Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jim is pleasantly buzzed, sprawled in a chair across from Bones in the doctor's quarters, almost certain there's nowhere he'd rather be.

They haven't spent much time together lately, just the two of them; not since Jim and Spock became Jim-and-Spock. Jim didn't realize how much he had missed it. The thought makes him wince internally at the simultaneous realization that he's been kind of a shitty friend, disappearing into a relationship like the worst cliche.

Bones is telling him about the Xenocultural Exchange Film Festival he attended during their last starbase resupply. Jim can feel the smile on his own face as he watches him talk. McCoy in motion: eyes lighting up, hands gesturing without spilling a drop of what's in his glass.

"We should find something like that on our next shore leave," Jim suggests. "You can explain everything I'm not enough of a cinephile to understand."

Bones raises his eyebrows and shrugs, sitting back in his chair. "Sure," he says. "There are plenty of places with interplanetary lineups. I'm sure we can rustle something up, as long as we're not too far out in the boonies."

"Done," says Jim. "I'll just have to tell Spock not to go overboard planning romantic excursions."

Bones snorts. "That'll be the day."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, voice mild.

Bones holds up a hand.

"Didn't mean anything by it. I give Spock a hard time, but I know he's not that bad. And I'm real happy seeing you happy, Jim. Don't you dare tell him I said this—" Jim smirks "—but I think he's actually good for you. I just meant that it's hard for me to imagine the walking computer being, I dunno, romantic."

Jim raises his eyebrows, letting his smirk widen. "Really? You can't imagine it? Never pegged you for a lack of… romantic imagination, Bones."

Bones colors, as Jim had hoped he would.

"Well now," he says and pauses. Licks his lips. "Not like I'm about to go around imagining how things are with you and your…"

Amused, Jim watches him mentally flick through ways to end that sentence.

"…Spock," Bones finishes. He knocks back a gulp of his drink, not meeting Jim's eyes. Interesting.

Jim swirls his own drink and watches McCoy levelly. "Consider permission granted," he says. "I started it after all."

Bones gives him a confused frown and Jim goes on. "Think about it. You know he's observant. And resourceful. You've seen how different he can be around people he's comfortable with versus when he's on the bridge. You know how intense he can be–" he holds up a hand as Bones starts to open his mouth. "And no, I'm not talking about our little sojourn to Vulcan for that business with T'Pring." He pauses, smirks a little into his glass. "Well, not just that."

McCoy had been listening with wide eyes, but that brings a glower. "Didn't ask to hear about your sex life. Especially not when it involves my coworker. Or T'Pau!"

"Ohhh, I haven't even gotten close to talking about our sex life," Jim says. He knows Bones would shut him down in a heartbeat if he really didn't want to hear this. The fact that he hasn't is pretty telling.

Not that Jim's about to break Spock's confidence or ironclad need for privacy. But he knows that this is the one person out of all possible options where Spock might give him a little leeway around the edges.

Jim lowers his voice and doesn't miss how Bones leans in a little. "Did you know that Vulcan hands are erogenous zones?"

McCoy raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

"It's true. Remember when Spock's parents were here? That thing they would do with their first two fingers touching?" Jim holds his up in demonstration and does a very poor Sarek impression. "'My wife attend.'"

"Bullshit," Bones says. "You're pulling my leg. There's no way the Lady Amanda and the Vulcan Ambassador were getting freaky in front of everyone."

"No no," Jim says. "That's more like just a kiss. And she had gloves on most of the time, didn't you notice?"

Bones looks thoughtful.

"It has to do with their psi receptors," Jim goes on. "Speaking of which, I sure hope someone is out there doing research on the sensation feedback loops that can be caused by telepathic species, because the possibilities are--"

"OHkay, okay, that's enough," Bones interrupts with a scowl. "I refuse to see Spock as a romantic hero or a— a seducer of men. Nothing's gonna change my mind on that front."

"Nothing?" Jim teases.

"Nope," Bones says, popping the 'p'. He swirls the last sip of drink in his glass, before tossing it back.

"Wanna bet?" Jim asks.

Bones rolls his eyes. "Do I wanna bet that you can talk my ear off about mushy stuff your boyfriend did?"

"No," Jim says slowly as the idea coheres in his mind. "Nothing from me at all. But I bet Spock could change your mind. Get you to see him in a different light."

Bones snorts. "Right. Spock is gonna agree to show me how romantic he is. I'm sure he'll be jumping with joy. What, will he recite you poetry while I'm in the room? Send you the Vulcan equivalent of flowers? — or, wait, no, a cactus!" He's warming to his theme, amusing himself. "Actually, you know what, sure." He grins, folding his arms. "I'll take this bet. And I warn you, I'm not gonna change my whole worldview just because you have him give you a box of chocolates in the mess."

Jim holds up his hands. "I wouldn't dream of it. Just want you to have an open mind."

"Yeah, well," Bones mutters, reaching for the bottle. "You don't want your mind so open your brains fall out." He pours another splash into Jim's glass, then his own. "Say, speaking of which, we got this new directive from Starfleet Medical about psych screenings—"

It's just as well he's gotten himself off topic so fast. Jim doesn't want him to dwell on exactly what he's just agreed to. They chat for a while longer before calling it a night, like any other evening. Jim can't help it though. He finds himself whistling in the corridor on the way to Spock's quarters.

=-=-=

Jim in Spock's bed is still a marvel, a miracle. Illogical, emotional terms, yet the only ones that seem apt. Someday Spock may not experience this surge of pleased disbelief at each sight of Jim tangled in his sheets, limbs bare, golden skin glowing in the warm red light. Yet he cannot conceive of ever losing this sense of wonder.

Jim is so open to Spock here, and he to Jim, in a way Spock could not have previously imagined. He did not know how thoroughly Jim would understand him or how natural that would feel. He certainly did not know Jim would perceive things about him he hadn't fully known about himself.

They have just been intimate and Jim's skin is still flushed and damp with the human perspiration Spock finds so appealing. His smile is soft, his eyes fond, and the way Spock's heart thumps in his side in perhaps not only because of the energy he has just been exerting.

"I had an interesting conversation with Bones," Jim says. Spock raises an interrogative eyebrow.

"It might be easier to show you," Jim suggests, lifting his chin so his face is more open to Spock. Jim is endlessly open to — even intrigued by — the meld, a fact which induces in Spock a cascade of fascination, delight, overwhelm.

Spock needs no encouragement. He places his fingers to the meld points, watching Jim's lashes flutter closed against his cheeks. Spock slips into his mind between breaths.

Jim likes — Spock can sense that Jim likes — the fact that, with a meld, his emotions at the time of the memory can be shared with Spock, not just the facts of what was said. Thus, Spock perceives the underlying layers of Jim's thoughts and feelings while speaking with McCoy:

His intrigue at McCoy's poorly veiled interest.

Jim's knowledge of Spock's own long-submerged regard for the doctor. Spock had not thought it was so obvious.

Only to me, Jim reassures. And not even that until... recently. In here.

There is a gentleness in how he shows Spock what he has perceived in Spock's own mind. Then, carefully, he guides Spock through Jim's own emotions at this discovery: surprise and delight at what he has learned. Thoughtful interest as he considers in a new light the interactions he's observed between Spock and the doctor.

And finally, delicately, with an obvious focus on Spock's own reaction, Jim offers a bouquet of his own thoughts and feelings about McCoy. Times over the years Jim has felt attraction or deep fondness.

Spock's response has been shared before he himself has even fully perceived it: intrigue, enthusiasm, surpriselongingdelight. He hears Jim's warm laugh both inside and outside his own head.

Okay, then, Jim says. Good to know at least you don't hate the idea. The wave of his affection continues to lap steadily against Spock's mind. Reassurance and caution in equal measure, letting him know that they need not pursue this at all. Or that they could choose to table the conversation — for a week or a decade — and Jim will not be displeased.

Nothing could change this, Spock. Me and you. And I know Bones will keep being important. To both of us. Either way. This is just… an option. Outside the meld, Jim shrugs one bare shoulder.

Spock's thoughts race through unfolding and collapsing pathways, an if/then framework of branching possibilities and Jim's miraculous mind keeps pace with him the whole way.

Does he wish to pursue this possibility? Does he wish Jim to do so? There's a sourness when Spock considers either of them alone with McCoy, building relationships in separate airlocks. In contrast, he experiences a glowing warmth thinking about the three of them fit together, part of one complete whole: Jim understanding how Spock fits with McCoy and Spock knowing the same about them. No different from how they are now, just… more. The warmth grows, burnished with Jim's agreement.

Slowly, Spock eases their minds apart, until his consciousness is again fully embodied. Jim blinks open his desert-colored eyes, searching Spock's own.

"Something to ponder," he suggests, voice light, though Spock can sense his uncertainty.

"Indeed," he replies. "Perhaps I shall find myself in need of a Cyrano de Bergerac."

Jim's grin is real. "Highly doubtful," he says. "But I am a willing and enthusiastic co-conspirator, should you want one. Though it's certainly not needed."

He leans up and presses his mouth to Spock's.

"Your confidence in me is alarming, if flattering," Spock says. "I suspect bias."

"Absolutely correct," Jim says, and rolls on top of him.

=-=-=

As promised, Spock does spend time contemplating Jim's proposal — both intentionally and in a meditative state, letting his subconscious approach the issue.

His conclusion is surprisingly obvious, he realizes, as he opens his eyes one evening. And he believes he will find the activity satisfying on a number of levels, regardless of its outcome. He sheds his meditation robe in order to join Jim in bed. Curling around his sleeping form, Spock begins to plan.