Chapter Text
It was common knowledge on The USS Enterprise that their Captain was a… ‘touchy’ man.
He couldn’t walk through a populated room without a friendly nudge or a pat on the back, he played, what the Doctor crudely explained as the Terran game, ‘footsie’, under the mess hall tables, and hand shakes, ‘high-fives’, ‘first-bumps’, and shoulder squeezes were given out after every mission to his surrounding subordinates.
It was also common knowledge that Vulcans were touch telepaths.
The nerve endings on their fingers were extremely sensitive, causing even the most subtle of touch to be both physically and emotionally intimate.
However, this did not appear to discourage the Captain’s ‘touchy’ advances…
The first 24 times the Captain attempted to grab his hand, Spock flinched away immediately, resulting in only 16.67% mildly successful touches, and 8.33% moderately successful touches.
However, after a year of working closely together as Commander and 1st Officer, the percentage of unsuccessful hand-related touches, initiated by the Captain himself, had reduced to 2.33%, compared to the 97.88% of unsuccessful attempts made by other crew-members of The USS Enterprise.
To use the inappropriate Terran term, the Captain’s touch had become his ‘guilty pleasure’.
Their hands brushed together at their workstations on the bridge, in the turbo-lift before and after shifts, and in the privacy of their quarters.
Their hands brushed together when they stood side-by-side as loyal partners (in profession), when they passed objects (like PADDs and stylus’s and pens and mugs and cups), and when they walked down a corridor (steps always in sync with one another).
Their hands brushed together above desks when writing their lengthy reports, beneath mess-hall tables as they ate and socialised with the rest of the crew, and across chessboards when it felt like no one existed in the universe but them.
Frequently, his touch was too haste to be anything of significance.
Often, his index and middle fingers traced the Captain’s palms in a true Vulcan kiss.
Sometimes, Spock lost all constraint, and squeezed his hand in what Terrans would consider a Vulcan’s equivalent to their expression of ‘making out’.
Every stolen touch was unacceptable behaviour. Not only was it unprofessional and juvenile to be so intimate in public, but unethical and deceitful, especially if the Captain misunderstood the implications of Spock’s actions.
He needed to stop.
Spock should have controlled himself a long time ago, but each meditation failed to end to his sinful desires. It appeared the warmth and love he felt through their bond with every Vulcan kiss was too addictive for Spock’s immature human side to ignore.
The Captain was his friend, brother, lover, soulmate; T’hy’la.
Taking advantage of his ‘touchy’ nature meant Spock could have a taste of their bond, could ground himself and feel complete — at least, that was how he justified his crimes when he was alone with his disgusting thoughts.
If the Captain told him to stop, Spock would force himself to behave.
Until then, however… well, the pursuit of sin was such an alluring concept and feeling to obey…