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James Kirk is right-handed.
It's one of the many factual pieces of information Spock knows about his Captain, without having consciously registered them: his eyes are blue, he takes his coffee without sugar, he's right-handed. Spock just knows it.
If he thinks about it, he must have first noticed when they fought on the bridge of the Enterprise, the day Vulcan was destroyed. He must have taken it into account then, adjusting his blows, brushing aside the human's feints and parries... He has no memory of it.
How odd, then, that his attention should return again and again to this insignificant detail, so long after the destruction of Vulcan, almost three and a half years after they have taken up their posts aboard the Enterprise. The original mission had been amended because of the geopolitical upheavals brought about by the destruction of the homeworld of one of the founding races of the Federation and the loss of a significant number of Starfleet' vessels. The first year was spent breaking-in the crew. The following years, the Enterprise's missions often had more to do with a show of force or diplomacy than the exploration that was its original function. And despite the Nibiru disaster that briefly cost him his job and the ensuing drama, the young Captain was finally able to prove himself, tensions around the Federation stabilized, the considerable damage suffered by the Enterprise was repaired... And they were finally able to embark on the kind of missions Spock had joined Starfleet for: exploration, discovery and questions; first contacts.
Now they rub shoulders day after day, working together. After a rocky start, they have finally reached their full effectiveness as a command team. Kirk has been able to temper his initial impetuosity and arrogance with experience; Spock has developed some of that flexibility that makes humans so adaptable and is so hard to achieve for his own kind. Their strengths and weaknesses complement each other most of the time and he now knows far more about the man James Kirk than he ever wanted to, than he ever thought possible. He knows his loyalty to his crew and his passion for his post, his vexing illogicality that –sometimes– turns out to be intuition, his proven lack of patience and his ability to overcome it when his strategy demands it… But also his unorthodox management style, his remarkable ability to build social bonds at all levels of the hierarchy, his aversion to paperwork, or the counterintuitive balance of his friendship with Leonard McCoy, his sharp intelligence and his capacity for ferocity… He knows all this and much more; and yet, again and again, he finds his thoughts returning to his Captain's hands.
He doesn't realize it right away: their respective ranks mean they spend a lot of time working closely. When they're together, it's only natural to keep an eye on him and his movements. Kirk is his superior officer, after all.
That he follows the ballet of his hands when Jim demonstratively hesitates between one pawn or the other during a game of chess is entirely rational. That he notices the nervous dance of his fingers against his thigh when the Captain is thinking at top speed is simple proof that his sense of observation is operational and his attention to detail remains sharp. There is nothing abnormal there, nothing that deserves attention.
Then one day, as they are in sickbay at the bedside of a member of the security team who has been slightly injured during a mission ashore, Spock becomes aware of the fact that, at that precise moment, the majority of his attention is neither on dissecting Doctor McCoy's speech, nor on planning the reassignments within the Delta team to cover the gap until Lieutenant Taura is cleared for duty... Neither is he anticipating the additional tasks that await him following the incident, nor even mentally writing the mission report and analyzing the variables at play, in order to determine if measures can be taken to prevent this kind of inconvenience from happening again. No: the majority of his attention–no less than 32.7%–is devoted to the path of the Captain's hands as he absentmindedly plays with a sealed hypospray, passes it from one hand to the other, bends and unbends his fingers around the graduated permaglass tube.
Spock’s distraction doesn't last long: as soon as he identifies it, he pulls himself together, compartmentalizes it firmly and focuses again on the work ahead... But it was there. And now that he's become aware of its existence, it quickly becomes apparent to Spock that this was not an isolated incident: without even having to think about it carefully, he can now identify seven separate occurrences in just the previous week... and there are almost certainly more.
But he's Vulcan. His self-control is more than sufficient to override this unexpected focus. He's been too complacent, perhaps, letting the human tendency to daydream influence him. It's nothing a little discipline can't fix: he'll be damned if he lets such a trivial matter compromise his professional behavior and interfere with the fulfillment of his duty as First Officer.
And indeed, with renewed discipline and willpower, he manages to ignore the disruptive element during his watch. He notices the Captain's hands nonetheless, but he takes great care not to linger over them; sternly crushes any complacent temptation to sneak a glance in Kirk's direction, even when the bridge is quiet and he has nothing else to do. His professionalism is impeccable and his efficiency has never been higher, nor his forms, reports, records, and other administrative avatars more up to date...
There is inevitably a downside.
Even if the human doesn't say anything about it, he knows that Captain Kirk has noticed his increased rigor and is worried about it. And it wouldn't matter so much, if the concern in question didn't reverberate in their private relations. As much as Spock manages to behave impeccably in a professional setting, ignoring Jim is much more difficult when they are not on duty, when it is just the two of them and the Captain's already relative professional distance gives way to a more relaxed, more friendly behavior. This makes the path of stubborn self-denial chosen by Spock all the more arduous.
For a few days, he entertained the idea of solving the situation by simply spending less time with the human, of cutting the Gordian knot by severing the temptation at the source; but after careful consideration, he ultimately rejected this option.
Avoiding a problem is not a constructive approach in absolute terms, and in this particular case, it is all the less optimal because the disadvantages far outweigh the advantages. Removing the temptation to observe Jim's hands is one thing, but Spock has come to genuinely enjoy the other man's company, the growing friendship between them. He is not prepared to sacrifice it because he has developed an unexplained but nevertheless perfectly harmless fascination with the way the extensor muscles and intraligamentary connections play out beneath the skin of the man's hands.
However, he finds himself at a loss as to why this interest exists, and it is rational that in order to decide how to respond, he must first understand its origins. His Vulcan meditation rituals and his initial choice of self-discipline having failed him, he very logically turns to the next step: research.
Humans have written a lot of papers on the subject of opposable thumbs they share with the great apes and their evolutionary impact. While Spock finds no answer in the abundant scientific literature on the subject, he nevertheless delves back without displeasure into the biology and anatomy texts he had not studied since childhood.
Philosophy and the social sciences unsurprisingly have much more insight to offer, but the amount of information and sometimes contradictory interpretations make it difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff: it is an unequivocal reminder of the reasons why he prefers the hard sciences to the soft ones...
Nyota would probably be able to help him sort things out: they remained on very good terms despite their mutual breakup a few months after the start of the long-term mission... But he finds himself wanting to keep his research to himself for the moment. It is a strange form of reserve, that has nothing to do with the embarrassment humans sometimes display in their interpersonal relationships. It's a feeling that is in truth closer to a kind of possessive restraint, contrary to all Vulcan rationality. It's something that belongs to him, a part of himself he didn't know existed and that he's curious to decipher. Gnothi seauton, as the ancient Earth philosophers would say.
Later, he decides: he'll ask Nyota for help if he gets stuck, runs out of angles to explore, or can't get anywhere on his own.
Despite the inherent imprecision of disciplines and the impossibility of using the scientific method to deduce anything from his case, his research nevertheless offers him more solid avenues of reflection than others. In many Earth cultures, hands are symbols of power, carrying the idea of possession, of mastery in every sense of the term. In many others, too, the difference between right and left hand, purity and defilement, the hand of God and the hand of the Devil, is emphasized... Duality incarnate, but also the more or less happy cohabitation of two opposites.
The relationship with power could be a relevant approach, if he wasn't supremely indifferent to the hands of Admirals Nguyen or Komack... Jim certainly has a strong grip and the strength in his hands notably saved Spock from a dizzying fall on Tau Ceta III a few months earlier… but he is also nothing exceptional in this area for a human being. Lieutenant Gioto held him back by the wrist and prevented him from going under a planobus during the catastrophic mission on the Byzantia station: that doesn't mean Spock surprises himself quantifying the shades of flesh between his skin and the oval of his nails.
Subjective and superstitious judgments aside, the duality theory would seem just as promising if it weren't so superficial. Spock is left-handed, Jim is right-handed; they differ in many ways... but these characteristics alone are not decisive. Billions of humans are right-handed and very different from him. Even if cerebral laterality and the resulting dominance of one hand over the other were of particular interest to Spock –which is not the case– this does not justify his fixation on Jim. He could certainly find answers to the question "why him?", he has after all never met a human who annoys him quite so much, with whom he has such a feeling of chirality despite all their differences, each more obvious than the last... but here again the link with the hands is far from obvious, it is what Doctor McCoy would call with disdain "pop psychology", nothing that explains the intensity of the attention he pays to Jim's.
He feels his mother's death even more bitterly than usual. If this strange obsession finds its roots in his human heritage, perhaps she would have been able to enlighten him, to advise him... But such regrets are sterile and vain.
Spock crushes them mercilessly and continues his research with the same methodical intensity he applies to any of his projects.
Examining the Vulcan side of the equation is both much simpler and much more uncomfortable. While some symbolism overlaps, for his people, hands have a whole range of additional meanings, linked to their tactile telepathy. The face has the best points of emission and reception, but hands are a close second in terms of psychic sensitivity, making them the subject of particular literary and symbolic interest.
Spock is much more familiar with this aspect of his heritage, but that doesn't make it much easier to examine, because its implications cannot escape him.
For Vulcans, the hands more than the eyes are the path to the soul, to the katra...
Among Vulcans, brushing hands with their fingertips in public is a sign of deep affection, a closeness rarely achieved with another individual. Even Surak wrote on the subject, three simple, almost forgotten stanzas, which nevertheless express better than any other text that Spock found the danger of his situation, the trap in which he begins to suspect he has stumbled without even realizing it...
Give me your hands to ease anxiety, Surak wrote to T'Shara, who was his t'hy'la, but also his wife, who was with him throughout his awakening, the founding of his school of thought and the creation of the philosophy of the IDIC, the Infinite Diversity in its Infinite Combinations; who was his first disciple and his strongest supporter.
Give me your hands, for which in dreams I craved,
In my long dreams when I was so lonely,
Give me your hands so that I may be saved.
Will you ever know what fingers think
Of a prey held for a moment between them?
Will you ever know what their silence
In a flash, will have known of the unknown?
Give me your hands so my heart may be shaped in them
Let the world be silent for at least a moment
Give me your hands for my soul to sleep in their cradle
For my katra to sleep there eternally.
Despite what humans may think, the logic that Vulcans pride themselves on does not prohibit strong bonds of mutual respect and admiration. Each individual must strive for the highest rationality and in the path toward this ideal, the emulation of a peer, mutual understanding, but also the questions and challenges brought by a mind in which one has total confidence are a precious support, a rare gift, to be honored and maintained. This is what the word t'hy'la represents, which has no acceptable translation in English. A relationship that is more than the friendship that humans so easily profess, a brotherhood of choice and spirit. To be t'hy'la is to emerge stronger from mutual otherness.
The idea that a human being could live up to that kind of bond would be difficult for a Vulcan to accept, despite the imperatives of the IDIC, Spock muses. What do humans know of self-control and constant discipline, of a life dedicated to logic and held by the tethers of rationality? What do they know of mastering the feelings and tensions that can tear apart his kindreds?
But he's a hybrid, he'd long known that he's not always a good Vulcan, that he can experience fear, joy and rage, hopes as well as devastating despair. That Jim, in particular, sometimes provokes in him a debilitating intensity of feelings, which he can't control –even now, almost a year and a half later, it's infinitely painful to think of the engine room, the pain on Jim's face, the bulletproof glass between them...
He has finally made his peace with this, and now that he examines the idea, he can acknowledge without shame the regard he has for James Tiberius Kirk and the nature of the bond that binds them to each other. Deeper than mere friendship, independent of their respective ranks and at the same time inseparably linked to the latter's demands... The fact that without even realizing it, his way of regarding the Captain has over the years evolved as they became closer, as their mutual trust deepened; the fact that by every possible definition, Jim is his t'hy'la .
But even without the arguments to back it up, he's certain that it's not the only explanation for his problem, his obsession. He can't deny that the words of the poem awakened something in him, the occasional thought of a mental fusion with Jim, a rather unscientific curiosity about the form his thought flow would take, his remarkable mind... But that in itself has nothing to do with the Captain's hands: physical contact with a psy-null species is normally safe, without any particular psychic transmission. Spock has already touched many other humans skin to skin without any inconvenience: Nyota, of course, but also Captain Pike for rare handshakes, sometimes Dr McCoy... And Kirk, on numerous occasions, although he has done his best to limit such contacts since he became aware of his obsession...
No, the truth is that the poem mainly evokes a possibility that he had previously refused to consider: to stop simply looking and go further. The possibility of touching, of holding Jim's hands in his own... And that has nothing to do with whether they are t'hy'lara or not, it's something else entirely, which he can neither define nor understand.
Far from being solved, his problem is only more acute, more pressing than ever. The quiet epiphany of his regard for Jim is a slow, satisfying fire somewhere in the pit of his chest, but it also brings a frustration he can't purge, a very un-Vulcan anxiety, without a fixed focus, crawling under his skin, that all the meditation in the world can neither unravel nor soothe...
---
It's a mere brush one evening as they gather the chess pieces after a game in the officers' mess. It's well into the night cycle and they're alone in the deserted room, folding up the elaborate 3D chess board while discussing the relative merits of various management methods for solving performance problems in one of the Beta Watch engineering teams—and disagreeing somewhat intensely on the subject. They simultaneously reach out to pick up the same piece, their fingers brushing for a split second before Spock quickly withdraws his hand, as if electrocuted.
But even now that their skin is no longer touching, his hand still tingles with the discharge, he can feel the phantom coolness of Jim's fingers against his and...
And he's suddenly incredibly, inexplicably aroused, in a way that's unmistakably sexual, like a pulse that starts at the point of contact and conquers muscle after muscle, makes his pulse race in spite of himself and his pupils dilate, makes the brightness of the room suddenly uncomfortable.
Simultaneously, the pieces come together, bringing with them the same thrill of intellectual satisfaction that comes with a scientific deduction, when the observations perfectly match the formulated hypothesis, when everything ultimately makes sense and when the shadow of ignorance—however relative—recedes a little further to make way for certainty. But it is only a spark, quickly drowned out by the signals his body sends him, by the awareness of the ramifications.
The human gives him a curious look and Spock masks his confusion with an automatic sharp remark, the subject of their disagreement almost forgotten. And Jim... Jim chooses the wrong moment to show intuition: he notes Spock's reaction, meets his gaze then looks down at the rook he's still holding, then at the hand Spock has instinctively brought back to his own chest, before returning to focus on the Vulcan's face. Spock can read exactly the moment he reaches a conclusion. His surprise, a split second of thinking; then a decision, made.
"So that's it," he murmurs, almost to himself. His gaze and posture change imperceptibly, becoming simultaneously sharper and more liquid, if that makes any sense.
The sharp click of the rook as he places it back on the board snaps Spock out of his stupor, making him lock his hands together behind his back in the vain hope of stifling the lingering sensation of his Captain's skin against his own. Desire is giving way to a brutal panic that grips his throat, paralyzing for a moment his reflex to leave the room.
“I didn't know Vulcans could have a hand fetish,” Jim says finally, thoughtfully. It's not the term Spock would have chosen, but it's apt, he supposes. There's no judgment in Jim's voice, not even the amusement or the triumphant note Spock would have expected had he been able to anticipate this situation—Jim, after all, takes a disproportionate and somewhat confounding pleasure in provoking him to react, in proving he's not as insensitive as he'd like to pretend. “I didn't know Vulcans could have fetishes at all.”
“I didn't know either,” is all Spock can say, unable to deny or conceal anything.
The answer brings a myriad of emotions to the Captain's face, too fast for Spock to read, to understand.
“Oh,” says Jim. Then, immediately: “Really?” before realizing that the question is probably inappropriate by Spock’s standards—not that it’s ever stopped him in the past. He licks his lips and continues in a tone that’s meant to be casual, but doesn’t quite manage it. “That explains your behavior these last few weeks, I think. I knew there was something going on, but I wasn’t sure what… I guess you learn something new every day. It would be a big surprise to anyone, but I imagine it’s even more so in your case… Will that be a problem?”
- Do you have any complaints about my work these past few weeks, Captain?
The formality is an automatic reflex, a protective distance, but no sooner have the words been spoken than Spock regrets the way they sounded, because Jim's shoulders stiffen in response.
"No, of course not, Spock… You've never been more efficient. But you didn't know exactly what this was, did you?"
- I can assure you that it won't be a problem anymore, I know how to separate the professional from the personal; Jim..."
But the human's expression has closed off, the same mask of careful reserve he offers to his hierarchical superiors and his potential enemies.
“Well, well... I guess you have a lot to think about. I'll leave you to meditate, or whatever you want...”
He makes a move to rise and instead of the relief he should feel, Spock's panic explodes and sweeps away all composure.
“Jim!”
The other man freezes, and runs his hand over his face.
“Listen, Spock... I... I hope you know me well enough to know that I'm not offended, that I would never hold this against you—against anyone, in fact. I'd be the ultimate hypocrite if I turned my nose up at sex. What I mean is, I'm... flattered by your interest. But I don't think it's a good idea to jeopardize our working relationship, our friendship, for—” he gestures vaguely... “For an experiment. That would be irrational, wouldn't it?”
Spock clasps his hands behind his back, seeking in the familiar posture a comfort he can't find, hesitates. He could simply stay silent, let Jim go. But... But despite his perspicacity, Jim has drawn the wrong conclusions, he doesn't understand. Spock himself has only just obtained the last pieces of the puzzle, the ones that bring together all the angles he's considered into a coherent picture. He should take the time to reflect and reevaluate, to weigh the pros and cons before launching himself so recklessly... But he's a bad Vulcan and in truth his choice is already made.
“What would be irrational, Jim, would be to make a decision without knowing all the facts.”
Jim raises his eyebrows, again clearly surprised, then sits back in this chair, serious.
“Very well, Spock, enlighten me then.
“I will. But perhaps a semi-public space isn't the most appropriate place for such a conversation...”
Jim inhales and exhales, looking momentarily concerned for the first time in their exchange, before offering Spock a half-smile and a nod. Not for the first time, the Vulcan reflects that for someone seemingly so open in expressing his feelings, Jim can be incredibly difficult to read and anticipate.
“You’re right, of course,” he agrees. “My quarters?”
Spock nods and they finish putting away the chess set in silence before leaving the officers' mess. Spock follows Jim through the corridors and once they reach the Captain's quarters, steps aside to let Jim unlock the door.
"Computer, increase the temperature by three degrees," Jim orders, entering the main room before gesturing for Spock to follow. The attention touches him more than it probably should, as despite the situation Jim is concerned about his comfort in rooms that are at the optimal temperature for a human and almost uncomfortably cool for a Vulcan...
"All right, Spock," he demands, facing away as the door closes behind him. "Give me the pieces I'm missing."
Being anxious about speaking to Jim would be irrational, so Spock isn't anxious. The tension in his shoulders and the strange tightening in his stomach have nothing to do with the situation. And since it would be irrational to physically display the symptoms of a nervousness he doesn't feel, Spock faces him as if he were simply giving a report, hands behind his back, shoulders square, eyes open. Now that he's made his decision with full knowledge of the facts, he can only rationally stick to it, accept the consequences and hope he hasn't underestimated James Kirk.
"First of all, Jim, please know that this is difficult for me and I hope... Whatever happens, you have my respect and my esteem, and I hope to retain yours. I am and always will be your friend. My interest is secondary to that and if it is unwelcome, I can assure you that it will not encroach upon it."
That's already more than he would usually admit. While Jim calls him his friend from time to time, Spock often just nods without adding anything or expressing his opinion on the matter, letting his actions speak for himself. The Captain's surprise and pleasure at his declaration are controlled but visible. He loses some of the tension he was holding in his shoulders, despite the slightly grandiloquent grimace with which he punctuates the end of the Vulcan's tirade.
"Oh, so we're talking about our feelings then? That's not my strong point, Spock, and I didn't think it was yours either..."
- It is illogical to let one's personal discomfort hinder the necessary expression of certain truths, Jim.
“Coming from you that's rich,” the human comments quietly, with a sarcastic tone and a half-smile whose perceptible nervousness lessens the potential bite of the words. “I should check with Scotty we haven't entered a parallel universe... Very well, let it not be said that I'm being left behind in this exercise in emotional honesty. Well... I- I'm glad to hear that, Spock. I've never had a friend like you and it's an honor that you consider me as such, I...” He tilts his head, softens. “I wouldn't want to ruin that in any way. Which is why I don't think it's a good idea for us to sleep together, even though my hands are apparently irresistible...” He wiggles his fingers as if to emphasize his point, but his expression remains serious. “I know you think I'm incapable of restraint and also probably that this is the wrong time to start, but it's for the best.”
“I don't deny that I find your hands fascinating, Jim,” Spock murmurs, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks despite the restraint he tries to maintain. “But you're mistaken if you consider the subject purely sexual, at least for me.”
Jim closes his eyes briefly, then opens them again.
“And it's even worse if it isn't, Spock, because we both have responsibilities and a—he coughs—a relationship between us would necessarily alter our command dynamic.
- Are you familiar with the term t'hy'la , Jim?
“It's... High Vulcan, right? It means...” He wrinkles his nose... “Friend? Brother? I'm not sure.”
- It's a term that's used interchangeably to refer to all of these things together, but also to lover, blood brother or sister. For reproductive reasons, marriage and sexuality among Vulcans are divorced from the emotional aspect. A t'hy'la is the individual with whom one has a strong, intimate, lasting bond... and for those lucky enough to have that bond with a member of the opposite sex, the t'hy'la can also become the lover when the time comes, but it's a rare opportunity. And when two men are involved, are t'hy'lara, the term has exactly the same force of implication, except for the fact that the relationship is not sexual.
- I don't understand..."
Spock closes his eyes, then opens them again, forcing himself to continue despite the difficulty. Unsurprisingly, Jim is unable to stay still, pacing back and forth across the room before perching on the edge of his desk, his face unreadable. His hands are at rest for a moment, his knuckles white on the edge of the desk.
“You're my t'hy'la, Jim. I would understand if- I know that just because I consider you extremely dear to me doesn't mean you do the same, but... Sexuality has nothing to do with it, and whether or not we become lovers wouldn't change the intensity of my regard for you, because as far as I'm concerned the relationship already exists.
“ Spock,” Jim breathes with something like disbelief. “You're telling me you're—emotionally compromised. For me.”
“It is not being compromised, Jim.” He doesn't understand, Spock notes with growing concern. “It makes perfect sense. And I remain perfectly capable of performing my duty without being influenced.”
"And you want us to be lovers," Jim's cheekbones flush slightly, Spock can't miss the way the blue of his eyes darkens, the way his pulse beats a little faster in the hollow of his throat. But his obvious desire doesn't make the human lose the thread, he notes with a hint of pride that is both inappropriate and paradoxical. Jim narrows his eyes, just as sharp as ever.
“You just said that when it comes to two men, being t'hy'la —t'hy'lara?—is platonic.
- Indeed. Vulcan sexuality is entirely reproductive, not recreational. There is no notion of homosexuality, because it is nonexistent.
“Ha,” Jim says, and Spock can see with relief that he’s starting to put the pieces together. “But you’re not Vulcan, you’re half-human.”
- Indeed.
“And you clearly have the capacity for recreational sexuality...” He refrains from punctuating the expression with the salacious eyebrow twitch that Spock would normally be subjected to, for which Spock is quite grateful.
“Human-Vulcan hybrids are very rare, and I'm one of the few I know of who survived to puberty. The doctors weren't sure what would happen as I grew up, but it turned out that my development was much closer to that of a human adolescent—though less... extrem, if they were to be believed—than that of a Vulcan my age. Vulcans do go through changes during adolescence, but it can't exactly be called puberty the way humans do.
“Ouch,” Jim says. “That must have sucked.”
“That was just one difference among many, and at the time I was still trying to be as perfectly Vulcan as possible,” Spock replies simply because he doesn’t particularly want to elaborate on the subject. “And I suspect that my mastery of meditation must have made the experience more bearable than it would have been for a human teenager in my situation…”
- Still. It's already a scary time for human teenagers surrounded by other human teenagers going through the same thing, so to have been the only one going through it... I'm sorry.
- It's an irrational feeling.”
Jim shrugs.
“I am anyway, you'll have to get used to it. And so, Uhura...
- It was my first and only sexual relationship, yes.
- And you never thought you could be...
“It was irrational of me not to have considered it sooner...” But when Nyota finally ended their relationship when it became apparent that Spock wasn’t as globally interested and physically invested as she was, he simply assumed the fault laid with him, blamed the differences and shortcomings on his hybrid physiology. He refocused on what he did have, his responsibilities and the ever-increasing demands of his position, without even considering other possibilities.
“And so, my hands made you realize that...
- Vanity doesn't become you, Jim.
- I thought it was illogical to lie?”
There's what Spock now knows to be teasing in the human's tone, but also a thread of something tenser, so he doesn't respond, just stares at the other man in silence until Jim sighs and shakes his head.
“Okay, okay... Wow. It's just... a surprising revelation. I mean, I'm not going to lie, I knew our... friendship was–is–something deep, something serious. And I also can't deny that you're objectively pretty hot, that I've... thought about it. And I know we have something... But what you're proposing is on another level, you know? It would be a lot easier if it were just about sex... Sex, I can handle... If it was simply a previously unknown hand-kink I would know what to do, but no, you're pulling out all the stops, bursting out the "I am and always will be your friend" thing, my god... It's... hard to swallow. Because that would be serious, wouldn't it? If we decided to be t'hy'lara in every sense of the word? That would mean monogamy and the whole shebang...
- I don't know what "the whole shebang" means, Jim, but-
- And I don't know either, because in case you haven't noticed, that's something I don't do, relationships! Hell, I haven't... the longest I've been with a girl –or a guy– was six months, and that was a record-breaker! And you come along like a flower and tell me that you've fallen in love with me...
- I'm not...
- Don't play with words, Spock, it's just like that. This is serious. And I'm not...
“I told you, whatever you decide, I am and will remain your friend.”
Jim, who is rubbing his face, pauses and glances at him through his fingers before dropping his hands with a sigh.
“That's what the old man said the first time he saw me,” he announces with newfound sobriety.
Spock takes the revelation seriously. He doesn't know exactly what the relationship was between the other Jim and his double, in the alternate universe that didn't see Vulcan reduced to ashes and he doesn't really want to know... But it's strangely reassuring nonetheless, this inverted mirror in which their friendship has remained a constant no matter their mistakes and wanderings.
“Jim,” he said. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to give us a chance to see if it could work out for us...
“You only discovered you were attracted to me half an hour ago, Spock! Don’t you think this is a bit rushed? Look, I may not be an expert on serious relationships, but I know sex. I know—I know that right now it seems like the best idea in the world, that nothing can go wrong. It's like electricity under your skin, or water just a tap away when you’re thirsty, it would be so simple, so natural… But it’s just lust, Spock, hormones and chemicals in your brain, it’s like being drunk, it feels fantastic at the time, but the decisions you make under its influence are rarely the best.”
Jim's pulse quivers in his throat, his hands dance nervously as he paces the cramped space of the cabin. Spock visualizes for a second the movements he would need to make to close the distance between them, to intercept his hands and capture his fingers with his own, to immobilize them.
“Jim, do you really think I'm so compromised that I don't know what I'm saying, that I'm not aware of what I'm proposing to you? That I know myself so little?
- You didn't know you were attracted to men.
“I am not ‘attracted to men,’” Spock replies simply. “The statistical sample is far too small to draw such a broad generalization. I am attracted to you, James Tiberius Kirk, who is my t'hy'l'a.”
- But you could be, perhaps. Wouldn't it be logical to experiment, to broaden your statistical sample before jumping to conclusions?
Spock raises his eyebrows and Jim seems to realize what he just said, closing his mouth with a pained expression.
“That's a fallacious argument, Jim. I don't seek sexual relations for their own sake... And as for an emotional relationship... I've never held anyone in higher esteem than I do you. It's possible that I'm more attracted to the male form than the female, or simply that the fact that I've inherited a more human sexuality allows me to physically desire my Thy'l'a regardless of gender. I desire you not because you're male, but because you're yourself from head to toe. Right down to your fingertips. And now that I know that, I don't want to ignore it.”
Jim's pupils are now fully dilated, betraying his mask of indifference, but he refuses to let go.
“You might not enjoy the sexual aspect as much as you think...
- In which case we will know what to expect, although I have little doubt about it.”
Not now that he's identified the nature of his obsession, that he can recognize his desire, the arousal pulsing and burning beneath his skin for what it is. The temptation is strong to appeal to Jim's boldness, to move on to more direct advances, but he wants to convince him in an honest way, one that wouldn't leave him with regret or resentment. "And if the point of the experiment is to determine whether we're 'sexually compatible,' as humans say, then having sex with another individual wouldn't yield any relevant new information. This isn't a lose-lose situation, Jim."
“I can’t believe I’m the one arguing for caution when you’re ready to jump in with both feet,” Jim comments, shaking his head in disbelief. “This conversation is surreal.”
“We are t'hy'lara, Jim Kirk. I desire you, and you desire me back. It is only logical.”
Jim licks his lips and doesn't deny it. There's a note in his voice that electrifies the surface of Spock's skin, makes a surge of incandescent emotions bloom in his brain that mingle with each other without him being able to distinguish them or contain them.
“This is the first time I've been seduced by logic. And I thought you couldn't surprise me more...”
Spock accepts the implied compliment with a brief nod, but says nothing more. He's made his case; Jim now has all the information he needs to make an informed decision. He faces him again, just out of reach.
“I can't answer that right now, Spock. You may be sure that sex between us wouldn't change anything for you, but I can't say the same. You're my First Officer, and if I were to fall—if I had orders to give that would put you in danger—I don't know how I would react.
- How would you react if it were Leonard? If you had to give him orders knowing their certain outcome?
The corner of Jim's lips curls in seriousness, almost distress.
“That's unfair, Spock. You know as well as I do how difficult it is to know, to anticipate, what one would do in such situations. I—It's something I've thought about a lot. And you know I would do everything in my power to find another solution, I would go and get Leonard from the volcano like I went and got you, if necessary. But if I had no choice, if it weren't just a question of rules and there were lives on the other side of the scale, if it were a Kobayashi Maru and it really had to be... I would give the orders. And I know Leonard would obey.”
- Then you have your answer. You wouldn't treat me any differently than Dr. McCoy, and you know I wouldn't want to."
Jim shakes his head in disbelief.
“Spock... You should have been a politician, not a scientist. You're tougher in business than a Tellarite. But I can't answer you right now. I need to think.”
It's a perfectly rational request and Spock isn't disappointed.
“In that case, I'll retire. Good night, Captain Jim.
- Good night, Spock.”
The door slides behind him, leaving him alone in the gray hallway. The sudden change in temperature makes him shiver, but he remains motionless for a moment, his breath suddenly unsteady, trying to regain his senses.
---
Spock has assured Jim that what happens between them will not impact his performance, so he keeps his word. The next day on the bridge, he is detached and efficient, gives his technical assessment when the Captain requests it, courteously questions his decision to cross a magnetic interference zone rather than bypass it, then ensures that the crossing of the risk zone does go smoothly when Jim decides they cannot afford to lose the four days that a detour would entail. He stays by his Captain's side during the six tense hours of the crossing. After his watch, he has dinner with Nyota and has a long discussion with her about her project to integrate Klingon into the Universal Translator, then helps Lieutenant Singh isolate the recurring error that is distorting his experimental protocol. He doesn't even flinch when, at the turn of a deserted corridor, he comes across Jim immersed in an intense discussion with Doctor McCoy, hands twirling vehemently until he sees Spock and they fall, stiffens in an almost embarrassed manner.
It is as if declaring himself has relieved him of the intangible load that had been weighing him down and preventing him from any effective meditation, detachment and clarity of vision that he seeks.
Nothing has changed, yet everything is different. He can now identify the desire that stirs within him when his gaze falls on Jim, and knowing what it is allows him to embrace it and move beyond it. Not to shield himself from its burning, but to accept it, to let it pass through him when, for a moment, their gazes meet and the blue of Jim's eyes is the accelerator of a chemical reaction he would have previously considered impossible.
Jim was right: Spock had been impulsive in his offer. He was now using all his free time to meditate, to sort through all the currents that were growing within him and try to understand them… But Jim was also wrong, for nothing in his following introspection contradicted his initial impulse, made him regret his request. And if he sometimes felt the weight of his Captain's gaze pressing on the back of his neck as he leaned over his console, he accepted it as he accepted everything else, suspended for a time in a state of peace with himself such as he had never truly known, not even before the destruction of Vulcan. He had found one of the missing pieces of his intimate puzzle in the ballet of Jim Kirk's hands, and even if he was never given the chance to hold them between his own, it seemed to him that he could be content with this knowledge.
He has enough lucidity to accept that this is likely a temporary respite, but it’s also enough to enjoy it while it lasts. Ataraxia is a rare condition, even for a Vulcan, and whatever Jim chooses, it will likely mark the end of it.
Three days pass like this.
On the evening of the fourth day, Spock retires to his cabin at the end of his shift, after a few hours spent in the labs advancing some recently neglected personal projects. He is in the middle of performing the calming ritual—lighting the incense, spreading his mat—that is both the prelude to and an integral part of his daily meditation when the doorbell rings.
It's Jim, and Spock wordlessly steps aside to let him in, watching him silently as he stops in the center of the room and turns to face him. He wears a simple T-shirt with no sign of his rank, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders stiff, his mask of bravado carefully adjusted. If he notices the half-set meditation equipment, he chooses not to comment on it, instead holding Spock's gaze for a long moment.
Then he takes his hands out of his pockets, opens them and closes them twice along his thighs, a gesture Spock can't tell if it's nervous or deliberate.
“Is your offer still on?” he asks, and, then, when Spock nods gravely: “Very well then, let’s fuck.”
And before Spock has time to process what he has just said, Jim crosses the distance between them in two long strides, slides his right hand against the Vulcan's neck—a gesture of strange grace, Spock notes in a flash, almost like the first movement of a perfectly rehearsed choreography—pulls his head toward him, leans forward, and their lips meet, collide at first, then meet more surely, and Spock doesn't note anything at all anymore.
After a moment he pulls himself together just enough to decide to leave his right hand where it is, on Jim's chest where it has been caught between them, to hesitate briefly before placing the other on the human's waist, then—later still—to slide it down his t'hy'la's back when Jim uses his grip to bring them a little closer, to press their bodies together in an intimacy of contact that sets Spock's skin on fire.
Gone is the calm detachment that was his only half an hour ago! All that remains is Jim and his breath against his lips, Jim and his infectious frenzy, Jim and his hands in his hair, disorganizing his locks and making his scalp tingle.
Finally, he manages to tear himself away from the kiss, to put enough distance between them to look at Jim without squinting. The blue of Jim's eyes is almost entirely eaten away by the black of his fully dilated pupils, and he has the slightly stunned expression Spock would have associated with a medium-voltage electrocution, but when their eyes meet, he smiles, a naked, spontaneous smile. And a mixture of those feelings Spock naively thought he had tamed and quantified swells and expands in his chest, leaving him reeling and breathless. He grabs the human's free hand and impulsively kisses its knuckles.
“Jim,” he whispers, his wonder tinged with distress, “you are…” and Jim replies, “Spock, whatever you want, Spock,” trailing his fingers down his face, exploring the angle of his eyebrows and the line of his jaw, the contour of his ears…
“Give me your hands,” Spock begs and Jim may not understand the urgency of the request, but he obeys. He presents his two palms facing upward between them and Spock wraps his hands around them, closes his eyes, focuses on the touch of their intertwined fingers, on the texture of skin and the play of tendons and muscles on bone, all such a perfectly functional miracle of natural engineering. Jim’s hands between his. Surak’s poem now makes perfect sense.
“Let me do it,” Jim murmurs after a long moment, his voice hoarse and urgent. Spock relinquishes the initiative to him again when the human begins to caress with his lips and hands every surface of exposed skin he can find and then, when that is no longer enough, attacks with his nimble fingers the fasteners of his uniform. And Spock gasps, stammers fragments of broken promises when his t'hy'la forces him back against the bulkhead, slides to his knees in front of him, pins one of his hands in his own, and takes the index and middle fingers of the other into his mouth, a deliberate and obscene parody of fellatio.
Jim doesn't take his eyes off him as his legs give way beneath him and he collapses against the wall to join him on the floor. Their average body temperature difference means that even with the slight rise in temperature due to sexual activity, the human's skin remains cooler than his own. Jim's mouth is a relative balm on his burning skin: the contrast in temperature, the texture of his tongue against the hypersensitive wrinkles of his fingertips and the very sight of his knuckles disappearing into Jim's mouth combine to make Spock lose what little self-control he had left. His perception of time fragments. One moment he pulls the young man astride his lap, freeing his held hand so he can touch him. The next they are clutching each other in a frenzied movement, Jim's head thrown back, Spock's hand along his jaw, fingers rubbing the ridge of his stubble, thumb between his lips. The next moment and one of them makes a long, distraught noise in his throat, Jim's back arches and he convulsively digs his nails into Spock's shoulder, seeks his gaze again, holds it when he finds it, articulates his name, a plea or a promise, perhaps both.
When Spock regains consciousness, Jim is catching his breath in long, gasping gulps, his face pressed against the hollow of his shoulder. His own heart rate is high and he concentrates to bring it down before risking a straightening motion, provoking a grunt of protest from Jim and an instinctive tightening of the arm around his torso. His first instinct should be to identify and classify the lingering sensations assailing him, or more prosaically, to go and find something to clean himself up and change into. Instead, he simply wraps his arm around his t'hy'la's shoulders and rests his forehead against his.
When his sense of cleanliness and decorum finally overrides the unexpected comfort of their position, he gently dislodges the other man and gets to his feet, offers him a hand that Jim accepts without hesitation to stand up too. But once on his two feet, Jim continues the movement he started, using the momentum to come and grab Spock in an embrace that makes them stagger towards the middle of the room. Jim starts to laugh, softly at first, then louder. Unable to detect the cause of the mockery, Spock stiffens, tries to pull away but the human puts a hand behind his neck, kisses him and murmurs “No, no... Spock, that wasn't a mocking laugh, I promise you. It was a laugh of contentment and disbelief, because you've managed to surprise me again and you are incredible.”
Spock has no answer to this, all his verbal mastery having apparently deserted him along with his sense of repartee: he simply accepts Jim's statement with a nod, but Jim is clearly not finished.
“Okay, and just to be clear: I've been thinking about what you said, and I don't know about you, but as far as I'm concerned, the sexual compatibility test is clearly a resounding success, and I want to try it with you. Being t'hy'lara with all that entails, monogamy and all the rest. I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, but... I think we can do it. Together.”
There would be much to say, but he chooses to only mention the simplest part:
“You're not the only one satisfied with the results of the experiment. However, a single data point is insufficient to draw reliable conclusions.
“I recognize your scientific mind, Mr. Spock,” Jim replies with a broad smile. “Then we have no choice but to repeat the experiment. You have my complete confidence in devising a satisfactory experimental protocol.” He grabs Spock’s hand and leads him toward the bathroom. “And who knows, maybe next time we’ll even get to undress—although the sloppy style suits you very well.”
On the doorstep, Spock stops, forcing Jim, who was in front of him, to turn towards him. He has no words for the multiplicity and depth of what he feels, but he begins to discover that it is not always a bad thing, that strangely these emotions have not obliterated the feeling of peace he had touched before. It is still there, different as he himself is different, transformed, by having placed his hands in Jim's; but in its essence similar. And if vocabulary is powerless to express all this, there is a particular feeling that floats above, which has a very simple word.
“Jim, thank you.”
And Jim smiles, both mischievous and serious, presses his hand in his.
“It’s me who should thank you, Spock. T’hy’la.”