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It was a gorgeous fall day in Iowa. They’d been on shore leave for a few days already, and Jim had rented a motorcycle to do some good old-fashioned joyriding. The wide open plains were rich and bountiful in harvest time. The autumn air was as crisp and clean as he remembered. And the cornfields were endless.
It was a great way to do some thinking. It was also a great way to do absolutely no thinking at all. Not much could compete with the feeling of going fast with a powerful motor thrumming between your legs and the wind blowing through your hair. It was sheer freedom.
He got all that from riding the bike, and he’d tried to explain it to his First Officer. What he got in return was doubt. “I do not understand the appeal. ‘Joyriding’ as you describe has no purpose. No destination. What gratification can be achieved?”
Well, there was only one way to answer that: invite him for a ride.
And that’s why Jim was standing here now just before sunset at the local transport depot, where he was going to meet up with Spock and take him on his first joyride. During their conversation three days ago, he’d suggested a time and place, and Spock had agreed. “It’s a date,” Jim had said, giving his First Officer a wink. Spock’s face hadn’t twitched a muscle in response.
The cool air was getting nippy. Jim pulled his brown leather bomber jacket a little more snuggly. He was wearing a loose tee and his favorite old pair of jeans, which were worn in the knees but not quite stressed enough to be ripped. Feeling the chill in the air, he wished he’d told Spock to wear some extra layers, like a scarf and hat or something. At least a sweater and coat. He knew the Vulcan tended to get cold since he was used to desert (or even San Fran) temperatures. He figured Spock would just wear his science uniform or academy casuals. That’s all Jim had ever seen him in, and neither were going to be warm enough.
He tapped the kickstand impatiently before hearing the gentle hum of a landing shuttlecraft. He hopped off the bike and leaned against it, holding a helmet for Spock in his hands.
Of course, the shuttlecraft landed on the west end of the depot, so Jim couldn’t make out anything beyond the bright setting sun even though he was wearing sunglasses. Finally, he saw a shadow growing larger as it came towards him. Jim raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting through his fingers to see whom he assumed was Spock striding across the pad.
He blinked again. Nah, it couldn't be Spock. The approaching figure was hard to see in detail, but Jim could make out leather. Lots of leather. Black leather boots that came up almost knee height, tucked in over black leather pants by the looks of it. None of the ruffians that Jim used to get in some good fights with back before he’d turned respectable would be caught dead in leather pants. The getup was hot though, no doubt about it.
The guy was getting closer, determinedly heading for him, and Jim was thinking he was gonna have to be ready to turn down an offer. His eyes roved further up, taking in the tight black leather jacket. It wasn’t like Jim’s loose bomber coat. This jacket was prim and sporty, modern, fitted like a glove, and zipped all the way up to the neck. A very pale neck that was supporting a head with a very familiar face.
“Spock?” Jim’s jaw dropped.
Jim could actually hear the leather squeaking and shifting with Spock’s every move.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Spock asked. His voice lacked overt inflection as usual, but Jim knew it was meant to be teasing.
Jim tilted his head and offered him the helmet. “Not someone else, but something else, that’s for sure.” He raked his eyes up and down Spock’s tall frame, then gave his First Officer an inquiring look.
“You refer to my riding attire.” Spock gave the helmet a cursory examination and put it on his head. Fastening the strap, he explained, “I was given to understand that this is conventional motorcycle riding attire. Am I in error?”
Jim contorted his face and opened his mouth. But no words came out. He shook his head. “No, Spock. I guess you’re not. It’s actually a very logical outfit.” A stupidly sexy outfit.
Jim swung his leg over to mount the bike. He gestured for Spock to get behind him, patting the leather seat in invitation.
Spock surveyed the bike. He also surveyed Jim. “My research suggested that bikers wear leather as the desired textile for this activity, because it may reduce the severity of burns that result from skidding during crashes.” Spock reached out and rubbed the sleeve of Kirk’s jacket between his fingertips. “Yet you wear only this item of leather. You also have no helmet for yourself, Captain.” Spock’s tone turned chastising.
“Yeah, well, we’re not going to crash,” Jim explained. “Hop on.”
Spock held onto Jim’s shoulder and swung himself onto the bike. He molded himself to Jim’s back and locked his arms around Jim’s waist.
Jim released the kickstand and revved the engine. The satisfying vroom roared beneath him. He looked back when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He yelled, “What?”
Spock raised his eyebrows behind the helmet’s transparent visor. Jim sighed and killed the engine. He then asked again in his normal voice, “What?”
“Do not most cyclists have communicators in their helmets? How are we going to converse over the noise of the engine?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t use those things. You’re not supposed to talk. You’re supposed to enjoy the ride.”
“Ah. I understand,” Spock replied in a way that made it perfectly evident he did not understand.
“Just hold on and try to relax,” Jim suggested. Spock’s hands skimmed along his waist in a pleasantly distracting way, and Jim started the engine again. This time, after the bike gave a few purrs and there were no interruptions, Jim hit the pedal and peeled out of the transport depot.
They sped down a lonely road. The beauty of Iowa was that even after centuries of settlement, there were still wide open spaces where you could ride seemingly forever and never encounter another soul. It was like space travel that way.
As they zipped along beside a rosy orange sunset, Jim enjoyed the catch of the breeze in his hair, the view of the horizon stretching endlessly onward, and the strong hands around his waist. Spock’s body was plastered to his as if they were one person. Jim didn't know if Spock’s research had told him this was the proper way to ride twosome or whether the Vulcan just found it natural. Jim assumed Spock wasn’t clutching to him out of fear. Few things scared his First Officer, and a bit of wind, speed, and adrenaline didn’t make the cut.
Jim didn’t know exactly how long they’d been riding, but the sun was halfway set. He pulled over so they could stretch a bit before making the ride back to the depot. Killing the bike’s engine left them in serene silence. Behind him, Spock removed his helmet, hooking it to the side of the bike, and Jim tucked his sunglasses into his pocket. It was so quiet that Jim could hear Spock’s soft breaths over his shoulder and the sound of leather rubbing against leather as Spock shifted on the narrow seat.
The chin coming to rest on Jim’s left shoulder was unexpected. And intimate. Jim desperately wanted to know what was going through Spock’s head.
Anyone else, and Jim would be sure it was a come-on. But this was Spock. Maybe it was accidental. Meaningless. On the other hand, this was Spock, and Spock rarely did anything without thinking it through. Maybe Spock was thinking it was finally time one of them did something about the tension that had been building between them lately. Sexual tension, specifically. Or at least, Jim had interpreted it that way. The almost-smiles on Spock’s face, just for him. The occasional brushing against each other in innocuous circumstances. Their heated disagreements and passionate debates, getting them both so riled up that it felt like something had to give or else they’d combust. And now Spock was hugging him and not letting go.
Jim didn’t want to risk misconstruing his First Officer’s actions. Hell, they were on a bike. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, and he hadn’t explicitly said the plan was to get off and stretch. He waited to see if Spock would do anything else.
Jim was disappointed when Spock’s hands dropped from around his waist. But then Spock’s hands reached for his own, taking them and carefully pulling them back to settle on Spock’s leather-clad thighs. Spock entwined their fingers. Jim’s breath sped up, body tingling in anticipation. Spock guided Jim’s hands in a slow caress on the buttery fabric, rubbing up and down the slinky material. Jim made a low, indistinguishable sound in the back of his throat. The weight of Spock’s chin on his shoulder disappeared and was replaced with the sensation of warm lips ghosting over his neck.
“Spock,” Jim exhaled his name like a prayer, but what Jim was praying for he didn’t exactly know. He just knew he wanted more.
Jim tilted his head back, and their lips met in a soft first kiss. Spock’s slightly thinner lips fit perfectly between Jim’s own, and he sucked on the bottom one, pulling it out into a swollen pout. He couldn’t resist giving it a small nip, making it swell even fuller. Spock’s tongue sought his, and the tips of pink muscles met in a friendly press through slightly parted lips. Jim opened his lips wider to grant entrance, and Spock eagerly followed. His tongue explored Jim’s mouth, grazing the line of his teeth then wrapping in a rather talented contortion around Jim’s own tongue. Jim moaned into the kiss and squeezed Spock’s thighs. He twisted in the seat of the bike, wanting to return Spock’s embrace, but the angle was all wrong.
Making a snap decision, the kind he was best at, he leaned forward to slide off the bike and quickly remounted it backwards. Now facing Spock, he took the Vulcan in his arms. Their leather jackets rubbed against one another making indecent squeaking sounds as they resumed their kiss.
Jim wanted to hear Spock moan or whimper or something. Anything. He slipped his tongue into Spock’s yielding mouth. Steamy and hot. He led their tongues in a new exploration, neither really trying to control the kiss, just letting their instincts guide them in this new, very welcomed, way. Spock let loose a low sound that made Jim smile into his mouth.
They continued to trade achingly slow, toe-curling kisses. Neither pressed for more, wanting to fully enjoy the moment. They caressed each other’s backs and arms and sides, their leather layers smooth under their fingertips, as soft as their entangled tongues.
By the time Jim opened his eyes to look into Spock’s, he realized the sun was almost completely set. The bike had a headlight, but it would be best if they got back to the transport depot before the full dark of rural night. He planted a light kiss on Spock’s lips then on each of his cheeks that weren’t flushed from the cold. He wanted to say something eloquent. Something meaningful. Something to tell Spock that this wasn’t a one-off, that he wanted more from him, wanted everything from him.
But the knowing look in Spock’s eyes told him he didn’t have to say anything. For once, they were in unerring accord. Jim thought maybe their clasped hands had something to do with it, given Spock’s touch telepathy. And then, the most incredible thing happened.
The corners of Spock’s mouth turned up in a small, sweet smile.
Jim smiled back widely. If he looked like a sap, he didn’t care.
In the companionable quiet of nightfall, they rode back to the depot. Spock’s scheduled shuttlecraft was already there, and Jim pulled to a stop a few meters out of view.
“Did you like joyriding?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Very much so. I found the experience most stimulating.” Spock all but smirked at him.
“Well, we did add a few things to the usual routine,” Jim pointed out, unable to resist brushing his hand through Spock’s helmet-hair to smooth it down.
Spock caught his hand and held it. “Improvisation does tend to be one of our strengths.”
“Yeah?” Jim was certain they were talking about the same thing.
“Yes,” Spock said, and it came out somewhat arrogantly, but then Jim looked to their joined hands and realized Spock was definitely picking up on Jim’s thoughts. The small hint of smile graced Spock’s face again, then their hands dropped to their sides.
Spock turned and walked towards the shuttlecraft. Jim watched him go. He’d see him again soon. On their ship. Their beautiful, impressive ship on which together they would navigate their newly acknowledged feelings. And both he and Spock were damn good navigators.