim wanted to tell Spock that he loved him, but it was so obvious to both of them that the words were unnecessary. The ecstasy of it was only upstaged when Spock leant over and pressed his lips to Jim’s. Bright light flooded the link as they touched, Jim kissing him hard and fast. Spock kissed him back, every ounce of his being rejoicing at the contact. They stayed that way for what felt like forever, stopping only to breathe.
Slowly Spock let his fingers fall away from Jim’s face, placing them instead on Jim’s hand. They pulled apart, eyes still closed. Amazingly, when Jim looked up Spock was smiling at him. Jim thought that if that sight was the only thing left for him he would be the luckiest man in the universe.