Title: Who Needs Dreams?
Author: Polly Bywater
Disclaimer: Hoping 'tis too short for mighty Paramount to notice, but rest assured, O Ye Corporate Lawyers, I make no money from fanfiction.
Summary: Jim likes to watch. Heh.
Author's Notes: Itty bitty mostly schmoop, for Farfalla, because her contributions frequently make me smileŽ
Jim awakened for no good reason, other than to watch his bondmate sleep. To see Spock like this was a gift beyond price, even after days had turned into months had turned into years together. Jim didn't think he'd ever take this for granted. The Vulcan's dark eyelashes fanned against his high cheekbones and his silky black hair was tousled as much from Jim's own fingers as from sleep. His lips were slightly parted, and slightly swollen, and Jim felt his gut ache as he remembered the way that mouth felt on his skin.
God, Spock was beautiful.
Jim tucked his hands under his cheek and settled in, determined to allow himself the luxury of feasting his gaze while his memory wandered. That initial, explosive coming together at the end of the first five-year mission. The heartbreak of separation caused by two stubborn men who trusted each other, but not themselves, not then. It had taken years for Spock and him to come together again, work through the misunderstandings, and admit to needing each other more than they needed their own lives. They had bonded then, only to have that bond destroyed in a firestorm of tragedy at Khan Singh's hands.
Jim shivered suddenly, catching himself before he could wake Spock, and shoved his mind past that dreadful moment when his bondmate had died in front of his eyes. It still hurt too much to recall. It always would.
Better to think about the third time he and Spock became lovers.
Jim, of course, had forgotten nothing, but after the re-fusion of his katra with his resurrected body, Spock had had to relearn his place in Jim's life, and Jim's place in his. The situation hadn't been helped by that whole weird experience with Sybok and the alien inside the galactic core.
Jim had tried so hard not to get his hopes up following the fal-tor-pan. Being around Spock then had been an emotional rollercoaster. Each word and gesture Spock made he'd analyzed for hours, alone in his cabin at night and aching for his bondmate's touch. Jim had been exhausted long before before Sybok hijacked his ship- exhausted in a way he hated to admit, now. It had reached the point where he hadn't much cared whether he lived or died, and he'd taken some truly foolish chances. Risked death- no, *courted* it, subconsciously certain he had nothing to live for.
Then Spock had chosen to remain at his side instead of going with Sybok, and Jim had felt hope for the first time in a long time.
Of course, right after that they'd *all* nearly been killed, but it had been worth it. To hear Spock tell him he was never alone, to feel the gentle brush of his bondmate's mind-touch... Jim had clung to Spock then, Klingons or no Klingons.
It hadn't been easy, even so. Spock had been so uneasy around him, not understanding the physical reactions they called forth in each other. It was almost like those first five years, when he and Spock had danced around each other and pretended it was only friendship. Jim had used everything he had to keep from jumping Spock and forcing a reaction to what he felt, what they both felt.
In the end, they had jumped each other, much to their mutual pleasure.
Spock shifted a little in his sleep, and Jim smiled in a rather self-satisfied way when his t'hy'la unconsciously reached for him.
He took Spock's hand and held it flat between his own palms, sliding their joined hands securely back under his face. Spock quieted, and Jim sent an unspoken prayer of gratitude to whatever Powers there were that allowed them to be here, now, together... then let himself sink once again into sleep.
(It's Never Really) The End
3 June 03