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It was approximately 2115 hours at night, on a star-day approximately 14.53 Earth months since the V'Ger event. Spock was in his quarters aboard the re-fitted, and currently in the midst of a new 5-year mission, U.S.S. Enterprise of Starfleet, and he was not alone. His company for the night was James T. Kirk, of course, because James T. Kirk was his favourite person in the known universe, and was his best friend, and enjoyed Spock's company just as much as Spock enjoyed his, so it was simply logical that they would spend every available moment doing so.
Tonight, they'd both decided that they'd had enough of chess after a single game, and were now reading separately seated on Spock's small couch, Kirk's hand occupied by a paper novel in a serious state of disrepair, Spock's hand occupied by a data padd. They were also listening to an Andorian symphony (with 'symphony' of course being the simplest Standard language equivalent) that Uhura had recommended, on the basis of its composer doing interesting work incorporating Klingon electrical instruments with its traditional woodwinds and percussion, a particular blending of musical traditions that had not previously been done.
The work was challenging for Spock to enjoy, as it was not to his personal taste, but he could see some of its merits, and was even moved by a few passages. Jim, however, seemed less than enthusiastic. He made a face as a particularly complex section, with many changes in tempo and dramatic, unexpected intervals.
Spock set aside his padd, finding Jim's reactions to be sufficiently distracting that he was not taking in enough of the ethnological paper on humanoid adaptations to space travel to make reading it worth the time spent doing it. “You do not find the work to be to your taste?” he asked, fairly certain that this was so.
“I mean, it's fine, but it's not really clicking with me. Pardon my French, but there's an old Earth term that my mother used to describe music like this: 'too up its own ass'.”
“I will need you to explain the term further.” Spock said, despite being confident that he could guess its meaning from context and similar Earth idioms that he was familiar with.
“The musicianship is undoubtedly there, but it's missing...soul. It's just there to show off. The only thing it's saying is that the musicians are very good at playing their instruments, that the composer is very good at writing complex music. It doesn't make you feel anything, except that it's, well, commendable, that humanoids can make this sort of music, I suppose. But it's not that enjoyable to listen to. I'm not connecting with it. Do you know what I mean?”
“An interesting perspective. A very close mirror to my own thoughts on the piece, though I myself do feel that at several points in the composition, your nebulous 'soul' component was present in some amount. Though perhaps not enough to make the listening experience a worthwhile endeavor.”
“Exactly! It's mostly, boring. And when it does build up to a good part, it doesn't even go anywhere!”
“Making for an almost frustrating listening experience. I, a musician and a Vulcan, find greater pleasure in the technical skill demonstrated by the musicians and composer, while your experience is weighted towards its emotional power. However, in spite of our different levels of enjoyment from the piece, we appear to be of the same mind about its ultimate value as a piece of art." Spock paused for a second, reflected. "Curious that this shared view is causing positive feelings in myself, despite the fact that we are discussing the negatives of the work that we are critiquing.”
“Well, I don't know about you, but it just feels right when we agree about something, even if it's something negative. When we're on the same page, the universe is in order.” Kirk set down his book, putting a fold into the corner of one of its already wrinkled pages, and then pivoted his body on the couch, toward Spock. Le Morte d'Arthur, the cover said, but it was an English translation, late 20th century, Spock knew, as he'd borrowed this particular relic to read himself.
“A fanciful notion. But one that is another we may be said to be in accord regarding, as I myself have often felt the same. That when we are in agreement, the universe is indeed more harmonious, a reflection of the harmony between the two of us. As I said, fanciful. And yet I find that I do not regret the indulgence.”
“Why, Spock... that almost sounded romantic, coming from you.” Jim's eyes twinkled at him, whole visage of him golden and warm.
Spock's emotional and somatic controls were at an acceptable level for an average day, but of course it could not be expected that they would sustain full integrity at such a comment, given the aesthetic beauty of the one who had said it, and the very deep, (and arguably, logical) feelings that Spock felt toward him. The breach in control manifested itself as a slight flush to Spock's face and neck, a flush that would, according to the sensory information Spock's brain was receiving about his body, and the times that he had experienced such a flush while in front of a reflective surface and observing his own appearance, be able to be perceived as a change in his skin's colour to a human observer.
Jim's smile widened, likely in response to his observations of Spock's flushed face and neck. Perhaps it would be beyond a full-blooded, traditional Vulcan, but Spock felt that he would be able to say with 95.67% certainty that the atmosphere between the two of them had taken on a quality that could best be described as 'charged'.
“It has been said that our relationship has qualities that may be considered romantic.” Spock said, maintaining control through the persistence of his flush. He said this because it was true, and because saying so had an 89.8% of increasing the intensity of the charged atmosphere between them, which Spock acknowledged that at this time was a goal. At this moment he experienced regret at not asking the four individuals who had most recently expressed views regarding the romantic nature of his and Jim's relationship for more details, as more information would have been beneficial now to assist Spock in navigating this particular scenario. Alas.
Of course, Spock had experienced such 'charged' moments with other humanoid individuals in the past, most notably Leila Kalomi (with whom he was regrettably incompatible on a personal level), Christine Chapel (with whom he was regrettably incompatible on a personal level), the Romulan Commander (with whom he was regrettably incompatible on a political level).
And, several time in the past, all squandered, with James T. Kirk.
“Oh? And who's been saying that?” Jim leaned his elbow on his thigh, bringing him further, into the space on the couch between them, to be physically closer to Spock. “Not any members of our crew, I hope? I'd hate to have to make a memo about maintaining a professional environment, free from personal gossip. You know how our crew hates my memos.”
“Not to the level that they seem to dislike my memos, I expect because mine are considerably more comprehensive.”
“Yes, that's one way of putting it.”
“Perhaps, as punishment for gossip, I will construct the reprimand to the offending crew members: our communications officer, our helmsman and chief tactical officer, and our chief engineer.”
“I'd have thought the list would be longer. Bones should be on there, for example. The sheer audacity of the things that man has said about my feelings regarding you, Mr. Spock, would astound you.”
Spock's mouth momentarily popped open in surprise, but that was his only visible reaction. “An embarrassing oversight. I shall ensure that Leonard is on my list of intended recipients.” McCoy had of course also said outrageously audacious things to Spock about feelings.
“And, how would this memo go?” Jim asked, with a charming, good-natured air of facetiousness. Spock found himself unable to look away from him, and Jim was similarly afflicted. Spock mentally congratulated himself for making a correct calculation in the nebulous field of humanoid interpersonal relations.
“Concerns would be expressed in vague terms, to discourage further speculation and gossip regarding the personal affairs of their commanding officers, of course. 'Crew are reminded that personal gossip is strongly discouraged.', perhaps.”
“Mmm. Well,” Jim pretended to think, in that way that he did. “I can think of another way to discourage that kind of talk.”
“Indeed?”
Jim's eyes twinkled at him again, pupils gaining ground on the irises. “Well... we could stop giving them so much material to speculate with. Stop spending so much time together, for example.”
“Ah.” Spock found himself struck with the idea that there was nothing in the universe he would desire less. “Perhaps, no longer be seen in the practice of waiting in sickbay, with only an inadequate infirmary chair to sleep on, until the other recovers?”
“That's definitely the sort of thing that gets that 'romantic' label.” Jim leaned his other elbow down, now playfully peering up at Spock with his head rested on his hands. “You know, I recall a particularly scathing comment from Mr. Chekov the other week when you turned down that lovely concierge on Deneb in favour of spending the evening in the aeronautics museum with me. Maybe you ought to start taking up these lovely creatures up on their offers of company?”
The last notes of the Andorian composition ended, but neither Spock nor Kirk made moves to put on another piece of music. Instead, the warmth between them filled the silence, the looks shared more than enough to make the room feel full.
“The concierge in question was not 'my type'. While they were admittedly aesthetically pleasing, it was clear over the course of our interactions that we were incompatible; thus, I declined their offer.”
“I thought they were going to faint in shock when you oh-so-logically told them that you had no desire to spend an evening with someone with a clear holo-shopping addiction.”
“They were browsing the local classifieds while tasked with checking our party into the hotel, a task that was their responsibility while 'on the clock' as a hospitality worker. Likely this attentiveness to acquiring 'deals' would have extended into our potential date.”
“A very logical denial, then.”
“And there is, of course, the matter that I knew, with near complete confidence, that your company that night would be preferable to that of another.”
Jim's face softened in a way whose effects on Spock could be best described with a metaphor: that there was a solid centre to Spock's heart, and Jim's face was producing heat to melt it. “See, Mr. Spock? Romantic.”
“Perhaps you should be included on the list of recipients of this memo.”
“Oh, I don't think it counts as unprofessional gossip if it's just between the two of us. We are, after all, the individuals targeted in this, speculation.”
“Ah. And thus it would fall under the category of personal discussion, not gossip.”
“Exactly.”
“Is this a personal discussion, then?”
Jim just looked at him. He continued, unmoving, to look at Spock for 49.83 seconds, the particular quality of his eyes and the way they beheld him adding further intensity to the charge between them. The data that Spock could and had collected on the quality and quantity of Jim's smiles was likely quite over-represented in his neurological landscape, but he eagerly added this series to his library.
“I'm sorry, Spock. I, ah, got a bit distracted there.” Jim said, still smiling, and sounding anything but sorry about his lapse. “I just, love you, so much. It's unbelievable how much I love you, I feel like it should be impossible, that's how, vast and endless it feels. I adore you, utterly and completely. You're my favourite person in the whole universe. Every time I leave you to your quarters, I immediately want you back. If we spent a hundred thousand years together, I don't think it would be enough.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I must, at this juncture, also add an assessment of 'romantic' to the nature of the interactions between us, given what you have just expressed.” Spock felt the uncommon but nonetheless familiar sensation of his own eyes softening, producing the qualities than in most humanoids would be assigned to a true, genuine smile.
“And, is this is the first time you've done so? If not, I think I'd like to know more. And add you to the list of memo recipients, of course.”
Spock felt himself flush again. “I believe the appropriate, yet inaccurate colloquialism to use in this situation would be 'I plead the Fifth'.”
“That's for when someone doesn't wish to be... incriminated. The old American system, if I'm not mistaken.”
“Speculating on the qualitative nature of our relationship is not literally criminal, nor is that particular legal framework still in practice. Hence my qualifier that such a term is, indeed, inaccurate, though I feel it conveys the correct sentiment nonetheless.”
“So, you see your views on the matter as something that necessitates concealing.”
“Am I to guess that you wish to disagree with this assessment?”
Jim smiled at him again. “I expect this is how Alexander felt about Hephaestion. Or Achilles about Patroclus.”
Spock decided to postpone the deep and long-building satisfaction at this apparent resolution of the romantic nature of his relationship with Jim Kirk until the completion of a physical congress, but he could feel the shape of it starting to surface, nonetheless. “I find myself hoping that our relationship does not come to be characterized with such tragedy as those pairs of figures, though I do find myself drawn to the comparisons. With the addendum that the power differential between us, while present, is not quite so lopsided.”
“Hmmm. And, are there any comparisons to figures on your world, that you might also find yourself drawn to? The bonded warrior pairs of ancient times, for example. I'm afraid I can't recall any names, but I'll blame that on how unpronounceable they are to the human tongue.” Jim leaned his head onto one hand, staring at Spock with the adoration he had mentioned earlier. “I'd say the Vulcan term, for what I'm thinking of, but... Something tells me you should be the one to say it.”
Spock's heart rate increased. That was logical, because Jim was looming in even closer, and Spock found himself contributing to the closing distance between them, too. “I feel that at this juncture I should confirm explicitly that I understand the nature of the interaction that is developing between us, and that I consent to its development.”
“Romantic again, Spock.”
“It is quite logical, to be romantic towards one's t'hy'la.” Spock said, feeling the very faint ghost of a rare, full-faced smile starting to hum in the potentials of his muscles.
“Oh, well, I'm glad we're being logical.”
“I would have thought, that you would be glad we are being romantic.”
“Oh, that too,” Jim said, putting a hand on Spock's knee, balancing himself better as he again increased their proximity. “Very, very glad—overjoyed, maybe even dizzy with delight, since we're being explicit. I did say that I utterly adore you, didn't I?”
“Am I to assume that you would like the honour of initiating our ‘first kiss’?” Spock asked, as Jim remained stationary, now just inches away. “Or would you be more gratified should I initiate this significant event?”
“Let's just call it a collaborative effort.” Jim murmured, in a voice whose timbre had a cascading effect on Spock's nervous system combined with the feel of the hand Jim now had at the back of his head, fingers curled with possessive affection into his hair. “You asked, and I—”
Leaned in, and pressed his lips to Spock's, soft and yielding as Spock followed his desire to cup Jim's cheek, and experience the sensation of his skin.
“Gods, I just love you so much I feel like I'm going to burst with it.” Jim said, against Spock's lips as he kissed him in the human way. “You must know what I mean, Spock. Is that how you feel, too?”
“Fanciful,” Spock said, in a whisper that would only ever be for Jim. “And yet,” Spock stopped their kiss to press his forehead against Jim's, share breaths with him. “I must say that it is. You, I adore over all else.”
“Not science, surely.”
“I do not adore 'science'.” Spock said, taking the opportunity to nuzzle in below Jim's ear. “I enjoy exploration, and the quest to answer questions according to the scientific method.” Spock's eyes were closed, but he perceived Jim's movements with his other senses, and was thus not surprised to feel him climbing onto his lap. “I find myself satisfied, to a deep level, when a well-designed experiment is carried out with skill, to success.” Now it was Jim who was nuzzling into him, pressing soft kisses to Spock's neck. “I am gratified when the application of scientific knowledge leads to a favourable outcome.” Spock breathed in Jim's scent, found himself wrapping arms around him to support his position. “While strong, and driving, these feelings are inferior in strength to what I feel for you.”
“Very,” Jim gasped, as Spock's left hand began a more southerly exploration. “Very , romantic, Spock.”
“Perhaps I am, as they say, 'a natural'.”
“Only when it comes to me, I hope.”
“For the foreseeable future, I believe that will be a mutually desired outcome.” Spock succumbed to an urge to kiss Jim again, deeply, so that he could submerge himself in the resulting sensory information. His other hand followed an urge too, coming up to caress the fingers of Jim’s corresponding hand, feeling the frission flow down his psi points, reminding him acutely of just how deep their bond went.
“Mmm, very good. Take me to bed, Spock.” Jim’s eyes met his, golden, hazy, demanding of him nothing but the love that he already felt, simply wishing for its real world expression, its manifestation as the physical intimacy that their cultures so revered.
And so Spock did. Over the following months, he did so often enough that Jim put in a request for shared quarters. Uhura, through her many channels of communication, found out pretty much immediately. Once Pavel Chekov was informed, there was simply no stopping the spread of gossip. From there, credits were exchanged, betting pools ended and congratulations given, on the consummation of a relationship that so many of the crew had been waiting and wondering about, convinced in their hearts and/or other relevant literal and metaphorical organs that there was indeed something to the rumours about the two of them. And Spock found that he had never been more gratified to see a piece of ship’s gossip come to life.