Work Text:
“So much for Vulcans not being able to lie,” Bones said, pouring himself and Jim each a well-earned glass.
Jim accepted the glass and knocked back half of it in a single swallow. “I always knew Spock would play an irritating game of poker too,” he said with a wry smile.
“That’s all well and good for the rec room, but last I checked he was supposed to be on our side.” Bones took a bracing sip, before continuing, “Jim, I know better than to get between you and your first officer, but even if everything was forgiven by the top brass, well, it was mutiny.”
The word “mutiny” seemed to send a jolt through Jim, and he downed the rest of his glass as if to steady himself.
“It didn’t have to be,” Jim said finally. “Spock could have told me all about his plan and chances are I would have helped him. He did all that to make sure I couldn’t be held responsible; to spare my career when he was risking his life. Who am I to say he shouldn’t get a commendation for loyalty instead?”
“He has a funny way of showing it. And even if it turned out alright this time, next time he pulls something like this we all might not get so lucky.”
“That’s what worries me. Spock served under Captain Pike for eleven years, but I don’t think they were close. I doubt Spock was ever so… stubbornly protective of him, yet he still did all that.”
“Maybe Captain Pike was never so stubbornly insistent on facing every danger himself,” Bones pointed out.
Jim gave him a pointed look in return. “Maybe it’s arrogance, but I keep wondering what lengths Spock would go to if it were me in Pike’s place, and I’m not sure I want to know the answer.”
Spock found the captain in the ship’s gym, apparently in between bouts, a towel slung over his bare shoulders. Jim smiled at Spock’s arrival, his demeanor relaxed as had been the case since their departure from shore leave in the Omicron Delta system.
“Come to take a swing at your commanding officer?” Jim asked, laughter in his expression if not his voice. “You’re in luck, my latest opponent just had to return to duty.”
“You didn’t get sufficient exercise on the planet’s surface?” Spock asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.
Jim seemed particularly amused by Spock’s question. “Of a kind, but it’s important to stay in practice. What do you say, Mr. Spock?”
Spock could hardly refuse him—after all, it was the captain’s off shift. So, Spock went and changed into a red robe and exercise pants, before meeting Jim on the mat.
Jim easily fell into a half-crouched stance, light on his feet and his arms out, ready to take advantage of any opening. Spock did not quite mirror him, remaining more upright, but he too readied himself. His eyes reflexively traced the pressure points across Jim’s bare chest.
“I take it you didn’t actually come down here for a match,” Jim said lightly, as though they weren’t already circling each other, looking for a chance to strike.
“No,” Spock acknowledged, “I have observed some concerningly illogical behavior-”
The only warning Spock had was a quick smirk before Jim suddenly cut him off with a lunge at his legs, knocking them both onto the mat and crashing into Spock, leaving no space at all between them and hardly any fabric. Their legs tangled together and Jim grabbed onto Spock’s arms as he grappled for purchase.
“Distracted, Mr. Spock?” Jim said, holding Spock down, most of his weight leveraged against Spock’s shoulders. “I would be more concerned if the crew was being perfectly logical.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I have accounted for the expected human irregularities.”
Spock pushed back, and to his surprise, Jim gave in, using Spock’s strength against him to let them both roll across the mat, their bodies pressed together, until Jim was back on top.
“Have you?” Jim teased.
“Yes.”
Spock pushed back again, more intentionally this time, pinning Jim flat against the mat, his hands on Jim’s wrists and his legs across Jim’s, holding him firmly in place. In retrospect, he may have been too forceful because, for a moment, Jim seemed almost winded by the sudden flip, though a smile quickly spread across his face.
“Well played, Mr. Spock. It’s easy to forget how much stronger than the rest of us you really are.” Jim seemed to be entirely unperturbed by his sound defeat, to all appearances content to lie on the mat with Spock looming over him, a light flush across his cheeks from the exertion.
“This is precisely the kind of illogical behavior that I mean,” Spock said, leaning back into a crouch to let Jim up.
Jim followed him, sitting opposite Spock on the mat. “Illogical,” Jim repeated with a laugh, as though it was some kind of joke.
Spock gave Jim a pointed look. “Forgive me if I don’t see the humor in the situation,” he said drily. “Ever since we stopped for shore leave in the Omicron Delta system, I have observed particular difficulty in treating matters seriously.”
“You mean now that the crew has had a break, we’re too relaxed? Weren’t you the one who insisted we all needed shore leave in the first place? Yourself excepted, of course.”
“I have reason to believe that there was some substance in the air on the planet; an emotional relaxant so to speak, which appears to still be affecting the crew.”
“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Jim said, his expression finally turned serious. “Go ahead,” he added with a nod at the tricorder that Spock had brought and left hanging from a towel hook during their match.
Spock stood and offered Jim a hand, which Jim gladly accepted, his grip solid and pleasantly cool in contrast with Spock’s higher body temperature. However, Spock did not miss how Jim winced at the sudden pull at his shoulder—perhaps Spock had indeed been too forceful in their wrestling match. Jim rubbed at his upper back in an attempt to work out the tension while Spock retrieved the tricorder, though he stopped as Spock scanned him with it.
“I don’t understand it,” Spock said, staring intently at the readings as though they might make more sense under closer inspection. “I don’t detect anything out of the ordinary, only trace amounts of the compounds present in the cellular casting used on the planet, certainly not enough to cause any noticeable change in behavior.”
Jim gave Spock a long look. “It’s not like you to jump to conclusions without evidence. When did you first notice?”
Spock reluctantly lowered his tricorder. “During my brief excursion to the planet’s surface.”
Jim nodded. “I think in the back of my mind I knew something wasn’t right when I was down there, but I didn’t pay any attention to it because I was so preoccupied—because I needed the break too badly. But you should have brought it to my attention. I can’t do my job with you trying to protect me from it.”
“Jim, I-”
Jim dismissed Spock’s explanation before he could begin to articulate it. “I know. You did what you thought was best for the crew and for me. Though you didn’t have to look quite so pleased about pulling one over on me to get me onto the planet in the first place,” Jim said pointedly, but his expression was more amused than irritated.
Spock, however, did not appreciate the implication. “I don’t see why you find it so amusing to make such insinuations, especially now that you are no longer affected by the emotional relaxant.”
“You mean to say that you weren’t pleased by a job well done?” Jim pressed. “And there’s nothing wrong with having a good-natured laugh. You could think of it as a way to build camaraderie and improve morale.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim. “When you put it that way, it almost sounds logical, though I do not see how my morale needs improving.”
“Good, that means it’s working,” Jim said with a smile, and Spock’s eyebrow only rose higher.
Jim worked at his shoulders again, wincing as he stretched out his arm. Seeing Spock watching him, he said, “That’s what I get for wrestling a Vulcan.”
Spock hesitated. “Jim, I may be able to be of some assistance.”
A smile spread across Jim’s face as he realized what Spock was suggesting, and he motioned for Spock to go ahead.
Spock circled around to stand behind Jim and tentatively put a hand on Jim’s strained shoulder; his skin was soft and smooth, just slightly damp from exertion, and cool against Spock’s comparatively warm fingertips. The mere contact was enough to draw out a sound of contentment from Jim as he leaned into the touch.
Spock gently pressed into the ample muscle, still tense and unyielding beneath a soft cushion of fat.
“Yes, that’s the spot,” Jim murmured. “Just a little harder…”
Spock obliged, kneading into the epicenter of the tension, and Jim let out a groan of intermingled pain and pleasure.
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Spock,” Jim said between shallow breaths as Spock worked at the muscle, stretching it out until it was forced to relax.
Spock fell into a steady rhythm as he gradually worked outward from the strained muscle in Jim’s shoulder to the other muscles around it, pressing the tension out Jim’s upper arm and lower back, and up Jim’s spine to the base of his neck. The deliberate, repetitive motion of Spock’s sensitive fingertips against Jim’s back drew their minds together like a meditative mantra, but Spock resisted the pull and kept his defences intact.
Jim’s breathing slowed as Spock’s touch became gentler to dispel any lingering tension, punctuated by occasional soft noises of encouragement as though Spock couldn’t feel the contentment radiating off of him.
Spock’s hands lingered at the back of Jim’s neck, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin.
“Shore leave was nice,” Jim said softly, “but this is what I really needed.”