elliewood | Fic: Consort, Chapter 2

Few individuals pride themselves as much as Spock, son of Sarek of Vulcan, on their mastery of the skills of logical reasoning and inductive prediction. But upon opening the door to their shared apartment, even he had to admit that it did not take a brilliant mind to ascertain the status of his roommate from the observable evidence contained therein.

Just beyond the entry lay a pair of boots, dropped on their sides 1.72 meters apart as though the person wearing them had kicked off one, then hopped on the newly unshod foot to pry off the other and discard it just as carelessly. Turning the corner to the study afforded Spock a view of more abandoned clothing -- a grey peaked cap on the floor and a matching jacket, its sleeves turned inside-out, tossed on the desk. Then through the bathroom to where a bottle of pain medication rested on the near end of the counter and a used tumbler on the far end, as if the pills had been swallowed as the individual kept moving toward the bedroom, where he indeed found Jim Kirk lying on his stomach across the bed, arms extended over his head, feet hanging off the edge, fast asleep.

Several similar occurrences had taught him that Jim was unlikely to awaken until several hours after a dose of the doctor's pain meds. Spock glanced at the chronometer -- only 1742, which meant he would probably eat dinner alone again this evening.

As a general rule, Vulcans do not sigh, and so Spock silently pulled Jim's trousers off and lifted the limp body with one arm while turning the bedclothes down with the other, intending to slide him under the sheets and leave him to his sleep. But Jim turned his face to nuzzle into him and mumbled something unintelligible as his eyelashes fluttered against Spock's chest, and after a moment's pause, Spock dropped the bedclothes in his hand and sat on the bed instead to cradle his drowsy mate.

"What is it, beloved?"

"Nuffin' juss how was your day..."

"Acceptable. I presume yours was not."

"Fuckin' godawful I swear to fuckin' god..."

"Let me make you comfortable."

Jim lifted his arms, allowing Spock to pull off his shirt and roll him back onto his stomach on the bed. The sensation of warm hands running lightly across his bare back and up his neck to comb through his hair dragged a sigh of pleasure from him, and he looked up with the one eye Spock could see.

"Can you keep doing that for, like, a week?"

"Were I to do so, I imagine your meeting with the admiralty tomorrow would be rather severely compromised."

"That's fucking bullshit. They can get their own Vulcan boyfriends if they're jealous."

"As we are an endangered species, I sincerely doubt there are enough of us to go around."

"You're changing the subject. Which is, keep doing what you're doing...which would be a lot easier if you were lying down with me, hint, hint..."

Acquiescence to Jim's wishes, while not always wise, was Spock's default tendency, and he reasoned there would be no harm in lying with him until the medication's inevitable effect took hold. Accordingly he removed his boots and reclined on the bed, pulling Jim on top of him to continue the light stroking of his back and neck.

"What is the current level of your discomfort?"

"Fucking awful. Like my brain's gonna blow up and leak out my ears."

"Attempt to relax yourself fully on me."

Jim complied, his arms drifting off to lie on either side as he buried his face in Spock's neck. Spock could feel the tension in his shoulders and neck lessening beneath his hands as he continued the effleurage, the jaw relaxing against his throat, the eyelids losing their struggle to remain open.

"Spock..."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, man."

"There is nothing to apologize for, although I do recommend that you pay another visit to Dr. McCoy. Your headaches have become almost a daily occurrence, and my perception is that they are increasing in intensity as well as frequency."

"Okay, I'll go see him...uh, not tomorrow, too busy. Maybe later in the week."

"As soon as possible."

"Okay..."

From the slowing, deepening respiration, Spock ascertained that his mate was falling asleep; accordingly he started to roll Jim over onto his back, intending to rise from the bed without disturbing him. But a murmured sigh, coupled with a slight twitch of the hand draped on his shoulder, caused him to still as they lay on their sides facing each other, his hand on the small of Jim's back, his throat still warmed by the imprint of the sleeping face. Much of their time in bed together was spent in just this way, with the inefficient Human slumbering for hours while Spock studied his face to memorize its coloration, lines, and grooves, to watch the eyelids twitch in dreams and hear the slight, nonsensical vocalizations as he reached for Spock in his sleep to burrow his face into Spock's chest, to insert a knee between Spock's legs, to rock himself into Spock's hip, his erection growing as he slept, his body betraying its unconscious need for its mate. On their first night together in this bed, Spock had succumbed to the temptation to fulfill that need, had reached down with his hand to stroke the hard column of flesh, and Jim had snapped awake, delighted at the long-desired contact, and reached under the covers to find Spock's own stiffness, intending to reciprocate. But the dual sensations of both his pleasure and Spock's had abruptly overwhelmed his mind; he had stiffened, ejaculated in Spock's hand, and promptly passed out, his slackening body unresponsive as Spock gently enfolded it with one arm while licking the fingers of his other hand clean.

No matter, Spock thought now as his bondmate snored lightly in his arms. Jim was slowly becoming accustomed to their bond, daily improving his tolerance to the contact involved in gentle expressions of affection and sharing a bed. And although he was clearly frustrated with Spock's restraint with regard to physical intimacy, Spock knew he was wise to protect him during this period of acclimatization that the Human’s mind apparently required.

His arms tightened to pull Jim in closer, to tuck the sleeping head back under his chin.

There is no need for haste

There is time enough for everything

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