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If you had asked Jim Kirk how he thought it was finally going to happen, he would have said after one of them had nearly died in a phaser fight (again.) Or while they were stuck in a cave on an away mission that went wrong (again.) Or after a mind meld necessitated by an assignment, wherein they each shared more than they intended to (again.) Or some other big, flashy, dramatic, near-death experience that happened practically every week. Only after one of those could neither one of them be able to hold it in any longer.
Never in a million years would he have guessed it would happen on a quiet Tuesday evening, near the end of an uneventful shift.
“Well, I think that about sums it up, Mr. Spock,” said Jim, as he rounded the table in the conference room. Only Spock had lingered; the rest of the crew had shuffled out after a briefing on their next mission. Likely, he was just waiting for the data chips he would need to analyze. Jim stepped just a tad closer than he really needed to in order to give Spock his assignment.
Spock leaned toward Jim a little more than he needed to in order to take the data chips. “I shall endeavor to decode these in a timely manner,” said Spock, as he took them from Jim’s hands. He let their fingers brush slightly.
Jim gripped Spock by the arm. “I have faith in you,” he breathed. He had meant for the words to come out as a tease; instead, he just sounded every bit the lovestruck fool he was. Suddenly, he found that Spock’s face seemed much closer than it had just a moment ago.
“Jim,” Spock murmured, his beautiful eyes dark and intense.
It was at this point that one or both of them would normally throw themselves backward and mentally list off all of the reasons the other was off limits. But the use of his first name gave Jim a pause. “Yes, Spock?” he whispered.
Spock’s eyes flickered down to his lips. “Your heart beat is elevated. Your breathing has shallowed.” Gently, he set the data chips on the table. “You are touching my arms. You keep looking at my lips.” Slowly, his hand came up, touched Jim at the elbow, traced its way up his arm.
“Your point being?” Jim forced out. He could feel Spock’s breath on his face.
“These are all behaviors you typically display when you intend to kiss someone,” Spock stated, voice low and gravelly.
“Yes, that’s accurate,” Jim mumbled. He could feel himself slipping inexorably closer to Spock, as if pulled by an invisible force.
“Jim,” Spock implored.
“Yes,” Jim rasped in response to the unspoken question. He leaned in the rest of the very short distance and connected their lips.
Instantly the world around them stopped existing. A red alert could have gone off and neither would have cared. All Jim could feel was the urgent press of Spock’s lips, the way Spock’s arms wound around him, the circuit in his soul that finally felt completed.
He broke away after just a short moment, heart pounding, breath coming quickly.
Spock chased him, peppering small kisses on the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his hair.
Jim chuckled and kissed Spock on the lips again, softer, sweeter this time. Spock followed his lead. His lips were so soft, his breath was so warm, it felt so right to be holding him; Jim didn’t know how he would get anything else done now that this was an option.
Spock broke the kiss with an amused huff.
“What?” Jim asked, feigning offense.
“I am a touch-telepath,” Spock reminded him, doing one of his not-quite smiles.
“Ah, well-“ Jim touched their foreheads together. I’VE WANTED TO DO THAT FOR A REALLY LONG TIME, he thought loudly. “-How’s that for touch telepathy?”
Spock quirked a brow. “Of adequate volume,” he deadpanned. As have I, he thought back.