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There’s an almost gentle ambiance of Spock’s quarters, where the glow from the candles flickered upon the walls and the scent of tea and incense hung in the air in a familiar comfort of home. Jim stood by his side, his presence as steadfast as the antique statues that adorned the room, it was also familiar. As if he belonged to the room and complimented the interior like the works of art that hung from the walls. And Spock would agree if the observation would be spoken aloud. He had entered quietly, knowing Spock was meditating, and simply chose to wait by his side until Spock was done.
“Hello, Jim.” Spock spoke, slowly coming back to himself as he slipped out of his meditative state. His eyes drawn to Jim’s as the human smiled, reaching his hand out, two fingers extended. Spock met them with his own, eyes fluttering close once more as waves of love and adornment and affection washed over him like waves onto the sandy shore. Spock did not dare to rise from his kneeling position for fear of the contact being severed. He found he quite liked the view from where he was. Jim, looking down at him with eyes brighter than the stars that stretched into forever in his viewport. However illogical those statements were, they did not matter to Spock; for how could they be so if they were facts?
“Hey, baby.” Jim’s whispered response felt as if he had run a mile, his cheeks rosy and his hair curled from sweat and the humidity level that Spock had programmed for his meditation session. Spock smiled at the nickname, having grown more than accustomed to Jim’s ever growing array of affection through ‘pet names’. Although ‘baby’ did reside in the top 10 list, he most preferred ‘darling’ and ‘beloved’, and the occasions that Jim used Vulcan words to refer to his person.
Jim sat next to him, legs spreading as he kept their fingers pressed firmly together, almost adding on to the pressure tenfold. Spock was quick to move closer, to allow his side to slot against Jim’s chest, their hands resting in Spock’s lap. “Long day?” Jim asked, his free hand rising to comb through Spock’s hair, strands catching lightly in a way that made the Vulcan let out a soft gasp, his eyes falling shut. He could only nod his head, giving into silent affirmation at Jim’s question. His face turning, nose pressed against Jim’s neck as he let himself take a deep breath, the familiar smell of Jim’s cologne and the unique makeup of his pheromones sent a comforting wave over him, as if a blanket had been given in place of worry and apprehension. They were all that remained as far as Spock was concerned. Eager and willing to let himself to just exist at this moment, with Jim’s body pressed against his.
Their kiss ended, Spock’s hand was the one that pulled away as he adjusted his position to allow more comfort. His ankles hooking over Jim’s leg and the distant thought that perhaps they would be more comfortable on the couch or the bed than on the rug whose purpose was to only shield Spock’s bare feet from the cold, unforgiving metal of the standard flooring. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Jim asked, one hand still carding through dark hair, smiling at how it had begun to curl at the ends, and the other reaching out to grasp lightly at Spock’s wrist to maintain the skin to skin contact that Spock often needs in times like these.
Times when the anniversary of Vulcan’s destruction rear its head, and Spock finds himself waking from nightmares of that day. Of not reaching his mother in time to pull her back from the precipice of the cliff. Of her falling, and he’s powerless to stop it all. But then he awakens, and Jim is awake beside him, pulling him close, pulling him closer to his body. Pushing and pulling, allowing as much skin contact that he can manage. Projecting safety and warmth and calm. Spock allows himself to drown in it, to let the feelings wash over him. He allows Jim to remind him that his mother is safe on New Vulcan. He listens to everything that Jim says, and it’s a comfort he allows himself to indulge in.
Jim’s all too familiar with these kinds of demons, and Spock takes a secret pleasure in knowing that Jim can relate to him, to draw upon his own battle with survivor's guilt, to guide him in ways that helped Jim to cope with loss and pain. Spock shakes his head, there’s a desperation to just stay like this, to let Jim continue to hold him tighter. He projects just as much into their contact, to tell him that ‘no, I just wish to stay like this.’ And then, ever more softly, he adds, ‘please’ to his request. Jim nods his head, lips grazing against his cheek and the soft stubble that has appeared in the last few days. Spock makes a mental note to shave tomorrow, but for right now, he’s more than perfectly content to stay wrapped in Jim’s embrace. To breathe his air and know that everything will be okay.