Work Text:
Jim could feel Spock’s frustration through the bond.
It had been a rough day, Spock’s first one back since he’d taken a break while he recovered from his cold. Jim hadn’t protested when he’d put on his uniform and began to get ready, but he did suggest lightly whether he wanted to wait a day or two before returning to teaching lectures. Spock had shook his head, taken his cup of coffee, and that was that.
Now, though, in the evening, Jim was wondering if it had been a bit much for a first day. He knew his husband usually taught two classes, one on advanced Vulcan language and customs, the other an accelerated scientific track course on the span of xenobiological evolution. Usually no big feat to educate on, but there was a prickling sense of grumpiness in Jim’s mind that felt like it didn’t belong there.
He himself had spent the day proofreading Starfleet documents and sending back and forth messages to the people who’d installed their new heating system in the apartment, accompanied by a sleepy Apollo and a takeaway pastry from a bakery down the road. But now, as he made his way into the kitchen to feed the cat, there was a definite sulky feeling in the back of his mind.
Apollo rubbing against his legs, he pulled her tin of gourmet cat food out of the pantry and hooked a thumb in the tab. They’d made very tentative plans to go out for dinner that night, but Jim figured those had already fallen through, going by the state of his husband’s emotions.
“Hey, calm down,” he laughed, as Apollo tried to nip his toe. “There’s no need to be testy, I’m almost done.”
When the cat had been fed, Jim discarded the tin and surveyed the apartment. Both he and Spock shared domestic duties, but now Jim took the liberty of setting things straight: wiping the counters, folding their throw blankets, turning up the heating a notch or two and generally putting objects where they were supposed to be.
Outside the moon was rising over the bay in a waning crescent, sending glinting shimmers for aeons. Underneath, in the streets, there would be the lights of cars and bars, but Jim still hoped Spock was close to home. As illogical as it was, he tended to get a little worried when the days became shorter. For nothing, usually, but as Spock said, it was just another of his human quirks.
Are you alright? he tried to transmit through the bond, though with the loose control he wielded it probably came out as a vague, compassionate-but-curious murmur. That was okay, Spock was an expert at reading his ramblings.
Home soon, replied Spock after a few moments while Jim was rifling through the fridge, looking for something to make for dinner. I apologise, I do not think going out for a meal tonight would be beneficial for my well-being, both mental and physical.
It sounded like he wanted to say more - he always did, that clipped tone of his never disguised the fact he was chatty at heart - but tonight he was quiet, and Jim nodded, before remembering Spock wouldn’t be able to see him. It’s okay! Come home. Talk later.
A long sigh followed the end of the connection, but Jim wasn’t annoyed. Fourteen years of marriage to one of the most stubborn people he’d ever known had taught him that doing the stupid thing was necessary sometimes. He just hoped Spock hadn’t caught another cold, because he might go a little stir-crazy if that was the case.
They had a pumpkin from the market, along with a few onions and some broth… it’d be easy to make soup, put it with bread and then they’d have leftovers for lunch tomorrow.
He got preparations started, relishing the smell of browning onion and garlic. Outside it began to drizzle, and he winced, hoping Spock wasn’t getting caught in the rain on top of the chilly air. When it became pretty inevitable that that was happening, Jim set a timer for the pot of submersed and simmering pumpkin chunks and ducked off into the bathroom, finding a soft towel and lighting a couple candles on the counter.
By the time he returned he heard a key turning in the lock and looked up to see Spock pushing the door open, dripping wet and wearing a sodden beanie. The Vulcan’s eyeshadow was streaked and he huffed out a breath at the smell of Jim’s cooking, though it was more appreciative than demeaning.
“Honey, you’re soaked,” Jim said, skirting the bench and taking Spock’s academy satchel from him. “Are you okay?”
For a moment, Spock simply busied himself with shrugging off his coat. When he did finally turn, Jim couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, feeling the absolute exhaustion washing over his husband.
“Oh, boy,” he murmured, bringing his hands up to squeeze Spock’s shoulders. “Hard day, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Spock, looking like he would just collapse into Jim’s arms if not for the fact he was soaking wet. “I am sorry, I did not anticipate this much… interference in our plans.”
Jim laughed. “Plans? They were pretty vague, you know. There’s no need to apologise, I’d say we’ve got an alright thing here. Ah, stars, Spock, you’re dripping all over the floor - mind waiting for me in the bathroom? I want to get you out of these clothes, but I need to stir the soup so it can simmer for a while.”
“Of course,” said his catty, sopping husband, rubbing a hand over his eyes and smearing his makeup even further. “You need not trouble yourself with my well-being if it will be detrimental to the cooking though. I am perfectly capable of showering without help.”
“Shush.” Jim flapped his hands absentmindedly. “I know that, but you’re as bedraggled as anything and I want to spend some time taking care of you. You look like you’ve had a tough time today, and if I can make it a little easier then I’m gonna do that. Alright?”
Spock tilted his head in assent, and had he not known better, Jim would have sworn he let out a tiny yawn before he turned down the hall towards the bedroom and ensuite. Tutting, Jim stirred the pumpkin and broth mix, reducing the heat and finding a matching lid for his chosen copper pot. Rain was continuing to fall outside - Jim was glad Spock hadn’t stayed late on campus and gotten stuck in an even heavier downpour.
He took himself into the bedroom, knocking on the bathroom door before slipping through and giving pause to where Spock sat on top of the toilet lid, head sprawled back over the cistern so he could rest against the heated tile wall. If not for his even breathing, Jim might have thought him asleep.
“C’mere,” he said softly, finding a couple of makeup wipes in the cabinet and bringing them to Spock, straddling his lap. “Head up a little, honey, we need to get this off so it doesn’t run in your eyes.”
Spock bared his face to Jim, who tilted his chin up with a thumb and began to clean the eyeshadow off in quick, sweeping strokes. Beneath him, Spock’s wet clothes soaked through his pants, but he didn’t really mind - not if he was going to be taking them off in a minute.
“You really got soaked,” he noted, tracing his pointer finger lightly over Spock’s upper lip. “I don’t think rain was in the forecast today, but with winter you can never tell, I suppose. Look to the right? There we go.”
“I have never been partial to cold weather,” hummed Spock, hands flitting to Jim’s waist. “It was, though, simply a compounding factor in my disgruntlement.”
Jim pressed a light kiss to his nose. “Ah, so you’re aware. Wanna talk about it, while we get you out of these clothes?”
Wiped free of makeup and water, Spock’s face looked softer, less pinched. His eyes were still tired when he nodded though, and Jim pulled back to kneel in front of his bondmate’s knees, untucking Spock’s sweater from his uniform pants and tugging it up over his head. Voice slightly muffled by the fabric, Spock said, “A difficult day, as you surmised, ashaya. Nothing more.”
“You wanna talk about it,” Jim told him with a little grin. “C’mon.”
Spock huffed out a sigh while Jim undid his belt and slid his pants down to his ankles. “My third year cadets have some… unique views on hands-on learning,” he told Jim. “Ones that more frequently than not are in indirect infringement of Starfleet regulation protocol. Today’s incident led to much paperwork, a broken wrist, and a very perturbed young Klingon man.”
“Ouch. I was never that much of a rule-breaker, was I?”
He offered a hand to help Spock up, and let him strip fully while he himself unclothed from his around-the-house wear, mighty glad for the heated lights in the bathroom. “I do not believe so - your recklessness seemed to develop after you graduated, from my knowledge.”
“Nah,” said Jim. “I was pretty reckless, I just had the right goals.” Turning the shower tap, he stuck a foot under the water and waited until it was almost too hot to bear, but not quite so. “So, annoying kids. What else?”
“I was required to give an additional lecture on the importance of adhering to regulation,” sighed Spock. “As well as ensuring the young Klingon man did not press charges on my cadet.”
Jim winced. “That does sound rough, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“Somehow I never can seem to adjust to the changing seasons. It duly affects my mood, despite efforts to keep it in check. For…” Spock bit his lip a little, resting against the tile counter, “well, I simply find myself frustrated.”
“You take some time to get used to stuff, that’s normal,” reassured Jim. “I’d suggest dropping a class or getting your TAs to take over more duties, but I know you’re too stubborn for that. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Spock took Jim’s face in his gentle hands and guided them into a soft, prickly kiss that felt like home, curls tickling Jim’s ear. He smelt like makeup remover and - quintessentially - Spock, however that could be described. After this long, Jim wasn’t sure it was possible; he only knew that it was warm and familiar. He wrapped his arms around Spock’s figure, filled out with age and time, and simply held the Vulcan for a few moments, ice-cold tenseness melting against hot, smooth skin.
“I could not find myself wanting,” Spock rumbled, angling them back and forth in an imperceptible rocking motion. “Not when this is the comfort I come back to. You do more than enough, Jim.”
“And here am I, such an overachiever.”
“Mmm,” his husband ceded, not budging.
Jim eventually pried them apart, squeezing his arms. “Your lips are freezing,” he complained genially, pecking another kiss square on them and smiling with a teasing glint in his eyes. “I really should make a formal request to the office - if they’re gonna send me home a drenched Vulcan because an umbrella couldn’t be spared, they have no business making you work late. With my status, I’d probably be able to wrangle you two cadet escorts within the hour.”
He took a second to look over Spock while he tsked and tutted. Compared to their Enterprise days, Spock wasn’t exactly in perfect shape, but Jim loved him all the more for it. Back then he’d been positively thin, ribs jutting from beneath his science blues, whip-thin and muscled. Now those muscles were less prominent and his barrel chest was smattered with coarse grey curls, and it was gorgeous. Just another reminder of the ways in which they’d matured, slipping from one part of their life to another. Jim’s own frame was chubby, and he was getting so much better at liking that part of himself, just as he loved Spock.
“We are wasting water,” said Spock, an eyebrow raised pointedly. “Do you wish to bathe now, ashaya?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jim replied, taking Spock’s hand and stepping under the spray. “In you get, there’s a darl. I’m not having you trip and break your arse, we’re far too old for those sorts of things.”
Spock looked like he’d be willing to challenge that assumption sometime, but as the water pooled over his head and neck, he tilted back and simply sighed, letting it run down his back and chest. Jim followed, nudging him to the side so they could both be in the warmth. For a moment neither of them did anything but relish the sensation, Spock getting less and less chilly as time passed.
“Lets sort this hair out,” Jim murmured, lowering himself to the tiled floor. His knees weren’t what they used to be, that was for sure, and Spock followed without argument, handing him a bottle of soap and their blue loofah - one of man’s greatest inventions, a drunken Jim had once proclaimed. “I know how to sort out a sour Vulcan mood.” He winked.
Spock harrumphed, but tilted his head back anyway, letting Jim run his hands through the damp, dark curls, building a steady lather of shampoo. He sat between Jim’s spread legs, hands folded together, and watched steam gather above them in a swirling haze while Jim amused himself with making a little mohawk out of Spock’s hair.
“Very chic,” Jim grinned, hugging Spock from behind and getting soap on his chin. “Reminds me of the nineteen-eighties looks. All you need is pierced ears and a leather jacket to top it off.”
“Illogical,” Spock sighed, but it turned into a sort of groan as Jim kneaded his shoulder-blades, knuckles running up his back muscles and down the undersides of his forearms.
Jim pressed a soapy kiss to the tip of his pointed ear. “Does that feel good?”
“It does. Thank you, k’diwa.”
“Happy to do it,” murmured Jim, fluffing up the loofah with soap suds and building up a good lather, running his palms over Spock’s back.
It was gentle, the glass fogged up around them, curtained off from the rest of the world and all that had transpired that day. For a while neither of them spoke except to mumble praise here and there or laugh at soap getting in their eyes, and Jim would cup his palm over Spock’s forehead to stop the suds from dripping, rinsing him off. Kisses ran down his spine, and when Spock’s eyes began to flutter shut again, he pulled the Vulcan against his chest and hooked his chin over Spock’s shoulder, holding him close.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, the lights sending both of them into a lull. “You did well today, and I’m glad you’re letting me take care of you a bit.”
Spock gave a tiny nod.
“How about some soup and then early to bed?” Jim suggested, aware he’d need to get out and puree the blend soon. “I’ll towel your hair off and you can get some shut-eye. Tomorrow, you can meditate in the morning while I make tea. Does that sound alright?”
“Very,” said Spock, and he let out a miniscule yawn that had Jim in stitches. Really, he was adorable.
Slowly they rose, Jim groaning and stretching, hand against the glass to stop himself slipping as he helped Spock up. When he emerged, he held out a fluffy towel for Spock to step into, and wrapped it tight before finding one of his own. Candlelight flickered softly on the walls, the room smelling vaguely like lavender.
“C’mon, honey,” said Jim, giving Spock a soft kiss. “Our soup awaits.”
He dressed, then sat Spock down on a chair in the bedroom, ruffling his hair up with a towel and smoothing it back down beneath his fingers. The jar of cream next to the desk was part of a routine they’d had since their Enterprise days, of Jim running balm through Spock’s curls. Slowly, he pressed it in, arranging the strands over Spock’s forehead just how he liked it.
Spock purred a little as he worked, looking blissed out against Jim’s chest.
Jim squeezed his shoulder when he’d finished. “There we go. Feel better?”
“Much better,” echoed Spock, sounding pleased. “You are good to me, ashaya.”
“I’d hope so,” laughed Jim, “I married you, didn’t I?”
Spock simply raised an eyebrow.
Jim grinned.
And outside the rain poured.
Later, after Spock had nearly drifted off to sleep in his bowl of pumpkin soup, Jim tucked him into bed and slipped in next to him, wrapping his arms around his husband and nuzzling into his back, covered by pyjamas with little cats on them. At their feet, Apollo curled up in a fluffy ball, fed and content.
Maybe today had been a rough day.
But hey. There would always be tomorrow.