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“I’ve done everything I can for him Jim,” McCoy said tiredly. “But he’s not out of danger yet.”
With those words, the doctor left him alone in ICU. The only other visitor who’d been allowed had been Uhura, looking tired and drawn. She still cared about her former lover; they’d remained close.
Standing beside the biobed, Jim glanced around at all the equipment surrounding the prone Vulcan. He hadn’t slept since Spock had contracted the Vulcan equivalent of meningitis, his alien physiology causing complications which challenged McCoy to his limits. Jim had never seen so many tubes and monitors all hooked up to one person before. Spock always appeared pale, but now he looked… he forced himself to swallow around the lump in his throat. Dead. He had, in fact ‘died’ several times over the past thirty six hours. He’d been there one time when the Vulcan had crashed and had been hustled out of ICU by a medtech.
That was the moment it had sunk in just how important Spock had become to him. More than a colleague and more than a friend; he had no idea when his feelings had turned to a desire to share more. The thought of losing Spock made him feel nauseous and caused a soul-deep ache to throb through him.
Jim sighed knowing Bones would come in and drag him out of there soon. He straightened Spock’s bangs and trailed his hand down to cup his cheek. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me, Spock,” he whispered. “I need you too much.” And then he leaned down and placed a kiss on the relaxed mouth, the hotter-than human lips soft and giving.
+=+=+
Eight days later, Spock was discharged to his cabin. He’d insisted he was fit for duty but McCoy was having none of it, ordering the First Officer to rest a further forty eight hours. Jim had felt for him the last few days since Spock had come out of his healing trance, knowing how restive he himself became in sickbay whenever the worst of whatever had put him there was past.
As soon as his shift ended, he headed to his First Officer’s quarters. He’d barely got inside Spock’s cabin, the door still sliding shut when he found himself pinned to the bulkhead by a hot, hard body, Vulcan lips descending on his. Putting aside his initial shock, Jim relaxed. His second kiss with Spock was nothing like the first, as tongues probed and explored the soft recesses of each other’s mouths, sliding and twining slickly together and causing shudders of arousal to rock them, punctuated by gasps of unadulterated pleasure. The unexpected intimate contact was sensual and exciting, and Jim was thrilled to feel a hardness pressing into him, matching his own.
Later after they’d made love for the first time, Spock explained how Vulcans are able to process stimuli through all their senses even when unconscious. He’d felt Jim’s kiss and heard the words spoken, and later while in the healing trance, each time Jim had sat in sickbay and held his hand, he’d sensed all Jim’s feelings, his desire.
“My control had almost reach its limits,” Spock admitted. “I fear had the doctor not released me today, I would have accosted you in sickbay.”
Jim lifted his head from his lover’s sexy chest and looking into the dark eyes at the amusement there, grinned at the thought. “Well, there’s no need to control yourself here.”
Spock agreed completely and proved it.
[finis]