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“Hey,” Jim took off his uniform shirt and hung it over the back of his chair, walking around the desk to where Spock was writing out his most recent paper, this time on geological phenomena on Tau Delta IV. He pressed a kiss into the Vulcan’s hair and took a moment to ruffle it up.
“Jim.” Spock glanced at him sideways, dark eyes revealing very little of the mirth beneath them. Without further comment, he returned to his PADD.
Jim grinned, taking this as a sign he had won the non-existent battle. He picked his shirt back up and chucked it into the laundry hamper.
“You know, sometimes I think you’ve made yourself at home here,” the captain said, watching Spock work. This seemed to catch his attention. He looked up.
“What do you mean?” Spock asked, putting down the PADD and stylus, looking at Jim with a carefully blank face.
“Well, you’ve made a little colony over there on my table with your research,” Jim pointed to the pile of PADDs in the corner. He turned next to his chest of drawers where he kept his clothes. “You’ve got a set of spare clothes here in case you spend the night—oh and don’t forget your toothbrush in my bathroom.”
Spock blinked.
“It’s like you’ve slowly crept into my life and I’ve only just realised how much we’ve been sharing.” Jim offered a smile.
“I see,” came Spock’s dry reply. He picked his PADD and stylus back up and moved to stand.
“Hey, wait—” Jim stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”
“I do not wish to impose on you, Captain.” Spock’s voice had gone cold. The hint of warmth in his eyes when he first saw him that evening had been patched up. All that was left was a practiced blank face.
“Impose? What? You’re not—you’re not imposing on me.” Jim’s hands came up to hold Spock’s upper arms. “Why would you think that?”
There was concern and confusion written across the captain’s face. Had he said something wrong? Done something to upset Spock?
Without answering the question, Spock broke their eye contact, looking just past Jim’s shoulder at the drawers.
“Ashayam, what’s wrong?” Jim asked.
The word had slipped out without thought. It was the inevitable result of Jim’s endless research into Vulcan relationships and customs and acceptable ways to show affection. He hadn’t been planning to use it until the right moment, but for some reason his brain chose to provide ashayam instead of its usual sweetheart.
Spock swallowed. He briefly forgot to hide the surprise that flickered through his eyes.
“You… that word… where did you—?” the poor guy could barely string a sentence together. The tips of his ears were turning green, and he still couldn’t meet Jim’s eyes.
“I… I didn’t want you to find out this way. I promise I was planning something better, but I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Jim sighed. “I’ve been learning a little bit of Vulcan.”
“James,” Spock began, but found he could not say anything more.
“Can I—can I touch your face?”
Spock nodded and Jim moved his hands to cup his warm green cheeks.
“It means ‘beloved’, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Spock’s voice was hardly stronger than a whisper. “Say it again.”
“Ashayam,” Jim obliged. “I’m so sorry if I said something that hurt you. Please talk to me?”
“I believed you did not… you did not want me here.” The Vulcan sounded sheepish as he spoke, if that was even possible. “I understood your comments about my belongings to mean that my presence was invading a space that should be yours and yours alone.”
Jim rose up and kissed his nose. “God no,” he said. “I meant that I didn’t realise how much of our lives we had started sharing—and I love that. Do you hear me, Spock? I love that you feel comfortable in my space. It means it’s our space.”
Spock dipped his head in another nod.
“Will you… say it again?” he asked without looking up.
Jim couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. He hooked two fingers below Spock’s chin and tilted his head up so their eyes met.
“What’s mine is yours, Ashayam.”