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Jim awoke to the smell of childhood. Supple pine needles and brown sugar, burnt caramel apples and warm fleece, all through his quarters. For a second he lay with his eyes closed, content to dwell in memories.
It was deliciously cosy, curled up underneath the duvet. Thoughts ran through his mind in a lazy pull of voices; his mother; his brother; his family.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder, lightly shaking him. “Good morning, Ashayam.”
Spock. A sleepy smile spread across his hair-tousled face at the voice of his Vulcan, and he shifted, trying to get a good grip on Spock’s arm. “Hey.”
It smelt so good, and he let himself give in to the supple way Spock held him, not quite ready to get up.
“Merry Christmas, Jim.”
Jim let out a rumbly laugh. Christmas. That was the big occasion. Every year the Enterprise docked itself onto a bank and the whole crew got a day off for celebration of the Terran holiday. Some people would decorate the halls with lights and tinsel, others turned the rec room into a big sleepover. There was a huge table full of food and drink set out in the dining area that stayed full for two days straight with turkey, mince pies, potatoes and beans, gravy, plomeek soup and other delicacies.
It had taken a long time to get Spock to celebrate with them - Vulcan’s weren’t against the whole celebration, but barely any of them had reason to participate. Jim and Bones had appealed to Spock’s human side, and also plied him with scientific presents every year. That seemed to keep him interested, and willing to humour Jim’s rather nostalgic outlook on the whole thing.
“Merry Christmas, Spock,” Jim parroted, finally opening his eyes and coming face to face with Spock, who was wearing a red, pointed Santa hat that covered the tips of his ears. His cheeks were flushed slightly green, but he wore it proudly nonetheless. “I see you’ve taken to the festivities!”
One side of his mouth quirking up, Spock shrugged. “Lieutenant Uhura was handing them out in the rec room when I was in there. She molested me and suggested it would make a cheerful addition to my outfit.”
“She was damn right,” chuckled Jim, taking the chance to wrap his arms around Spock’s waist where he sat on the edge of the bed and drag him down, trying to cling to his lover with all the dignity of a large sloth. “Dammit, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I… protest,” Spock squeaked, digging his heels into the carpet but still relenting in the end, shifting to gather Jim up in his own arms and hide his head in Spock’s chest. “I do not believe I fall under the label of cute.”
Jim nuzzled into the gap between his neck and shoulder and smelt the sweet scent of clean skin and sugary cologne before saying, “That’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one. You’re certainly cute.”
“Ashayam,” Spock mumbled annoyedly, but he planted a little kiss on Jim’s head anyway. “You’ve got a big day today.”
“As opposed to all other days?” Before he could get a word to the contrary in, Jim continued, “No, I know. I’m teasing you - Christmas always gets my spirits up. Reminds me of home.”
It’d been his favourite holiday in childhood - much better than his godforsaken birthday. On Christmas at least, his mother was usually happy, running around the kitchen in a frenzy while she cooked a huge dinner. Jim and Sam would decorate the tree and pelt each other with popcorn and peppermint candy until one of them inevitably got hurt and it turned into a scuffle. It was a lot different now, but he couldn’t dispel the happy, glowy feeling that accompanied each tradition. And one family was replaced with another - his t’hy’la, and his best friend.
Rolling over a bit, Jim gazed up into Spock’s glittery, dark brown eyes and tried to make him blink. When that didn’t work, he tilted his head and pecked a little kiss onto Spock’s nose, then each cheek, and then finally his mouth, biting his lip and laughing hoarsely as Spock’s face scrunched up and he baulked.
“This was a good thing to wake up to. You and your pointy little Santa hat.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the mirth in it,” Spock said, patting it down over his ears. “It seems as though I was right.”
“As always, Mr. Spock.”
Fuck, it still smelt so good. Notes of tomato and basil alongside brown sugar and something that had probably been baked… it make Jim’s stomach rumble.
As though reading his thoughts - actually, that might have been what happened - Spock answered, “That, I believe, is all Leonard’s doing. He commandeered the kitchen facilities in your adjacent room as well as the ones in his own, and had been doing a great deal of baking.”
“Aw shucks,” Jim laughed. “Of course he is. Well, I’m not one to complain, if he’s making his famous chocolate chip cookies.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever tried one.”
“Never tried a choc chip cookie?”
Spock pursed his lips. “They sound mildly intoxicating.”
Oh right. Chocolate was like liquor to Vulcans. Got them tipsy, inebriated.
Jim kissed Spock again, feeling soft and content. “We’re definitely going to get you to eat one then.”
“That is up for debate.” Giving Jim one last peck and raising them both up to sit on the edge of the bed, he continued, “Leonard wants us all in the kitchen in five minutes for breakfast. Do you wish to shower first?”
Hell yes, he did. But before that… he clambered onto Spock’s back, trying not to grin. “Carry me, Mr. Spock.”
“You are quite spoiled,” Spock complained. “And you are in possession of two working legs.”
“You’re no fun,” said Jim.
In reply, Spock swung him up into the air and began to walk him towards the bathroom. “If I were it would be a Christmas miracle.”
Oh how he loved him.
Jim beamed. “I’m looking forward to today.”
It would certainly be a Christmas to remember, that’s for sure.