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The first time he sees snow he can’t help but stay outside a little longer than is logically reasonable.
He’s alone, as he generally is for the intimate moments of his life, and so he doesn’t bother worrying about being observed. The scene before him is one of serene wilderness. The desert has always been home – has always been – in one form or another. A mark of civilisation. Of discipline and charm and unwavering strength. But this. He sees this and his mind is silenced in its awe. It’s not that snow is an unfamiliar concept. It’s one he’s gathered knowledge about, extensively. But he’s not once had the opportunity to witness the event of a snowfall in real time. And what he witnesses is beauty beyond comprehension, beyond logic, that he all but loses himself in the scene before him.
Absentmindedly, he removes his glove and raises his hand to the sky. The sudden wintry chill shocks his skin, but still Spock remains in his trance. He watches as the delicate flakes catch on his hand and melt before they can fully settle into his warmth. The sharpness of the sensation is so tranquil that he ignores the numbness settling in at the tips of his fingers. He raises his face, eyes closed, and lets the sensation build until he can’t feel it anymore. And how he wishes he can continue feeling it infinitely in this moment.
.
“Spock?”
He’s brought back to reality by Kirk’s curious voice.
“You’ve been standing there for a while now. You okay?”
He turns and Kirk is right in front of him, face reddened from the cold. “I am well, Captain.”
As usual, the Captain doesn’t look convinced by Spock’s reassurance.
He is fine. Living on Earth for the past several years, he’s become accustomed to seemingly abrupt seasonal changes, and so has become accustomed to the winter months, severe as often as they may be. Yet for all the accumulated months of arctic exposure, the novelty of a still winter’s day has yet to ware off.
All around him is quiet. He inhales the crisp air with something akin to longing, enjoying the icy burn in the depths of his lungs. It’s nothing like that first time, and there’s a part of Spock that doesn’t think he can ever get a chance to relive the ecstasy of that first experience, but it’s close enough. He feels at peace.
“I am well,” he says again.
There’s a flicker of something resolute in Kirk’s eyes. Without blinking, he closes the distance between them, hands unreasonably warm as they cradle Spock’s face and pull him down. Jim’s mouth is hot against his, moving with restless determination as he shifts his arms around Spock’s shoulders to hold him tight. Spock’s own hands find their way to his Captain’s waist, pulling him closer still. They part with breathless gasps, Jim’s face pressed into his neck, and Spock closes his eyes at the chill shooting down his spine from the moist breaths tickling his skin.
“Jim,” he says.
“Mhn.”
“Not that I lack appreciation for your emotional outbursts,” he cradles his arms around Jim’s shoulders and back, pulling him in closer, “but was there a reason behind your sudden desire?”
He feels the smirk against his neck. “Not necessarily. And in any case, I always desire to have you, so my actions can’t be considered unreasonable, can they?”
No, they most certainly cannot.
It’s some time before they move away from each other, but they only do so because the snow starts falling. Jim pulls back, looking into Spock’s eyes. “I love seeing you this happy,” he says. “You’re so beautiful and I don’t think you even know it.”
The wind blasts a shock of cold against them. Jim laughs, removing his scarf before wrapping it around Spock’s own. He’s grateful for the added layer, but he stares his disapproval at Jim’s exposed neck.
“Don’t be a grump,” says Jim. He leans forward to place a sloppy kiss to Spock’s cheek, eyes mischievous. A retribution of sorts, he supposes, as the damp kiss leaves his face feeling colder than before.
“Come on,” says Jim, wrapping his fingers around Spock’s gloved hand. “My mom will kill us if we miss dinner, since that was the whole point of this vacation for her.”
The snow continues to fall around them, and Spock gives in to being towed back toward their Christmas cabin. A gentle warmth settles deep within him, and he lets it spread throughout his body. Jim beams back at him, as though in response to the feeling.
He thinks he is beginning to understand the human phrase ‘live for the moment’.
This feeling. This happiness. It keeps spreading until he is all but vibrating with it. It’s a feeling that leaves him dizzy and breathless and wanting.
He wishes he can continue feeling it infinitely.