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The One Where Jim Curses a Lot

Kirk doesn't remember the precise moment when his affection for Spock tripped over the line of friendship and slid firmly into sappy, hearts-in-his-eyes, (but also panting-like-a-whore for his cock) romance. It's really a futile effort on his part to even try. He'd been attracted to Spock since the first time he was ever confronted with the fact that, although Vulcan, Spock was still sentient, and therefore had urges and that had been about seventeen hours into their acquaintance.

The shock of seeing Uhura and Spock suck face on the transporter pad had been one of the more memorable WTF moments he's ever had, and the subsequent wet dreams about the three of them doing the horizontal tango had haunted him for weeks. He'd been damn near petrified of accidentally brushing up against Spock and broadcasting his pervy thoughts for the telepath to hear.

Despite what Uhura and the majority of his graduating class and, okay, the whole of Starfleet might have thought, Jim was perfectly capable of controlling (suppressing, ignoring, denying) his feelings in a bid to keep the work environment professional, and there was no way in hell he would have jeopardized his captaincy for a quick roll in the hay- er, well, Jeffries tubes. Not that Spock would have indulged him anyway, because Spock was a one woman man, and while he hadn't still hated Kirk at that point, they'd been circling each other like wary dogs, just waiting for the other to show the first signs of teeth.

And then that horrible fuck-up of a first contact mission had happened, and Kirk had been forced to admit tha the was most certainly in way over his head, and tuck his tail between his legs before going to knock on Spock's door to beg for help. And Spock said yes, and didn't even pull any of his condescending bullshit when trying to assist Jim with managing the multitude of tasks that he hadn't even known fell under his purview.

That had been around the time that Jim shoved his attraction in a tiny little box in the farthest corner of his mind, put it under lock and key, and then wrapped it with yellow caution tape. And once he'd quit tugging on Spock's pigtails the air suddenly began to clear, Spock was firmly moved over from the "God, I'd Love to Fucking Tap That/Hate Sex" columns into the "Nothing to See Here, We're JUST Friends" column (right under Bones). Jim realized that he and Spock made a great team, and fuck it all, Spock was one of the most amazing friends he'd ever had, and maybe he'd screwed up worse than he'd thought by pre-judging Spock so harshly and stealing away his command and forcing him to admit to having feelings.

Jim had never known that guilt could be retroactive.

There was nothing he could do to make up for how much of a goddamn heartless, cocky shit he'd been (but he sure as hell tried), and although he never told Spock about how he was drowning in fucking despair over what he'd done, Spock wasn't an idiot. He was, in fact, one of the smartest people on the face of existence, and he mostly only played dumb when it came to idioms and emotions and shit like that because, in a perverse way, it made him more approachable. Spock figured out (in no time fucking flat) that Jim giving over the surplus in the budget to the Science Departments and doing his own paperwork (for once) and arranging it so Spock could spend more time in the labs was Jim's inept and totally deficient way of trying to apologize. He even considered letting Spock beat him at chess for god's sake, although in the end he didn't have it in him.

And so Spock had invited Kirk over for a game, and shocked the shit out of him by gently laying a hand on his shoulder and telling him, hesitantly, but so fucking earnestly that Jim had felt like his heart was going to explode, that Jim had never owed him any debt, and that even if Jim had, he'd more than repaid it by being the one person in the whole of the universe that accepted Spock for exactly what he was.

After that, Jim started to get this sharp stab in his chest whenever he was around Spock, and he hadn't known why, or how to fix it, and he suddenly had these strange urges to touch him (tenderly, for god's sake) ALL the time. And it only got worse, and to the point that Jim didn't feel right if he didn't spend enough time with Spock every day. And Spock wasn't helping at all, the bastard, because he just let Jim get with the touchy-touchy whenever he wanted, and actually seemed pleased (Spock- pleased) that Jim wanted to be in his presence so much.

And Jim hadn't even realized what was going on- really, truly, honestly had had no idea-until after Spock was kidnapped and imprisoned and tortured by the fucking Romulans. He'd been abducted dirt side and it had taken two hours before anyone had realized that Spock hadn't checked in on time, (and oh, how the heads had later rolled for that screw-up). Jim had flipped the fuck out, and nearly torn the Enterprise apart trying to find out who had taken his XO and where, and after three days they managed to track the ship into the neutral zone, which was just fucking wonderful, because the multitudes of "We promise we won't go into the neutral zone. Pinky swear," treaties the Federation had signed with the Romulans tied Jim's hands firmly behind his back.

It took him two days to come up with and carry out a workable rescue plan -which, of course, he had, because he was James T. Fucking Kirk, and you did not mess with his crew. By the end of it, he was so drained he could barely stand, let alone try to control his thoughts in Spock's presence, which was really fucking unfortunate, because when they beamed Spock back onboard he was sporting the beginnings of a beard, and Jim's first thought upon seeing it was to wonder what that scruffle would feel like scraping against the insides of his thighs.

Which was about the time that Jim realized he was fucked, because after that, the goddamn Pandora's Box in his head immediately sprung wide open. And it wasn't even like he could separate his renewed and all-consuming hunger for Spock's dick (and lips and ass) from his affection for the guy, because he didn't just want to fuck the Vulcan composure right on out of him anymore, he wanted to spoon afterward.

He was in love with his straight and completely unavailable XO, and Jesus Christ, if there was ever a no-win scenario in the history of existence, it was that. Jim managed to stave off the overwhelming urge to pin Spock to the nearest horizontal surface (or any flat surface, really; Jim was easy) only by keeping the image of what Uhura would do to his cock should she find out just where he wanted to stick it in the front of his mind. And then Spock and Uhura broke up, and Jim's life got about 10 times harder (in every excruciating sense of the word). Spock was so fucking devastated and confused and desperate to win Uhura back that Jim wanted to fucking scream, because the fact that he was in goddamn love with the guy meant he was torn between being over-fucking-joyed that he didn't have to watch those two make eyes at each other, and wanting nothing more than to order Uhura to stop being such a bitch and take Spock back, because Spock's hurt was Jim's hurt. And Spock was fucking miserable.

Needless to say, it got fucking awkward on the bridge around that time, because even though Spock and Uhura were utterly professional, there was a stilted, uncomfortable nature to their interactions that hadn't been there before, and everyone saw it. It threw them all off-kilter as people tried to figure out whether to take sides, and whose side were they supposed to take, anyway? And Jim tried to follow Spock and Uhura's lead in getting people to just get the fuck over it and act normally (because really, children, it wasn't anyone's fault), but Jim couldn't help but feel bitter and betrayed over the fact that Uhura had carelessly tossed aside something Jim would have sold his soul to have, which meant he was sharp and cold and cross with her, and that made the situation even worse.

In an effort to keep his sanity, Jim did the counter-intuitive thing, which was to make it his new life's goal to get Spock laid. It made Spock really uncomfortable, but he never flat-out asked Jim to stop, just told him that he didn't think it was appropriate, but, hell, when did Spock ever consider anything fun appropriate? Jim found him lots and lots of human women, and some Vulcan women and even that one Trill ambassador, but Spock never followed through. And, yeah, okay, Jim could almost always tell in the first ten minutes, if not the first five, that Spock would never go for any of these women, but Uhura had been out of left fucking field. There was a slim chance.

Jim had been studiously not touching Spock without warning since his sudden discovery of his freaky new beard fetish, because Spock kept his shields up tight, but unexpected contact made it difficult for him to filter everything out. But Jim was no good at not touching Spock. One night, during shore leave when Jim was particularly shit-faced (because he'd chatted up a woman who was fucking perfect for Spock in every way and had needed to drown himself in liquid courage before introducing them), he'd snatched up Spock's hand to tug him toward the bar, and had held fucking onto it like the dumb-ass he was while brooding over all the things he wished he could to Spock, for Spock, with Spock.

Spock had frozen halfway across the dance floor, and when Jim turned back to see what the hold-up was, he'd been struck dumb by the way the soft, glowy lights had illuminated the delicate, nearly imperceptible green cast of Spock's skin, and made his brown eyes shine with warmth. And in that moment Jim had felt the anger and jealousy and resentment and uncertainty give way to pure, unadulterated affection, and had thought with the full weight of every ounce of sincerity and wonderment he possessed, "God, I love you."

Then his brain had rebooted, and he jerked away with an awkward laugh, and anxiously watched Spock for any signs that he had picked up on Jim's thoughts. Spock (the sly, ever-loving bastard) had played it utterly fucking straight, and told Jim that the noise of the club was getting to him, and he was tired, and they had to be on duty in less than eight hours, and could they please return to the Enterprise? And Jim was so drunk and utterly fucking relieved that Spock wouldn't get a chance to meet his future wife L'nira, (or Lyra, or whatever the fuck that woman's name had been) that he bought the excuses and let Spock lead him back to the Enterprise.

Jim had been able to tell something was off with Spock following that incident, but his memory of that night in particular was hazy, and the weirdness wasn't at a great enough magnitude for Jim to assume that Spock knew about his feelings, so he chalked it up to the mid-year review/inspection they were undergoing and ignored it (because Spock was fucking perfectionist and even after three years hadn't learned how to chill the fuck out). By the time the review was concluded, Spock had gone back to normal, and Jim had agreed to stop with the matchmaking, and all was right with the universe.

For five months.

Then there was a mission and a meld performed under less-than-ideal circumstances and a fuck-ton of emotional transference. And Jim was so desperate for Spock to understand that yes, he loved him, but that didn't have to change anything, and he knew that Spock didn't feel that way, and really, it meant nothing, that he barged into Spock's room at three am the first day he was out of his healing trance and fucking babbled and babbled and babbled, and didn't stop until Spock shut him up with a human kiss.

Even though Jim had fantasized about that happening for years, he was so fucking shocked he jumped away instantly. He opened his mouth to demand to know what the hell that was when all of the pieces suddenly fell into place, and everything he'd felt on Spock's side of the meld suddenly made sense, and Jim was left with a hollow where his heart had been.

He'd known. Spock had fucking known, and he'd let Jim run around fucking bleeding internally from the hurt of knowing- thinking- that he would never get to have Spock, and Jim just- he just couldn't

He left.

He would have left the fucking country had they still been on earth, just fucking up and abandoned his commission to run someplace that was empty and uncomplicated, but Jim was stuck on his ship, and surrounded by a crew that depended on him to show a brave face. The farthest he could go was an auxiliary observation room that was only ever used for quick hook-ups because of the thoroughly unspectacular view of the nacelles it offered. Jim sat in that room until his shift at 0800, fucking beside himself with hurt and rage. It would have been different if Spock hadn't been interested, if Spock had stayed silent because he wanted to spare Jim's feelings, but this was so fucking … beyond acceptable that Jim had no idea what to do with himself.

He decided to bury himself in his work. He reported to the bridge, and thank fuck Spock was still recovering, because Jim didn't think he would have survived that tense atmosphere (rumors traveled even faster than the speed of light) if he'd been there. Bones came for a visit halfway through shift and pinned him down with the "we're going to talk whether you want to or not" glare, and asked if he could stop by after shift for a "game of cards." Jim knew better than to argue, and five hours later was sitting behind his desk with his head in his hands as he tried not to have a nervous breakdown.

Bones came in with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, and watched him down a shot before gruffly telling him to buck the fuck up and stop acting like Spock had killed his puppy, because it was Bones' fault that he hadn't said anything, because at first Spock hadn't know what to say, and had gone to the doctor for advice, and Bones had told him to keep his fucking mouth shut until he decided whether the feeling was mutual, because Bones had known that Jim was a lost fucking cause before Jim had even called his initial truce with Spock, and just how goddamn wrecked he would be if Spock decided to experiment with men and then decided it wasn't for him. And really, kid, would you fucking say something already?

Jim didn't. He just decked Bones as hard as he could.

Bones went down hard, and for a second Jim thought he'd seriously hurt him, but Bones knew how to take a hit and had been halfway expecting it anyway, so while his lip was split and his ears were ringing, he was otherwise intact. Kirk spent the next thirty minutes pacing around his room, ranting at Bones for being a stupid asshole while he tried to restrain himself from hitting him again. He succeeded in that, although he'd also sworn (rather creatively) that he would never forgive Bones for keeping this from him, but within ten minutes of that declaration he'd locked Bones into a hug and tiredly promised to take his balls if he ever did anything like it again.

Bones had apologized and then shooed Jim off to sickbay with a playful slap on the ass and an admonition to not keep Spock waiting, because the pointy-eared bastard had nearly broken his femur all over again trying to get out of sickbay to see Jim. Jim had smiled, but had been too drained to respond with any sort of snappy comeback.

When he got to med bay, Spock was sitting up in his bed patiently waiting for him, and for a few long minutes (the longest minutes of Jim's life) they just stared at one another, the silence a fragile, living thing between them. Jim was petrified of fucking this up now that it was actually happening, and the very last thing he wanted was to lose Spock. Jim would gladly go back to the hell of unrequited love he'd been living in just to keep Spock in his life as a friend, the missing piece of his soul, the noblest part of him. There didn't have to be any romance between them, much as Jim (really, really) wanted it, and he didn't want Spock to feel pressured or beholden or coerced. For a minute, a full minute, he debated walking away.

And then he came to his fucking senses and rushed across the room to tongue-fuck the living daylights out of the love of his life.

 

Chapter End Notes:

AN: I wrote this during mid-terms when the stress and sleep-deprivation got the point that it seemed I either had to laugh or cry. I discovered a heretofore unknown third option...writing crangsty slash fic. I highly recommend it. Thanks, as always, go out to my beta Spockaholic.

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