Chapter Text
“See you back at home, Spock,” Jim said as the three of them exited the Mission together. Edith had reminded him she was free for the evening and yesterday he had promised to take her out tonight. Jim had, in fact, completely forgotten. His heart wasn’t really in it anymore, but he still felt the need to soak up every second he could with her, not knowing when he might see her for the last time. Spock waved and headed off down the sidewalk, and Jim took Edith’s hand as they dashed across the busy street to the other side.
“If we hurry, maybe we can catch the Gary Cooper movie at the Orpheum.”
“The who movie?” Jim was too distracted to rack his brain for any knowledge of old film stars. He only knew Jimmy Stewart offhand.
She laughed. “You know, Dr McCoy said the same thing—”
“McCoy!” Jim’s heart pounded as he stopped walking, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Leonard McCoy?”
“Well, yes,” she smiled anxiously, looking puzzled. Perhaps looking after him had been what she was busy with the previous evening. “He’s in the Mission, he’s—”
“Stay right here,” he said firmly, letting go of her, hardly knowing what he was doing even as he did it. “Spock!” he shouted as he began to dash back across the street. Spock was a little ways down the block and turned at the sound of his name. “Wait right there!” he called back to Edith, as though if she simply stood still then time would stand still, too: he could leave McCoy in Spock's care and then go back to her and she’d still be just waiting there for him, and he’d kiss her goodbye and hold her soft, fragile body in her little blue cape warm in his arms again and tell her how sorry he was that he had to go. He could hope for just a little more time…
Spock had sprinted back to meet him in front of the door to the Mission. “What is it?” he said as he nearly skidded to a stop.
“McCoy. He’s in—” The door opened behind them, and an overjoyed McCoy stepped out.
“Jim!”
“Bones!” They all but pounced on him; he and Jim wrapped their arms around each other, even Spock grasped his shoulder and arm with both hands, as if he were afraid they would lose him again. The relief was overwhelming, cold rain in his blood. Jim let go of him, turning to make sure Edith was still there so he could go and explain, but no, she had started crossing the street—
“No, Jim—” Bones and Spock said together as he started towards her.
“Edith!” he said in a whisper as he stopped himself at the edge of the sidewalk. Was this it?
McCoy appeared at his side, stepping into the street. His stomach turned to lead as he realised, yes, this was it, and Jim had to stop him. He did it without thinking, sickened with himself as he held his friend back with strength he didn’t know he possessed in a terrible, desperate hug, nothing like the one they’d shared just moments ago, turning his own face away from the street. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly he saw stars, but it couldn’t stop the sound…
“You deliberately stopped me, Jim,” McCoy was saying in disbelief, his words a shocked whisper next to Jim’s ear, which he thought might never stop ringing with the horror of it. “I could have saved her… do you know what you just did?” The anger had crept into his voice now, which was better. Jim could deal with anger. He deserved anger. He let go of McCoy and staggered a little away, leaning against the window frame, his hands shaking. He couldn’t look at the street, couldn’t look at Edith, didn’t want to remember her like that. Oh, god, Edith. I’m so sorry.
“He knows, Doctor.” He heard Spock’s deep voice, somehow both soothing and heartbreaking. “He knows.”
The Guardian would bring them back soon, now. They had to get away from the busy street, so no one would see them vanish and disturb the timeline again. Jim leaned one hand on the wall, trying not to lose control, using the brick to guide him around the corner and into an alley. It was, thankfully, devoid of life, except a rat which scampered away as he approached. “Jim!” Spock followed.
He was in too much shock even to cry. She would never be kissed again. Never smile at anyone again. Never get to share her dreams with anyone ever again. “The moon landing,” he said softly to himself suddenly, remembering as he sagged back against the damp wall of the building. “She’ll never know that humans got to go to the moon…” he laughed at the sad irony of it. Spock placed a hand on his shoulder, and Jim looked up at him and saw such compassion in his face that he did almost cry then; his eyes burned and he wanted to sink into his arms and let himself go completely, let Vulcan strength carry him like a child. But then the wall opposite them swirled and opened, and Jim looked back just as Bones rounded the corner. Spock beckoned him to follow, and once he was sure McCoy was just behind them, they stepped back through the portal, leaving New York and the past behind.
They had a short debriefing mostly so the members of the away team who had simply been waiting on the planet for a few minutes would stop looking at Jim with concern, and then he let them return to their shifts, telling Scotty to take the conn. He felt so odd sending them back to work— he had to keep reminding himself they’d only left the ship twenty or thirty minutes earlier. The fact that he and Spock had come back through wearing the uniforms they’d left in, not the winter street clothes they’d been wearing, only compounded the surreality of it.
Jim, Spock, and Bones went to the sickbay, the doctor having ordered them all a checkup while muttering about bedbugs and T.B. and polio. When they got there Jim explained things as succinctly as possible to Dr M’Benga, who nodded as if he examined time travellers and men who’d dosed themselves with 200 times the usual amount of cordrazine every day. He gestured McCoy into the biobed for examination first. After giving him a vitamin and electrolyte hypo, he told him he could perform some light duties, and M’Benga then moved on to Spock, checking him for infections, illnesses, and general physical health. He would probably need a vitamin hypo or two as well, Jim reckoned, with the limited food he’d been able to eat the past few weeks.
Bones, in the meantime, began examining Jim, and of course had asked how well he’d known Edith Keeler. Jim told him pretty much everything— getting discovered with their stolen clothes in her basement, Spock’s stone age computer, the sex work, his closeness with Edith— everything except what had happened between him and Spock. That could wait. Bones listened, running the scanner over him, taking blood samples and muttering about the dark ages of medicine and ignorance about sexual health. “Did you know that during the First World War there were men who intentionally exposed themselves to gonorrhea so they wouldn’t have to go off and fight?” He shook his head in despair. “The cure in those days was almost as bad as the disease.”
“Come on, that sounds like one of those urban legends.”
“You’d think,” he said darkly as he inserted blood vials into the analyzer and turned it on. “Still. You couldn’t have become a rum runner instead, Jim, if you needed extra money, rather than risking any number of infections?”
“You’d rather I have gotten shot with an old-fashioned revolver? What do you take me for, someone who doesn’t know his way around a drugstore? I don’t mind telling you I won’t miss the taste of latex.”
“Well, it seems to have done its job, anyway,” he admitted reluctantly. “We’ll know for sure in a few minutes when the last blood samples come back.” He gestured Jim into his office, and they sat down to wait.
“Do you remember anything? From your own time there?” Jim asked.
He sighed, frowning and shaking his head. “Just bits and pieces. There was a fellow on the street, I think, before I made it to the Mission… I hope I didn’t scare him too much. And Miss Keeler. She was a real professional with the down and outs, huh?”
Jim smiled sadly. “Yes, she certainly was that and more.”
Bones gave him a somewhat rueful smile back, and returned to entering information on his PADD as they waited. After a minute or two the blood spectrum analyzer pinged that it had finished. He retrieved the readout, looking it over. “Seems you’re in the clear, Jim.” But he still insisted Jim take at least the following day off. “Your cortisol levels are way up— no surprise, with all you’ve had to endure. And I don’t know if there’s such a thing as time-sickness, but I’d assume you’re also suffering something like jet lag. You were gone nearly a month, whereas for all the average officer on this ship knows, all you did was beam down to the planet for a few minutes, find the crazy old doctor who’d been accidentally drugged and hypo him back to normal.”
Jim opened his mouth to protest that he’d do better on the bridge than sitting around in his room, but Bones cut him off. “Jim. There’s days until we reach our next location, Spock and Scotty can handle the bridge. I’m sure they won’t let us get sucked into a black hole.” He shook his head. “I wish I could get Spock to take the day, too, but—” he prodded with unnecessary force at his PADD, as if it were the computer’s fault Spock was in good health— “Dr M’Benga doesn’t seem to have found any medical reason why he shouldn’t work.”
Jim huffed out a reluctant laugh. Spock would probably need to lose a limb before he’d consider not showing up for a shift. “I notice you haven’t given yourself any time off.”
“Me? I spent the last two days sleeping it off in Miss Keeler’s office. I couldn’t be more rested if I tried.” He got up and Jim followed him out of his office.
“You wouldn’t be trying my old trick of keeping busy to avoid your own uncomfortable feelings, would you, Doctor?” When he didn’t answer, Jim softened his tone. “Bones. What happened… it’s not your fault.”
“And it’s not yours either, Jim, so I don’t want to see you wallowing in your own guilt as if you’re the first person ever to lose someone!” Too taken aback to even get angry at the accusation, Jim blinked at him, his mouth hanging open a little. “Sorry.” He was contrite immediately. “You’re right. I just keep thinking about what the Guardian said, about us keeping the timeline on the right path so that nothing changed, and everything is as it was, like we were never there… she died just the same as she did before, the only difference is now we know about it.” His face was troubled. “Nothing’s changed… well, that’s true for them, and everyone else in the past, but not for us. Not for you. We get to keep our utopia, but for you, now, it feels a little worse.”
Jim nodded. For Bones this was a very bleak proclamation, which was how Jim could tell he was very concerned for him. “Well— one good change did come,” he said a moment later, thinking Bones could use a happier update.
“What’s that? Besides the fact that you’ve gained a new respect for modern prophylactics?” He went back to recalibrating the biobed.
“Spock and I…” Jim trailed off awkwardly as he realised he’d decided to break this news before really thinking it through. Spock and I what? Had quiet and restrained sex in a tiny bed like people did in shared dorms at the Academy? Spock and I have been sleeping next to each other for the better part of three weeks and I’m feeling strangely lonely at the idea of him spending the night in his own room? Spock and I are a couple now? He wasn’t quite sure, and probably he should talk about it with Spock a little more. Really, he should have done so before telling Bones about it, but it was too late already; he had turned around, grinning.
“Well, it’s about time!”
“What do you mean, ‘it’s about time’?” Jim said. “Did everyone know about this before I did?”
“For such a smart guy your head sure can be full of rocks sometimes.”
McCoy’s mood was improving, which was the important thing. “Not all of us can be blessed with your brilliant powers of observation.”
“Hmph! As if it takes a brain surgeon to spot you and that science officer of yours staring longingly at each other twenty times a day, and wonder why they don’t do something about it.”
“I thought you were a general surgeon, Doctor? I didn’t know your specialty was the brain,” Jim said, feeling a little lighter.
“Get out of here and let me work! Before I medically confine you to quarters.” Bones was smiling to himself, so, mission accomplished.
Despite his protests, Jim felt as though he could do with sleeping for two days himself. But he had to finish his report first. He went into briefing room two, feeling more alone than ever, and started his recording. A few minutes later the door opened. “Captain. Am I disturbing you?”
“It’s all right, come in, Spock.”
“Shall I return to complete my shift on the bridge?”
“Let Scotty handle it. Finish your report at your convenience and get some rest. It’s almost twenty-one hundred according to our bodies, and you’ll be in command for alpha shift tomorrow. Dr McCoy’s insisted I take the day off.”
“That is wise.”
“You’re all right?”
“Dr M’Benga said my vitamin D and B12 levels were running quite low, but he has given me a hypo for each. I am to return for another in two days. Otherwise, I am in adequate condition. The doctor seemed impressed I was able to maintain the appropriate nourishment for potassium and iron.”
Jim smiled. “Lucky you were able to eat potatoes after the first week.”
“Indeed. If there’s nothing else, Captain…”
Spock seemed as though he might have something else on his mind, but Jim hesitated. He didn’t want to push. “Not just now. Dismissed.” With a nod, Spock opened the door and was gone.
The sonic shower Jim took in his own bathroom felt like the first time he’d been properly clean in weeks. He went back into his quarters in his towel, touching items at random and having to again remind himself that it was normal for everything to look the same despite the feeling of having returned someplace after a long vacation— he’d only been gone a few hours, not even a full shift, by the ship’s time. He pressed his hands to his eyes. He was getting a headache. Maybe there was such a thing as time-sickness, after all. He returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hang up his towel, filling a glass of water at the sink and downing it, then filling it again to take back to the room. He put it on the nightstand and climbed into bed naked, unsure if it was a genuine desire to be without clothing after weeks of sleeping in his t-shirt and underwear, or just a lack of motivation to do otherwise. “Computer, lights off.”
Jim slept. He slept through the automatic change of the lights to mimic sunrise before the start of his usual shift, and woke up to a bright room two hours later. After getting up to go to the bathroom, he shut the lights out again and fell back into bed. He awoke on his stomach several hours afterward with a dry mouth and a crick in his neck. Rolling onto his back, he idly wondered the time, delaying in asking the computer for no reason he could determine. He thought of how Spock would know it automatically if he were to ask. Sprawled out half under the covers, Jim lay in the dark for a long time, until his stomach started to growl and he realised he’d gone to bed without eating dinner. Briefly, he considered ignoring it and going back to sleep, but he thought of the lineups for soup and bread at the Mission, the woman at the produce store sadly putting the potato back on the stand, and made himself get up. He commed his yeoman for an egg sandwich and some coffee, and as an afterthought, some sliced peaches and yogurt, simply for the novelty of a fruit that wasn’t an apple from cold storage, or a slice of lime perched on the edge of a bar glass. But the fruit didn’t taste as good as he’d expected.
After breakfast (or brunch, really, since it was at least lunchtime), he opened his console, thinking he would catch up on paperwork, and then remembered yet again that he hadn’t even missed a full day of work. He completed the few things that were waiting for his attention. He wanted to leave his room, but to do what? Haunt the corridors like a depressed ghost? Go to the rec lounge to get drunk on synthesized alcohol? Go bother Bones in the sickbay? Spock wouldn’t even be free for the distraction of a game of chess for at least another two hours.
At some point later in the day he found himself on the observation deck, looking out. The black expanse with its slowly morphing pinholes of light was somewhat comforting, reminiscent of summer nights when he’d laid on the roof of the porch with his brother as kids, pointing at the ones they knew and making up names for the ones they didn’t, laughing as they got more and more silly. You got us here, Edith. Not just the moon, but the stars as well. Other planets. Forms of life you can’t even imagine. Societies even more ancient and advanced than ours. I wish you could have changed the world with your life rather than your death, but that’s not what the universe wanted. His entire being ached with sadness, but his eyes were still dry.
“Captain.” It took a moment to register the sound of Spock’s voice, and he didn’t react immediately. “Jim…”
Jim turned from where he’d been resting with his head against the wall next to the window. “Mr Spock…” Spock came closer, but he still had his hands behind his back.
“Beta shift has commenced. Lieutenant Sulu has the conn. He expects we will reach the outer rim of the Cygnus system in approximately thirty-nine hours.”
Jim lifted one corner of his mouth. “You could have commed instead of wandering all over the ship just to tell me that.”
“Little wandering was involved, as this is only the third place I thought to look, after your quarters and the mess hall.”
“I see.” Spock’s face was concerned, thoughtful. “Something on your mind?”
“Jim… perhaps you might like to take more than just Dr McCoy’s requisite day off?” he ventured gently.
“I’ve just spent a month away from the ship, Spock.”
He was quiet for a few seconds before he opened his mouth again. “On my world... the nights are very long. The sound of the silver birds against the sky is very sweet. My people always know there is enough time for everything.” Jim felt his eyebrows move; Spock often mentioned Vulcan customs, or history, or other things in joking ways that would emphasize his difference from humans, but he rarely talked about his homeworld this way— nostalgic, personal. “You could come with me for a rest. You would feel comfortable there.”
He sounded almost hopeful. Jim looked back out at the stars. “All the time in the world…” Spock moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder.
“And filled with tomorrows.” Jim felt his own hand reach up, resting it on top of Spock’s. He understood what he was being offered: the ability to be truly free of his obligations for awhile, the opportunity to be with Spock in his world the way he’d been with Edith in hers. How could his heart feel so broken, and yet so full?
“She didn’t know… I didn’t get to tell her I loved her.”
“She could not know her own fate, but I believe she understood her importance to you. And no woman was ever loved as much, Jim. Because no woman was ever offered the universe for love.”
Jim let a reluctant smile shape his face for a moment. Spock certainly was a lover of poetry. They were silent, and Spock didn’t try to take his hand away. “I appreciate what you’re offering, Spock. And I wish I could say yes." He sighed. "But I think I’ll be better off here. Especially if— if you’re here with me,” he said as he turned back to face him.
“I can think of no place I would prefer to be.” Jim turned fully, letting their hands clasp together, and after searching his face for permission, kissed him softly on the mouth. “Jim…” Spock continued when they broke apart, “there is something I would like to show you, something which does not require us to leave the ship.”
“Oh? What does it require?”
“Only that you accompany me to my quarters.”
Jim had to laugh a little. “I think I’m going to like it, then,” he teased as he let go of his hand so they could leave the room, heading to the turbolift.
“I believe so. Though perhaps not in the way you have inferred.”
“That's too bad."
When they reached Spock’s quarters, he dimmed the lights, which Jim was grateful for. His headache from the night before had faded, but the bright lights of the corridor had made him want to close his eyes. Spock turned on his console. “One moment, please, while I recall the information.” He gestured for Jim to sit down. Jim did, feeling a little awkward as Spock stood over him, clicking various things to navigate the computer to whatever it was he was looking for. “Here, Captain,” he said as he brought it up.
A yellowed black-and-white image of the Belmont Hotel appeared on the screen. The street name and the year 1967 were handwritten at the bottom. It looked a bit different: the awning had been replaced, and the bricks were in dire need of a wash, but the lettering and the front door were the same. “Where’d you find this?” Jim asked, staring into the screen.
“I requested access to several of New York City’s public archives. Once my request was received and granted, it was a simple matter of searching the name of the hotel. Apparently the Belmont ceased booking rooms by the hour after the Second World War, instead operating as a nightly hotel and weekly rooming-house. It became quite the haven for artists during the 1950s and 60s.” The image changed to a slightly more modern one, in colour. The bricks and the lettering had been washed clean, and the awning was gone. “The building was sold in the late 1970s by its owner, Abigail Horowitz. She was elderly and had no offspring, and could no longer confidently manage the building.”
“Abigail…?”
“Yes. She inherited the building after the death of its previous owner, Dorothy Shulman, in 1972.”
Jim laughed. “I thought that Lucky Luciano thing was a bit too convenient to be true.”
“Lucky Luciano?” Spock repeated curiously.
“He was a… never mind, it’s not important. Go on,” he said. The image changed again, showing an ancient land deed.
“Ms Shulman herself inherited the building from her father, after both her parents died during the influenza epidemic. She was their only child. Her husband was killed in action in France, 1918. I found no record of them having had children.” Jim did the math, realising Dorothy had become an orphan and a widow by or before age thirty. Wondering why Spock was telling him information that would make him feel worse, the image changed again, to another black-and-white photograph. Two elderly women sat in lawn chairs in a crowded park, smiling into the camera. One wore the old style of bifocal glasses with a long chain on them, salt and pepper hair cropped close to her head. The other had on sunglasses and dark lipstick, her hair in loose curls. Between them they held a paperboard sign that read ‘WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE — PARTNERS IN CRIME SINCE 1927’.
Jim’s mouth dropped open. “Dorothy…” The tight, secretive smile of the shorter-haired woman was unmistakable, even with decades of life etched into her face. And the other woman had to be Abigail— her wide eyes were hidden behind the opaque sunglasses, but Jim recognised the gap between her front teeth.
“Yes. There was a photograph accompanying her 1914 wedding announcement. The computer was able to accurately scan her appearance to allow me to search the archives for other images of her. This is from the event known as Christopher Street Liberation Day in 1970, one year following the Stonewall uprising, and two years prior to her death.”
He stared at the image, overcome. They had had a whole life together. Gotten to grow old…
“This may also interest you, Captain. When Ms Horowitz sold the hotel in 1976, it was to its assistant manager, Alfredo Morelli, for the price of two dollars.” Alfred. Jim looked at Spock, smiling in amazement. “Mr Morelli seemingly remained healthy well into his eighties and continued to manage the hotel until the time of his death in 1988, when it passed to the elder of his two sons. The younger Mr Morelli converted the building into studios and small apartments which he rented affordably, mainly to artists and homosexual young people or couples who had been displaced, as a way of honouring the legacy of its previous owners. Unfortunately, he apparently took on significant personal debt in order to do so, and the building did not survive the financial recession of the early twenty-first century. It was sold to developers and rebuilt as condominiums with only the façade remaining.”
Jim nodded distractedly. The loss of the building couldn’t touch the feeling that swelled within him at knowing that some of them, at least, had lived long and fruitful lives. “Spock, this is incredible.”
“I have more, Captain. Ms Shulman and Ms Horowitz kept careful financial records at the Belmont, and these passed to Mr Morelli at the time of Ms Horowitz’s death. They were archived after Mr Morelli's death, likely at his own bequest. It was these records which allowed me to find some of the former employees’ names.” Jim guessed they had needed to falsify their financial records quite thoroughly in order to stay under the radar with the other business that went on there. Spock went on. “Here is another photograph you may appreciate.” The photo changed from the one of Dorothy and Abigail to another black-and-white image. Jim recognised the inside of the hotel lounge. A man in glasses and a light-coloured suit and a man in a military uniform kissed in front of the wall next to the fireplace. The caption in cursive along the border read ‘Euan & Gerry’s “wedding”, 10 June 1942’.
“Can you zoom in?” Spock did. The photo was grainy, but he recognised Euan as the man in the suit and glasses. A little older, his hairline receding somewhat. He was still quite good-looking. Jim didn’t know the other man, but based on the date and the uniform, could guess that he was about to be sent off to fight. “Did he… survive the war?”
“Unknown, as I was unable to discover his full name. But Euan Robertson remained on the Belmont’s payroll until 1963.” Spock scrolled to another part of the photo. “You may also recognise this gentleman.”
“Benny!” His face was slightly blurred, the only spectator looking into the camera instead of at the couple, as if he’d turned just as the photo was taken. But Jim recognised his hair and his missing tooth as he smiled. “I wonder why Alfred’s not there…”
“Based on my research, there is a high probability Mr Morelli was the photographer. Several images within the New York Archive of LGBT History were credited to him, including the one of Ms Shulman and Ms Horowitz. Here is another of his that was donated to the archive by his son. I recognised the lobby of the hotel and thought perhaps you might have known one or both of these people.”
“Oh…” It was another one taken during wartime. Mickey sat on Bert’s lap on one of the chairs in the lobby, his arms around his neck. Jim thought Bert’s uniform denoted an air force lieutenant. Mickey was dressed in a neat dark suit and he wore Bert’s military cap on his head. Bert’s face was blurred as he laughed. Jim’s eyes teared up to look at them. He didn’t know why he was so affected by this image in particular, these people he really only knew in passing. “Don’t tell me what happened to them, Spock. I can’t bear it if he didn’t make it…”
“Jim.” Spock said softly, and changed the photo. It was a more intimate portrait of the same two men, taken from the neck up. Bert held Mickey by the jaw as he kissed his cheek. Mickey was smiling, his eyes squeezed shut. “Notice the date.” The handwriting on the border read ‘Mickey & Bert, 23 October 1950. Mickey’s birthday.’ Jim made a choked sound in between a laugh and a sob. Spock put a hand on his shoulder. Jim turned and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his face against his stomach.
“Spock, what you’ve done is amazing. I thought I’d never be able to know…” he trailed off, feeling his voice about to break.
“It simply required research, Jim. Something I enjoy doing and, if I may say so, excel at.” His fingers threaded into the hair at the back of Jim’s neck.
Jim laughed a little. “You may. But this is more than research— you’ve given me a gift, and I think you know that. Thank you.”
Spock was quiet, continuing to run his fingers through Jim’s hair. He didn’t have to say it: all these people, and millions of others, had been able to live and thrive in part because Jim had made one of the most difficult choices of his life when he’d held McCoy back on that sidewalk— yesterday. Three hundred and thirty-seven years ago. Even if she had lived a good long life, Edith would still have been dead for nigh on three centuries, the same as everyone else in the photos he'd just seen. He couldn’t seem to put it into words, how he felt overjoyed at the idea of having Spock with him always, and yet so small and helpless, bereft at the loss of a world he was never really supposed to have been a part of.
He exhaled heavily and stood up, sliding his arms up Spock’s body as he did so to draw him into a kiss. Spock kissed him back as he brought one hand to Jim’s waist, the other one seeking his fingers. Jim made a small noise at the exchange of energy, and he poured all the gratitude and affection he could muster into the touch, hoping Spock would feel it. He guessed it worked, because after a moment Spock broke away, slightly breathless. Jim smiled, bringing their hands to his mouth to press a kiss to the knuckle of Spock’s index finger. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, letting his lips continue to brush the backs of his fingers as he spoke. Spock deserved a proper seduction, but Jim didn’t have it in him, and he hoped Spock would understand. He just wanted to be as close to him as possible.
“It is only eighteen hundred hours and fourteen minutes.” Spock’s eyes were still closed.
“You know perfectly well I didn’t mean to sleep.” Jim let his hand go, making his way to the sleeping area. “We can go to my quarters, if you prefer.”
“I have no particular preference.” Spock followed him around the dividing wall.
“Let’s stay here then, where you’ll be warm. I bet you’re still trying to get the feeling back into your toes.”
“I see no reason to engage in hyperbole,” he said, falsely indignant.
“Well, I won’t judge you if you need to keep your socks on.” Jim undid the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Spock watched him, and began to follow suit, laying his own shirt over the chair next to the bed. They both seemed to feel there was no need to keep up pretences, continuing to get undressed until they stood in front of each other naked. (Spock did not leave his socks on.)
Spock sat down at the end of the bed and reached hesitantly for Jim’s thigh, trailing his fingers lightly up over it. Jim stepped closer, setting his knees down on the mattress and moving into his lap. Less tentatively, Spock caressed his back, and Jim brought their mouths together, kissing him softly to match the gentleness of Spock’s hands. When he touched him more firmly, Jim kissed him harder, guiding his mouth open, the tips of their tongues meeting briefly, retreating, then repeating the action as Spock’s arms tightened around him, pulling the warmth of Jim’s chest against the cooler plane of his own. As they kissed he felt the pressure of Spock’s growing erection beneath him, trapped against Jim’s testicles and inner thigh. His own cock stiffened at the feel of it, at the knowledge that he was making him hard, and he lifted up a little to free him. He moaned softly against his mouth, pulling back to suck on his bottom lip, moving his hips to increase the friction. It seemed impossible to be close enough; Jim wanted to be crushed by his embrace, to feel Spock’s breath inside of his own lungs, to feel Spock’s thoughts rustle against his mind like leaves in a night wind.
Spock made a sound, and Jim wondered if he’d gotten an impression of what he was thinking just then, but he didn’t acknowledge it if so, only moved his lips from Jim’s mouth to kiss down his jaw and neck, sucking gently at his shoulder. “Mmh—” Jim groaned as the sensation hardened his nipples, his cock twitching as it thickened further against Spock’s abdomen. “Oh, that’s good,” he breathed as one of Spock’s hands came around to his front, his thumb rubbing over the peak of his left nipple. “You know,” he said as Spock’s fingers circled and teased, “we don’t have to worry about being quiet anymore…”
Spock pulled his lips away from Jim’s shoulder to look at him. “The bulkheads are hardly soundproof.”
“That’s true… but if anyone overhears, the worst that’ll happen here is a little gossip.” He ran a finger around the helix of Spock’s ear, watching as he closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. “I can handle a little gossip, I think,” he said softly next to his other ear.
“I believe there may have been some of that already.”
Jim decided not to be surprised by this, given what McCoy had said. “Glad you don’t mind.”
Spock lay back, pulling Jim with him. “Quite the opposite.”
“Oh?” Jim said as he shifted a little downward, kissing his chest, sucking one small nipple into his mouth.
Spock groaned a little, thrusting upward. “It is somewhat flattering to be seen as a lover worthy of the Captain.”
“I’m already naked, you don’t need to gas me up,” Jim laughed. “But I do hope I can be a lover worthy of you.”
“I have not been disappointed thus far.”
Jim sunk his teeth lightly into the muscle of his chest, enjoying the response as Spock gasped, his hand reaching for one of Jim’s where he held himself up. Jim turned it over so their fingertips could touch, shifting his weight to the other arm. “What else would you like me to do?” he murmured as he moved his mouth back up to his neck.
“Jim, I hope you do not require a full outline of my desires before we are to engage in other activities. I fear it would be quite extensive.”
Jim laughed into his shoulder before lifting his head to kiss him again on the mouth. “Oh, god, I love you,” he said as they separated, and the laughter fell away as he realised what he’d done. But as he searched Spock’s expression for signs of discomfort, he found none. And why should he? They’d practically established as much back in their New York apartment; there was no reason not to say it. It was the truth. “I do. I love you,” he said decisively as he looked into Spock’s softly pleased face. He kissed him again. “Spock, I— I want to make love to you. Properly. Would you like that?”
“You refer to penetration.” Spock continued stroking his fingers, somewhat lazily, but it was enough that they were both still aroused even though they’d stopped moving otherwise.
“Well, yes, but we don’t have to start there immediately,” Jim said, kissing his neck.
“I have… long wanted to join our bodies in this way,” he said in a low voice. The knowledge that Spock had thought about Jim fucking him, long before Jim had even understood what they felt, was rather more of a turn-on than he was ready to admit. He kissed him fervently, heat growing between them again as they pressed together, Spock hard and wet against his stomach, and Jim could feel through the touch of their hands how he wanted him, felt the sound that rose up in his throat to know that Spock accepted his love and desire, returning them in his own way.
He found himself on his back a few moments later as Spock effortlessly switched their positions, which had the unfortunate side effect of separating their fingers, but he stopped caring as Spock moved down his body, swiftly taking his cock in hand and running his tongue over the head. “Oh, god…” While it had been established well enough that Spock was not merely a passive lover, Jim was still thrilled by such an obvious show of passion, by the way he looked up at Jim as he took him into his mouth, sucking gently as he pulled back, then moved deeper, as if he knew exactly what it would do to him and wanted to be sure he could see it in his face. The sight of him like this in combination with the focused, intense pleasure of his mouth around his cock was almost too much, and he had to close his eyes to it, feeling the muscles in his abdomen contract.
On top of the rapturous physical sensation— Jim didn’t know why he hadn’t considered that Spock might be talented at this when he was good at pretty much everything else— it occurred to him that it had been some time since someone had been this focused on his pleasure. Even discounting the transactional sex from his time in New York, the past couple of times he’d had sex before that he had felt that they’d been doing things just to tick the boxes of expected acts rather than out of true desire; no real spontaneity to it at all, as if the exciting part had all been in getting him into bed and not the sex itself. Spock, on the other hand, was clearly getting something out of this, and showed no sign of wanting to rush into the next phase. Though Jim, becoming breathless as Spock’s hand slipped down to fondle his testicles and tease his perineum with his fingertips, knew he’d have to stop him soon.
An involuntary moan was drawn from him as Spock descended upon him completely, feeling the muscle of his throat against the head of his cock, the flat of his tongue pressing hard against the underside as he came back up. Jim managed to open his eyes, and gently guided him away with a hand at his cheek. “Sorry,” he said, still panting a little, “but I don’t think we want this to end just yet…” Spock brought himself back upright, and Jim pulled him down to kiss him, reaching for his cock. He was still hard, and even wetter than before. He pushed gently at his shoulder with his other hand, encouraging him to lie down again.
Jim found he was looking forward to preparing him. He’d grown used to doing it as methodically and efficiently as possible, either for himself or, on a few occasions, his client— he wanted Spock to enjoy it. He stroked his shaft a few times and let his fingers drift over his slit, collecting more of his lubricant. Spock groaned, his cock twitching against his hand. Jim looked up at his face as his fingers traced back down his shaft and into the space below it, teasing at the rim of his hole as Spock bent his knees to make room for him. He kissed the inside of his thigh as his first finger slipped inside, and Spock gasped. “That all right?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes closing. Jim moved his finger gently, feeling him beginning to relax already. He didn’t want to rush, but as Spock made soft noises of pleasure and pushed back against him, he added his middle finger to the first. It slid in with little resistance. He moved in and out steadily, watching Spock for his response. When it seemed like he was ready for more, Jim pressed harder, reaching a little as he wondered if Vulcans had prostates and if so, would it be in a similar place? The answer arrived in a short but very audible moan, and Jim smiled to himself. Remembering what Spock had told him about Vulcan hands, he considered that there might be an aspect to this for him other than the physical. With his free hand, he reached for Spock’s fingers, the shock of energy at the contact making his own cock jump. Jim was still wildly turned on despite not being touched himself for several minutes, simply from watching and hearing him.
“Oh…”
“Yes, Jim… please…” Spock said softly. His face was growing flushed and his mouth was open a little. He looked beautiful.
“You’re ready now?”
“I am.”
“Do you have—”
“Ah— yes,” he said breathlessly, opening his eyes as he reached beside him to open the nightstand, pulling out a small bottle of lube. Jim slowly withdrew his fingers, trying to focus through his desire.
“Do you want me to get a condom, or…?” It felt strange to know that it was no longer strictly necessary, being that they’d both been given extensive examinations the previous day, but Jim didn’t want to presume.
“I would prefer if you did not.” A simple, straightforward statement, yet he felt the thrill run through his body at the idea of it. Or maybe that was from what Spock was doing to his fingers. Or both. He flipped the cap on the bottle with one hand.
“Want to help me?” he said, his voice lower than usual as he arranged himself between his thighs. Understanding, Spock held out his free hand. Jim squeezed the bottle over his palm and closed it again as Spock stroked his shaft with slickened fingers, hearing him groan a little as he did so. “Mm…” It already felt so good, and he prayed he’d be able to make it last more than a few seconds once they got started. Spock let go of him, bending his knees further as Jim lined himself up. He pushed in slowly, hearing Spock’s intake of breath, his own gasp of pleasure at the tight, relative warmth around him. Leaning down, he kissed his neck near his ear, along his jaw to his mouth while they held there. He kissed him greedily, as if his mouth were a cool drink on a hot day, until Spock’s hand on his ass encouraged him to move again, and he lifted up slightly to give himself room, going slower than his body wanted, trying to both make sure Spock was comfortable as well as not bring himself too close to the edge too quickly.
“A little harder, if you would, please, Jim,” Spock said, once they’d established a steady pace. This polite request had Jim as beside himself as if he’d begged to be fucked. He obliged, both of them moaning a little as the sensation deepened. Spock wrapped his legs around him, clasping their hands together. This more sustained contact gave Jim a stronger picture of his emotions, and it made him gasp: Spock was practically ecstatic about being filled, about giving himself to him.
“God, Spock—”
“Yes…” He closed his eyes, his expression contorting with pleasure as Jim fucked him. Watching him was nearly as satisfying as the slick drag of him against his cock. As Spock’s glistening erection bounced against his stomach with Jim’s thrusts, he wished he could keep feeling the touch of their hands while he stroked him to climax, but he needed one arm to hold himself up so he’d have to choose one or the other soon. Spock, possibly sensing his dilemma, slid his hand from where it had been resting against Jim’s thigh to take hold of himself.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Jim whispered. “Touch yourself for me…” The sight of Spock’s lovely hand growing damp as it slid along his length flooded him with lust and adoration. “You look so good like this, Spock.” Through their hands he felt Spock’s emotions surge at the praise, so he went for more. “So beautiful… mmh, fuck, you feel incredible…” He moved a bit faster, sensing they were both ready for it.
“Ah—”
“You like that?” Jim felt his testicles tighten, understanding Spock was nearing the point of letting his controls go completely.
“Yes—” he gasped, his head tilting back in a moan, more audible than he’d been so far as Jim thrust into him harder, moaning himself at the feel and sight of him, wanting to kiss him but not wanting to ruin the perfect rhythm they’d found. He kept going, knowing he couldn't keep this up much longer, his body desperate for release. He gripped his hand hard and they both groaned at the feeling. “Jim, I— am close,” Spock said, breathless as his hand matched their pace.
“Yes,” Jim hissed, feeling his eyes close as his pleasure mounted, losing himself to the electric affection and need flowing between them, the ungodly excitement of knowing he was going to come inside him—
“Mm—” Spock was whimpering with muted delight as Jim buried himself to the hilt, his rhythm faltering a little with the first spasm of orgasm, spilling his release deep inside him, his muscles tensing, limbs tingling.
“Oh, god—”
“Oh— Jim…!” Spock arched upwards, and Jim bit his lip but didn’t stop even as his cock became oversensitive, not until he felt Spock contract around him a few seconds later, gasping and moaning through his own release, and Jim wrenched open his eyes to watch as come spurted onto his stomach, dribbling over his hand. His face was flushed, his hair a mess from where he’d been writhing against the pillow. He looked absolutely, blissfully wrecked. Jim felt himself smile as they began to relax a little. Their hands remained joined, the energy between them slightly subdued now, a hazy mutual satisfaction.
Still catching his breath, Spock let his softening cock go and, to Jim’s surprise, wiped his hand haphazardly on the blanket beside them. Sweaty and panting, Jim leaned down to kiss him. “I love you…” he said as they separated. He felt abnormally overwhelmed after his climax, emotions bubbling to the surface against his will as Spock coaxed him to lie on top of him with one strong arm against his back. Tears burned behind his eyes, and he turned his face away, embarrassed. Why now?
“Jim… you do not need to be ashamed,” Spock said, his voice low and sweet against his chest.
“I’m sorry…” he said as a tear squeezed itself from his eye, rolling onto Spock’s shoulder.
“You also do not need to apologise.” Spock disentangled their fingers and brought his other arm around Jim’s back, enveloping him. “Much has occurred that would result in strong emotion.”
Jim laughed a little. “A bit ironic, isn’t it, you telling me not to be ashamed of my emotions?”
“It is indeed not lost on me,” he replied with faint amusement.
“I…” He swallowed, turning his head back towards Spock’s neck. “I’m sure she’d be glad to know. That— that we want this. That we have this.”
“It is not a dishonour to her memory, Jim,” he said softly.
“No, I know, that’s not what I meant…” The desire to cry was beginning to dissipate as his mind cleared a little, beginning to sort through his mess of thought and emotion, but a last tear leaked out of him. “I guess I’m just— well, just now, with you, I felt so much happiness, and it’s making me think about everything she lost. And how much we owe… not just to her, but to all of them, people in the past who made choices and sacrifices we ourselves never had to make. The people in those photos you showed me. Dorothy and Abigail. Euan and Gerry— they couldn’t be married, legally, couldn’t even kiss out in the open, but they found each other anyway, and they thought it was worth it. And now if a security ensign walking past your room a few minutes ago heard you making me come, all they can do is spread the knowledge around to their crewmates for a laugh.”
“I hope they would not find cause for amusement in our achieving sexual satisfaction together.”
“I didn’t mean an actual laugh, I meant for, ah, social amusement. Intrigue. Being the source of a fun bit of information is always good for a day of attention on a starship.”
“Mm.” They were quiet for a short time, breaths rising and falling in tandem. They’d lain together long enough that Jim’s penis was starting to slip out of him as Spock’s legs relaxed from their bent position, but since Spock had already soiled the bedding wiping his hand off, he tried not to be bothered about it.
“As a kid,” Jim said, following the trail of his thoughts, “when I started in on my outer space fixation, I learned about Laika— the dog, you know.” He remembered how delighted he’d been at the idea— a dog, the first space traveller!— and how immediately he’d been crushed to learn that she’d died in the shuttle. “I used to get so sad when I thought of her. How they trained her, got her to trust them, and then they sent her out there alone, knowing she wouldn’t survive. I kept thinking they could have found a way to bring her home… or some other way to gather the information they needed, something that didn’t involve her having to die.”
“Before her journey into orbit, Laika was a street dog. She might have died otherwise of disease or starvation, had the Soviet space program not taken her from Moscow.”
“Yes, or she might have lived to be twelve years old. But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s not how it happened. Maybe there was another way. And maybe not. Maybe if they hadn’t sent her up there the Americans would’ve made it into orbit first, and then we’d never have felt the need to go to the moon. Maybe the Guardian would’ve shown us, had we asked. But it happened the way it did and it was part of what led us here.” He sighed. “I only wonder now… if the engineer who was putting seven days’ worth of food in that capsule with her, knowing she might not live even that long, ever thought for a moment about just letting her out of the building in the night… maybe even taking her home with him and never going back to his job.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he believed some other solution might present itself, until the very last.”
“Or maybe if he truly believed in what they were doing, he thought of her less as a living being and more as a tool in the pursuit of greater knowledge.”
“If that were so, I do not think the scientists would have given her nicknames. Regardless of how necessary they perceived her death to be, they nevertheless showed affection for her.” His fingertips trailed up and down gently next to Jim’s spine. “It is possible,” he continued slowly, “to have accepted her fate as well as wish it were not so.”
“Mm.” Jim didn’t really know what to say other than to agree. They lay in comfortable silence, until the afterglow feeling began to fade and Jim became more conscious of the mess between them, of his back growing sticky with drying sweat. He picked himself up and kissed Spock on the mouth a few times. "Thank you," he said softly, stroking his cheek.
"Are you thanking me for the sexual intercourse, or the conversation?"
Jim laughed. "Both, if you like. Along with the many other wonderful things you've given me by being here. And being yourself." Spock looked pleased, but didn't seem to know what to say. Jim didn't mind in the slightest. “Come on, let’s take a shower. I've only bathed once since 1930,” he said, smirking at his own joke as he began to drag himself out of bed. “We’ll get cleaned up and then get something to eat. You can sleep in my quarters tonight if you like, since we seem to have made somewhat of a mess of your bed.”
“You seemed concerned earlier about my ability to regulate my body heat.”
“Yes, you might need me to warm you up,” Jim said, as Spock made his way to the bathroom behind him.
“I might.”
“Well, I’ll be very glad to keep you warm tonight. Or any night, really.” He paused in the doorway, turning to wrap his arms around his neck. Spock looked at him with fondness, and Jim kissed him briefly, adoringly on the mouth. “We’ve been given forever, Mr Spock. It would be a shame to waste it.”