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Jim dug through the cabinet for the fourth time, sure this time would produce a different result. Peanut butter, chocolate chips, chopped walnuts… Nope, no marshmallows have appeared since his last check. Did he put them in the wrong section? Canned soup, canned tomatoes, canned tomato paste, canned marshmallows? No, canned water chestnuts.
Jim sighed and closed the cupboard, disappointed as he had been the last three times.
He never thought the replicator would be something he missed from the Enterprise, but living without it showed how he’d taken it for granted, despite the slightly off tastes and textures it always seemed to produce. With regret, he added hot chocolate mix to two mugs of hot milk.
Right on time, his impressively punctual husband opened the front door, carrying a few grocery bags.
“You should’ve told me you brought groceries,” Jim said. “I would’ve helped you carry them.”
“I am capable of carrying two bags, each weighing less than 2 pounds.”
Jim moved in to properly pester his Vulcan, squeezing Spock’s bicep affectionately. “I’m sure you can, but what kind of husband am I to make you do it all by yourself?”
Spock gave him a stern eyebrow, his Vulcan equivalent of an eye roll. Jim grinned, still hanging onto Spock’s arm.
“I made hot chocolate,” Jim announced, wiggling his own eyebrows in response to Spock’s.
“I gathered as much from the smell,” Spock replied, trying to keep his sniffing subtle. “I believe you will be glad to know that I have purchased marshmelons.”
“Marshmelons?” Jim’s grin widened, but he kept his laugh contained.
“Marshmelons,” Spock nodded. “I did, of course, purchase vegetarian marshmelons, so I am unsure whether you will wish to use them.”
Jim paused. “Are they not usually vegetarian?”
“Negative,” Spock answered. “Marshmelons contain gelatin, which is a byproduct of animal meat and leather products. It is typically made using the skin and crushed bones of–”
“Alright, okay, I don’t wanna know,” Jim cut him off, looking mildly horrified. “Vegetarian marshmallows will work fine.”
Spock opened the package and dropped a few marshmallows into his mug. Whether he hadn’t noticed what Jim called them, or simply chose to ignore it, he said nothing of his mispronunciation. Before Spock could add them to Jim’s mug Jim stopped him, pouring a generous splash of rum into it and mixing it in.
“If you have sufficiently poisoned your hot chocolate I shall add the marshmelons,” Spock teased. Jim’s lips curled into an amused smirk as Spock continued to call them marshmelons.
“I suppose that’ll be enough, go ahead and add those marshmelons.”
Spock plopped a handful of marshmallows into the mug and picked up his own. Jim took his spiked hot chocolate in one hand and Spock’s arm in the other, pulling his husband along to the couch, the fireplace already alive with crackling flames. Retirement– despite the way he’d been dragged into it kicking and screaming– had its perks.
Spock sat down and allowed his husband to drape a blanket over his shoulders, soon after followed by another that he wrapped around the both of them. Jim pressed a firm kiss to Spock’s cheek while he took his first sip of the sweet drink.
“Warm enough?” Jim asked, still pecking at Spock’s cheek.
“You forget that I have served aboard a starship with temperature settings suitable for human comfort, Jim, I am well equipped to adapt to–”
“I don’t want you to adapt right now, I want you to be comfortable,” Jim interrupted, shushing Spock with an ohz’esta against his lips. “Are you comfortable?”
“With you I am always comfortable, Jim,” Spock purred.
“Stop that, you’re gonna make me cry,” Jim poked Spock’s belly, pleasantly softened with age. Jim finally took a sip of his own hot chocolate, humming with satisfaction at the added warmth from the rum.
The two drank their mugs in comfortable silence, enjoying the sounds of the fire and the subtle rumble of Spock’s purring. By the time he could see the bottom of the mug Jim had a buzz. Spock was as in control as always but Jim knew from experience that he felt about the same.
“Another?” Jim asked, taking Spock’s mug.
“That will not be necessary,” Spock responded, licking chocolate off the corner of his lip. “I find I do not wish to be separated from you.”
“Separated for about four minutes?” Jim teased, gasping exaggeratedly. “Maybe even nearly five?” He wrapped his arms tight around Spock. “I think you’d survive, drama queen.”
Spock sighed, going along with Jim’s game of pretend, to the human’s delight. “If you are certain… I await you, Ashayam.”
Jim gave him another kiss before leaving his husband to make the treacherous journey alone to the cold kitchen. He made their hot chocolate in record time and rushed back to his no doubt freezing and lonely Vulcan.
“Five minutes and 16.077 seconds,” Spock greeted him, not pouting because Vulcans do not pout.
“What?” Jim argued, sitting down beside the Vulcan burrito now hogging both blankets. “C’mon that was only four something, I was keeping count! Kinda.”
“My count started from the moment your buttocks disconnected from the couch and lasted until you were in view again, you were gone for five minutes, 16.0771 seconds.”
“Oh, now we’re counting milliseconds are we?”
“My original number included milliseconds, I am now including microseconds.”
“Well, I’m very sorry you spent a microsecond without me. If I give you this hot chocolate will you be okay?”
“I believe so.” Spock took the warm mug in his neglected, probably frostbitten, previously husbandless hands.
After another couple seconds of drama Spock opened the blankets and allowed Jim to slip inside, probably seeking to leech off his higher body temperature. Jim crowded in and happily offered his heat to the Vulcan, keeping his arm wrapped around Spock’s waist.
“I won’t leave you ever again, at least for an hour or so,” Jim promised, nuzzling into Spock’s neck to place more kisses.
“Acceptable,” Spock agreed, his eyes slipping shut with contentment.
“Wanna watch a movie?” Jim mumbled, more occupied with Spock’s skin than speaking or drinking.
“You have fallen asleep within the first 26.78 minutes of the past 12 movies we have watched together.”
“Lets make it 13,” Jim chuckled into Spock’s neck, already feeling a nap coming on. Spock finished his mug and set it on the table in front of them, picking up the remote. He gently pried Jim’s mug away from him, before he could fall asleep entirely and spill it. Jim mumbled something into Spock’s neck as he picked out a documentary that interested him, since he would soon be the only one watching.