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Spock had never taken public issue with an alien formality before. But then again, Spock was always surprising Jim with his complexities.
Spock had been perfectly neutral this entire visit to Rannath. He had used the customary greeting, he had drunk their welcoming wine, and he had even used the visitor-designated hand-oils. Now, Spock was drawing the line at eating blue leaves.
Which President Gar was suspiciously unsurprised about, Jim found. The president was batting back cool words as quickly as Spock could hurdle them.
“We created this dish as a result of our acquiring this plant from your native planet; this is our attempt at honoring our history of trade.”
“You must be aware of the adverse effects on Vulcans, then.” Spock insisted coolly, still standing by his seat, despite the rest of the dinner guests sitting comfortably at the table already.
“We consider the experience a pleasurable affair, not a damaging or humiliating one,” Gar explained through the universal translator. Jim tried to look over his shoulder to avoid looking directly at the blue, sludgy humanoid. “Surely you understand our intentions to share our culture with you.”
Jim bit the inside of his cheek. What was Spock doing? If this went sour, the whole mission could be at stake. Jim took a deep breath and stepped towards Spock, sharing glances with both parties. “Is there a problem?” He asked, aiming to sound authoritative, but not so much that he sounded angry.
“Captain, it would be unwise to allow my consumption of this… substance.” Spock’s nostrils flared.
“It is our tradition,” Gar insisted once more. “We honor you with it.”
Jim grabbed at the juncture of Spock’s arm and dragged him a few steps back. He whispered in a hushed tone, though admittedly it sounded more like hissing. “Spock, what are you doing?”
“I cannot eat this.” Spock stated in a low tone.
Jim loosened his grip. “Is it going to hurt you? Is it anything that will put you in danger? Something that would permanently change you?”
The ground must have become extraordinarily beautiful since the last time Jim had looked, because Spock was staring down at it. “It is unlikely anyone would be put in danger, and it only affects one for a short time, but I must stress its adverse effects,” Spock stressed what he had said for the second time that night.
“What would it do to you?” Jim asked, finally letting go of Spock’s arm entirely.
It was one of the only times Jim had had the incredible privilege of seeing Spock stumble over his words. “It would… Captain, the fovural plant… reduces a Vulcan down to bare instincts in… certain ways,” he ended on a strained note. “It would be most unbecoming.”
“So you’re saying you’d be aggressive?”
“It is not likely.”
“...Don’t tell me you’re gonna get...?” Jim trailed off. Spock tensed even further.
“Not necessarily that, either, Captain.”
He was going to get nothing out of that stubborn mouth of his, and Jim knew it. “Well, Mister Spock, if it’s not going to harm you or any of the others, then I have to assume it’s a matter of pride, to which I am going to ask you to please placate your ego long enough to fucking eat dinner. Then you can excuse yourself at the first opportunity, okay? Otherwise, we'll just have to beam you back up, say you're sick or something. But it won't reflect well on us.”
Spock’s mouth twitched downward, and he nodded in his frigid, impersonal way. “Very well, Captain. I will stay.”
Jim nodded in turn. “Right then.” The two of them turned back to face Gar. “We will join you for the reception,” Jim announced. “And we thank you for the invitation.”
☆
The meal was a wondrous change of pace from replicator food, and Jim could have indulged in it forever. He briefly entertained calculating the odds of getting seconds into his satchel without anyone in the banquet hall noticing.
Jim glanced over at Spock, who sat directly to his right. He seemed put-together, as usual, though perhaps slightly more ruffled. Truth be told, Jim couldn’t tell any difference. Maybe it’s a principle sort of thing, Jim thought. Or maybe it’s like weed or something. Maybe that’s why he’s been so quiet.
Spock wiggled in his seat. Jim felt his eyebrows shoot to his forehead. That’s definitely a first.
In any case, whatever the fovural plant was doing to Spock, it was a welcome distraction from Gar’s eyes burning into Jim’s side. Setting aside the possibility that maybe aliens could have the power to give him first-degree burns via their pupils, it was incredibly uncomfortable. Jim fought the urge to squirm in his seat like his first officer.
Gar made light conversation with everyone, though he seemed to prefer speaking with Uhura, who did not need the translator for his easier answers to her burning questions. Jim picked at the blue leaves with his utensil. Gar was still staring, and it was making him lose a bit of his appetite.
A loud sniff came from his right, and Jim instinctually turned to witness Spock, his ever-stoic first officer, staring wide-eyed at Gar; if there was an emotion there, Jim could not place it. He turned his head back to Gar, who was now returning it. Uhura was once again engaged in conversation with the other Starfleet members and did not seem to notice this shift in the atmosphere.
Spock, all the while keeping eye contact with Gar, bent sideways and pressed his cheek forcefully against Jim’s shoulder. Before Jim could properly react, before he could panic, blush, or inquire as to what the fuck Spock was doing, the Vulcan was sitting back up to resume the staring contest with his usual poised posture.
What the fuck was happening?
“Maybe we should excuse ourselves,” Jim spoke slowly and tentatively above the dinner chatter. “Spock and myself.” He shot a look to his Vulcan friend, who had at least ceased staring at Gar in favor of following a flying creature with his eyes. He craned his neck as it flew directly over the glass roof, head tilting back to watch intently.
“Perhaps,” Gar acquiesced, though Jim had certainly expected him to put up a bit more of a fight.
“Right, well,” Jim said, grabbing onto Spock’s arm again when the Vulcan did not acknowledge the subject of conversation. “Thank you ever so much for the meal, and we’ll discuss the updates to our prior agreement in the morning if that works with you.”
The translator seemed to stumble on this one, but landed on “That sounds lovely.” Jim nodded with a quick, polite smile, and then drew his attention entirely to Spock, who seemed quite content to remain in his seat.
“Spock, we gotta go,” Jim whispered, tapping his thumb on the other’s shoulder. Spock turned his neck with urgency, but Jim felt him relax once more as his eyes landed on Jim. And stayed on Jim. Spock was staring again, but this time the focus was entirely on him, and the longer Spock stared, the more Jim itched, feeling eerily exposed.
“Spock, c’mon,” He tried once more, and Spock finally rose from his seat. Jim let go of his arm as he led the other towards their temporary room, and Spock fell into a steady pace right behind Jim, hovering eagerly, as if Jim was simply fascinating him.
“Do I have something on my face? Or are you just succumbing to my charm?” Jim tried, rubbing his hand across his mouth to be sure of the former. Spock’s eyes stayed trained on him, but he gave no response.
The two of them wormed their way through the intricate halls, and Jim attempted to distract himself by appreciating the decorations adorning intricate side tables and the golden tapestries draping elegantly along multi-story windows.
They reached the room without incident, and Jim felt a wave of relief when the aureate door slid upwards and locked behind them.
“Hey, Spock, I’m… my bad, about earlier. You alright? You seem really out of it.” No response. “Hey, y’know, this whole staring thing? Real flattering, but I do need to know if my first officer is still capable of higher functioning.”
As if finally realizing he was being spoken to, Spock perked up ever so slightly and marched with intent towards the closest bed, perching gently on the end of it. Spock began to turn his head, taking in the bedroom with curiosity as if he had previously failed to notice the change in scenery.
“Alright, well,” Jim shrugged and grabbed his toiletries, making his way towards the bathroom.
☆
Jim stepped back out of the bathroom haphazardly, trickles of drowsiness beginning to wear at his frayed mind. The sleepiness was what he decided to blame for somehow missing the large figure at the doorway that he slammed into at full speed. Recoiling instinctively, his heel slipped and he began hurling backward to the ground.
Instead of a painful slam against his skull, he felt a firm hand catch it, and another hand immediately followed suit at the small of his back.
Jim stared up at his incredibly close, incredibly attractive, incredibly half-naked first officer.
“Thanks,” he choked, though they remained frozen in their pose for a few lingering moments. After a number of seconds, Spock raised Jim up, still holding him gently like a porcelain dish, and placed him lightly on the ground.
Jim knew he was turning scarlet. He cleared his throat, hoping in vain his voice wouldn't give him away. “Maybe don't stand in front of doors like that if you don't wanna cause traffic problems,” He swallowed.
Spock stepped closer, now entirely in Jim's personal space. Jim's face heated up even more. What was Spock doing? Was he going to—no, he wouldn't—.
Spock leaned in, closing the distance, pressing his cheek to Jim's.
A "Huh?" escaped Jim's lips, because really, what was happening? Spock began moving his face up and down, rubbing his cheek against Jim's, paying no mind when his forehead butted too forcibly against Jim's head.
Eventually remembering himself, Jim slipped free and made his way towards his own bed. "Spock, I dunno what that leaf did to you but you're nonverbal and, oh, I dunno, acting really fucking weird. No chance you can fill me in, here, is there?"
Spock tilted his head to the side, curiously.
“Fuck,” Jim sighed, slipping under his own covers and shimmying into a comfortable position. “Okay, just… get some sleep. I'll have Bones look you over in the morning.”
This was ten times weirder than caring for a drunk person. Jim knew what to do when someone was absolutely sloshed. But this? Jim was unsettled by how useless he felt.
However gone Spock was, he seemed to still comprehend Jim's words. He nodded, brow furrowed for a brief moment, before promptly plopping on the side of Jim's bed.
Jim raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. If his incredibly zooted friend wanted to sit on the edge of his bed, so be it. Jim reached out to his side table where he'd hastily left his padd. Unlocking it, he immediately began crafting a message to Bones regarding the current Spock predicament. He paused, debating on whether or not he should go into full, embarrassing detail when Spock's ass made contact with the padd.
Spock had crawled onto Jim's bed and promptly sat on his padd.
“Wh…” Jim found himself at a loss for words for quite a few moments, staring back at wide, umber eyes. “I was using that, y'know.”
Spock dipped his head then, leaning until he laid down curled next to Jim, head laying against the sheets on Jim's chest and legs tucked neatly together against his body. Spock shifted his head slightly—no, he was nuzzling into the sheets, into Jim's chest, eyes shut in contentment.
“Spock, this is… this is ridiculous,” Jim said exasperatedly, and perhaps it was too harsh, but it was all Jim could think to say, with his crush of all people cuddling up next to him like a…
“Oh my God, you're like a cat,” Jim nearly gasped at the realization.
Spock nuzzled in closer, rubbing his cheek once more against the sheets on Jim's chest.
“Wait, does that mean you're, um,” He's scent-marking—he’s claiming me. The thought made his face prickle with heat once more, which must have pleased the Vulcan, who began emitting a rumbling noise from his chest, just present enough that Jim could feel it resonate in his own.
“You're purring,” Jim realized. Spock lifted his torso to accommodate moving his head, and he met Jim’s eyes for only a brief moment. Then he leaned in and began rubbing his cheek all over Jim's face. Their noses brushed together, then Spock was pressing the side of his face to Jim's jaw, then his bare shoulders, which peeked out from under the cream-colored sheets. Jim's hands sought Spock's arms, and as he found and gripped them weakly he felt the purring grow louder.
Spock leaned into Jim’s face and pressed his nose against Jim’s cheek. Jim felt him lick a wet stripe up his cheek, then watched as Spock sat back and admired his work.
Everything was confusing and overwhelming and overstimulating. Spock wouldn’t be like this forever, would he? No, he'd said any effects were temporary. It was… it was cute, Jim could admit, and the possessive way Spock was nipping the juncture between Jim’s neck and his shoulder made Jim feel dizzy, but he still wanted his first officer back—his friend back.
Spock butted his head against Jim's shoulder, and then again a second time, insistently.
"What?" Jim huffed, still recovering from Spock’s teeth teasing his skin.
Another head butt, then Spock fell against Jim's covered figure, finally resting his head on Jim's chest.
"You want me to…?" God, this was going to kill him.
He reached out tentatively, pressing a calloused hand softly against the black, silken hair, and the gentle rumble from Spock's chest grew louder still.
Jim ran a thumb along Spock's hair, then a few fingers, and soon enough he found a nice rhythm, petting Spock's head and listening to the music of his content purr. Jim found that, despite his efforts, he couldn't help but drift into a light slumber.
☆
Warm. He was warm and comfortable. As Jim drifted back to the land of the living, he began to register the pleasant weight against his back, and the arm underneath his head like a makeshift pillow.
Jim sniffed lazily, raising his head in an attempt to wake and giving up almost immediately. He was far too comfortable, far too warm.
He felt lazy movement along his back, and neck, something—a nose, it dawned on him—prodding accidentally as the body behind him shifted. His eyes shot open.
“Spock.” he grunted, voice groggy with both sleep and disbelief.
Spock did not reply. He shifted more in the sheets, releasing his grip on Jim, and the bed began to slowly dip rhythmically. Not knowing what the fuck to expect, Jim flipped over.
☆
“He’s kneading the sheets, Bones!” Jim muttered urgently as he lead the man towards his quarters. “My sheets.”
“I did not want to know that. If I hear anything about that, I will not hesitate to commit arson on your quarters.” McCoy shook his head, gesturing warningly when Jim opened his mouth to defend himself. “Go get your meeting over with. I’ll have your first officer right as rain by then.”
“You better, or I’m docking your pay.”
“You don’t have the authority to do that, Jim.”
“I’ll pickpocket you on a monthly basis,” Jim countered.
“Arson,” McCoy reminded him, then merely shooed him off with both hands. “Now get outta my sight.”
☆
The new treaty amendments were essentially completed. Formalities. Jim couldn’t care less at this point—and he was not a fan of Gar, who seemed to think Jim’s presence that morning was funnier than anything he’d heard at dinner the night prior.
Jim had a feeling the President was thinking about Spock’s weird reaction last night. It unsettled Jim. Maybe he’d even admit he was feeling a little insulted on Spock’s behalf—or maybe just protective.
Either way, Jim was perfectly pleased to beam back to the Enterprise and to hear that the rest of the crew was safely aboard as well. He wasted no time ordering the bridge to leave orbit for their next assignment’s coordinates.
Finally, finding no way to further procrastinate the inevitable, his thumb hovered around the comm button. The machine beat him to it, beeping on before he could press anything.
“Jim, It’s McCoy,” Bones’ voice crackled through. “Petting zoo’s open, get down here.”
“Jackass,” Jim huffed. Rolling his eyes and shoving his communicator unceremoniously in his pocket, he made his way to sickbay.
☆
“Is he… you know… back to normal?”
“Having a great day, thanks for asking. I love our talks.” McCoy frowned. “Yeah. He’s fine. The second he realized where he was, he stopped letting me examine him. Chapel is finishing everything up to verify, but I think it’s outta his system, plain and simple.”
As if on cue, Spock emerged from the sickbay doorway. Walks quietly like a cat, Jim thought distantly with no small amount of amusement.
If Spock had ever looked embarrassed before, he was absolutely humiliated now. His cheeks and ears were tinted jade, and his eyes followed his feet in feigned interest.
Jim cleared his throat. Honestly, now that Spock was back to normal, it was more amusing than anything. A little cute. “Mister Spock.”
“Captain,” Spock said, eyes finally lifting to meet Jim’s, “I wish to apologize for my behavior last night. It w—”
“It’s okay, Spock,” Jim interrupted, raising a hand. “I didn’t leave you with much of a choice.”
Spock ruminated on this for a moment, then nodded slowly. He said nothing.
Jim tried again. “Next time, just tell me the nature of the problem, alright?”
McCoy snorted. “Wonder if there’s an Andorian fruit that’ll make him gallop like a horse.”
Jim grinned and elbowed the doctor. “Get back to your station.”
“Fine. And Spock? Let’s do this again sometime,” Doctor McCoy said, laughing his way into sickbay.
“He’s got a point, though.” Jim nodded. “I wanna know what else makes Vulcans go bananas.”
“I did not go bananas,” Spock defended, brows furrowing.
“No, but you did get close, staring daggers into President Gar’s soul like that,” Jim countered, eyebrows raising. “Care to discuss it?”
“No,” Spock said, face slowly returning to his familiar neutral.
“Alright,” Jim acquiesced, rubbing at the sore spot between his neck and shoulder very deliberately. “But if you wanna discuss it at 2200 tonight, I’ll be in my quarters.”
Jim got exactly the reaction he was shooting for; Spock was once again turning bright green. “That sounds agreeable.”
Jim grinned. “Alright, I’m off to the bridge. See you in a few hours. Oh,” he started as he began walking away, “And don’t forget to compile a list of fovural habitats for our database. Wouldn’t want that happening in an uncontrolled environment again.”
Perhaps Spock’s brain was working overtime, because he simply stood in the hallway as he uttered a quiet “Yes, Captain.”