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I love you, Jim thinks.
And I love you, he knows.
[...]
It was, all things considered, a pretty spontaneous thing.
They had been playing chess in Jim’s quarters, as it has become routine over the last three years. Jim was kicking Spock’s ass and Spock was making little, involuntary distressed sounds at the back of his throat, like he does when he finds something particularly interesting (and annoying).
They’d been dating for two and some years, and it had been Spock, surprisingly, who made the first move.
“Jim?” He said, once he realised his partner was not making any move to take his Bishop to victory over Spock’s King. “Are you well?”
Jim looked up from his lap, and Spock waited.
“Hey,” Jim had finally said, after his eyes finished a familiar journey over Spock’s shoulders and neck. “Marry me.”
“Pardon?” Spock answered. He pulled his hands into his lap and waited patiently, eyes unwavering, mouth unshaken.
“Yeah. Let’s get married, Spock. Human married. And Vulcan married, too, if you want,” Jim answered, this time almost immediately, desperate, as if he wanted to breathe but the air caught in his lungs every time he tried.
“Is this a… formal proposal?”
“I- I guess?” Jim stumbled over his words with uncharacteristic show of hesitance on his voice. “I don’t have a ring.”
Spock kept his face carefully neutral when he said, “A ring is neither necessary nor acceptable.”
Jim brightened. “Oh, good! So, will you?”
“Will I what, Jim?” Spock asked, confused at the phrasing, heart pounding in his side in a manner he would find disturbing was this a different circumstance.
“Marry me, Spock,” Jim said. His eyes were hopeful and scared, and Spock could not see his hands, but he knew they were shaking like they did when Jim was particularly nervous about something, and his face was growing into Spock’s favourite smile, and so, how could Spock say no?
(Did he ever have the ability to say no to Jim?)
(It is of no importance.)
“I will,” Spock finally said, his lips curling upwards against his better judgement.
[…]
I will love you, until the day of my death.
[…]
Jim was- Jim was in high spirits, all week.
Shore leave could not come fast enough. He kept stealing hidden, secret glances at Spock, who would return them in a similar fashion- a hidden smile, a laugh into the crook of his elbow, a petit touch on the hip as they walked by each other.
Spock, on his part, was doing an embarrassingly poor job of hiding his elated emotions.
So yeah, shore leave was only a few days away, but as far they are concerned- it may as well be a terrible eternity.
[…]
I will hold you close and cherish all your flaws, as if they were my own.
[…]
“Say, Jim, I was thinkin’, y’know, we got shore leave comin’ up this weekend-”
“Ah, I already, uh, have plans.”
“For shore leave?” Scotty’s eyebrows went up, up, up, in that way that may give Spock a run for his money, someday. Jim knew why; he would never, under normal circumstances, turn down an opportunity to get drunk off his ass in a planet light-years away from home.
But.
“Yeah, it’s- it’s important. So I can’t really… y’know,” Jim flinched at his own out-of-character awkwardness, and his fingers twitched around the towel he was holding- he’d been helping Scotty out with this and that, burning time along with calories (Bones be damned, he wanted to look good on his wedding night) in the belly of the ship.
“Oi, Jim-” Scotty sounded almost heartbroken, and even when Jim knew it was most likely a ruse, he felt bad.
Time to go, he thought. He wasn’t about to blow it out of hurt man-feels. Plus, Scotty would get over it.
“Sorry, Scotty!” he said as he walked away, leaving a dumbfounded Scotty behind.
[…]
I will feel your pain as my own and let the winds carry my words of love into your ears.
[…]
It was mutual agreement to elope.
Not because they didn’t like their friends, or didn’t want to share this with them- Gods no, Jim would first have to die than to exclude the people he loves from his personal life, again- but it was an understanding that this was different.
Too important, almost, but mostly something they wanted to do on their own. (Jim told Bones and Bones only, because he’s Bones and they needed a witness. Bones sighed, and only said, took you long enough and congrats, man).
Spock almost dragged them out of the ship the moment they entered orbit and were cleared for landing- not because he was exited or something human like that, but because, “Jim, punctuality is fundamental on any occasion.”
Bones rolled his eyes. Jim considered kissing him, in the middle of the docking bay and still technically on duty, but refrained.
He walked faster, though, right beside Spock, their elbows brushing together ever-so-slightly.
“Disgusting,” Bones whispered, although his smile was bigger than his heart.
[…]
I will take you as you are and as what you may become.
[…]
The papers were signed on stardate 2262.37, by James Tiberius Kirk and S’chn T’gai Spock. Leonard H. McCoy stood as witness.
Jim could not stop smiling the entire time. As they kissed (on the mouth and with their fingers, soft, promising) and Bones rolled his eyes, Spock allowed himself a lose quip on the corner of his lips, an unperceivable wrinkle on his eyes.
He was, for the first time in a long, long time, irrevocably happy.
[…]
I cannot promise a long time to come-
[…]
Bones left them after the signing of the papers and a meal.
“I’ve had enough mushiness for a year, thanks.”
It was late- they had spent the entire meal laughing and talking, drinking Andorian wine-analog in fancy cups- and they were on the way to a hotel on the other side of town when Jim sees- a tattoo parlour.
“Hey, Spock,” he says, leaning left, feeling bold enough to tangle his arm with Spock’s and ask stupid questions. “How do you feel about tattoos?”
[…]
-but I shall give you my entire self, for as long as it may be.
[…]
The red band around their fingers signifies love, devotion, and the feeling of being meant for each other, transcending time and space and the fabric of reality.
Jim found it poetic and sweet. Spock found it unlikely, but doable.
It was perfect.
Jim touched the fine lines with the tips of his fingers as they were finally, finally at the threshold of the hotel room they’d rented for the night.
Jim looked up to see that Spock was already there, his eyes full of all the emotion the rest of his face did not show. And he smiled again, small and reserved and just for Spock.
Spock’s brows furrowed, like he was trying to solve one complex equation, and he leant in slowly and without any rush, like he was doing it on automatic, his magnificent brain still caught on the mystery that was- and always will be- Jim Kirk; the moment his lips met Jim’s his brain melted and his breath hitched, and he felt like if they were back in time, back to that one first time faded in love and rage and endless, sweet devotion.
Their kiss was short and chaste, tasteful, and they pulled away just as slowly as they came in.
Their eyes were closed but their hands found each other, and for a second in time, they were pure.
[…]
I will let the stars shine through your fingers and the moon die on your lips.
[…]
They didn’t have much money to spend on the room.
The bed was squeaky and heavy with their bodies, tangled and naked and wet, warm from wandering fingers and desperate from bruising lips.
Spock’s hands touched the curves of Jim’s body: fond, soft, pretty. There was the heat of arousal that coloured their skin in different shades, but their touches and caresses went beyond, tri-dimensional- Jim felt it tugging at the edges of his mind, a white-hot need for more, more, more, trivial and necessary as the air he heaved into his lungs at the feeling of Spock.
And away from prying eyes and ears, in the privacy of their own minds- joint as one, from the moment Jim came undone and Spock followed, and they lied together in the haze of afterglow and a new, warm presence in the corner of their mind.
Spock’s eyes were closed and his nose was buried in Jim’s hair, his heart pressed against Jim’s in what could have been a pretty metaphor, but was more a matter of consequence.
[…]
If you are willing to let me love you, I will.
[…]
I love you, Jim thinks.
And I love you, he knows.