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It happened in the space of a moment.
First, Spock had been dead. Kirk had been sure of it. The transporter had failed at exactly the wrong moment, and where a Vulcan was supposed to stand, serene, on the transporter pad, instead was simply — nothing. Empty space.
Spock had beamed off the planet, yes, but he never made it to the ship. Dead not to some heroic cause, but mere mechanical failure, leaving his atoms scattered in the black expanse of space so very far from home.
It seemed cruel. Senseless.
Kirk had seen death before, many times, but somehow no loss had hit him as hard as this one did, an icy dagger between his ribs. All Kirk could manage in its wake was to grip the edge of the control panel with shaking hands, barely able to keep himself upright under the weight of the grief which knotted thorny vines throughout his chest.
Spock! Kirk despaired, a sob building in his throat.
But then, the transporter grated again into motion, a terrible whine leaving it as a beam of light slowly consolidated into a heartrendingly familiar form. Kirk stared, half agony and half hope, hardly daring to imagine it was possible. The beam wavered, then settled, and there he suddenly was — somewhat ruffled, yes, but upright and breathing.
The most beautiful creature that Kirk could imagine — Spock, alive! — stood at attention on the transporter pad, and, overcome, Kirk could do nothing else but take him by the arms and kiss him. It was sheer animal instinct, urging him to grasp what once was thought lost and draw it close.
Those narrow lips were shockingly plush beneath his own, and Kirk basked for a moment in the heat of them, the air that puffed gently between them, proof of life. Relief and adoration spilled from Kirk's every pore as he kissed Spock, working to memorize the contours of his mouth.
Dimly, it occurred to Kirk that he had never done this before. He had dreamed of it, certainly, but never once had he actually kissed Spock. Idly, he wondered why.
Then, quite abruptly, he remembered.
He yanked himself away, a desperate apology tripping to the tip of his tongue, but when he looked up into Spock's face, instead of horror or disgust or stiff rigidity, he saw—
Kirk blinked, dazed. Perhaps he had been too hasty when he had called Spock's earlier appearance, "the most beautiful he could imagine," because this, he thought, might just beat it.
Spock's eyes were loosely closed, dark lashes fanning out over olive-dusted cheekbones. There was no crease between his brows, no mark of discomfort or frigidness which closed him off to the world around him. Instead, their slant suggested some far gentler emotion. His typical lipstick had long since worn away, exposing the natural sage of Spock's lips, which here held soft and slightly parted. Slowly, Spock blinked his eyes open, sending those lashes fluttering. Spock gazed at Kirk, eyes so lovely a brown, and Kirk's heart couldn't help but stutter in his chest at the sweetness of his expression.
Spock looked like a man who had just been kissed.
Spock looked like a man who would like to be kissed again.
Kirk's apology died on his lips, and for a long moment he stood frozen, simply staring, mouth agape. Then, Spock tilted his head, gently inquisitive, and time took effect once more.
"I'm, ah — glad you're back safe, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, looking down and coughing lightly as heat flooded into his cheeks. "I feared for a moment there that you were space dust."
"Indeed," Spock replied, dipping his head. Something almost like a smile sat in the corners of his lips, secret and teasing. "Your greeting was... most unusual, Captain."
"Unusual," Kirk mused quietly. His eyes were fixed just beyond Spock's elbow before he snapped them up again, scanning Spock's face for each telltale trace of emotion. "...not unwelcome?"
And, oh, it was beautiful to see how that almost-smile twitched ever so slightly wider, setting Spock's eyes alight with a subtle glow. "No, Captain," he said. "Not unwelcome. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"I see," said Kirk, and something warm and giddy unfolded inside of his chest, fluttering. A smile which he was certain Bones would call "sickeningly besotted" was spreading helplessly across his face; Kirk couldn't bring himself to try to stifle it. "That's — good to know."
On a whim, he darted forward, pressing another brief peck to the corner of Spock's mouth.
"Very good to know indeed."