That's right, we have quite a few times. Five now, isn't it?
(spock has performed mind melds with him in the presence of romulans, the natives of amerind, the melkotians, their own people aboard the enterprise. only once, the most recent time, were they alone.
kirk's better situated to attempt a gentler contact now, sitting in the shallows where the ebb and flow of the ocean pulls grains of sand from beneath his feet. the knock is finally a knock. it helps to apply spock's more straightforward lessons in meditation and his own robust imagination, literally envisioning the door to his quarters.
To say entirely conclusively, when on some nights he's instinctively responded to Kirk's mind's bid for contact with a half-open door, is difficult.
But he does know that no matter what Kirk's assumption is, the true number is higher. And in spite of all the things they've shared with one another, painful or joyous, this is one he will keep from him.
His gaze softens, lids heavy as his head tilts and he focuses on the far quieter prodding seeking to distract him from unwise memories. I'd like to see you appears in his mind like a thought of his very own, and the familiar pain in his skull at the swelling of resultant emotion is quickly repressed. ]
We will see one another soon. You still have a considerable amount of time left for yourself, Captain.
(to receive confirmation that spock is hearing him is undeniably satisfying, causing a barely restrained giddiness to loiter in the intimate place between their minds.
later, the sobering thoughts will come as he reflects on the day and he'll have to broach a subject he's unsure how to navigate. for now, however, he'd like to do as he's told and try to unwind. it's a predictable chore to convince the captain of the enterprise to stay in one spot for long.)
Relaxation is relaxation, isn't it? Does it really matter where I rest and with whom? Either way, I'm getting out of the sun before my skin turns an uncomfortable shade of red.
[ The response is so immediate but not more so than his emotional reaction, a sense of ease and excitement that bubbles up between them and has the distinct tones of his captain. It's been a long time since he's seen him so happy... if he ever has. Truly, really happy, not simply distracted from work that offers both stress and fulfillment in equal measure, but stimulated and enjoying this experience to the fullest.
It would be illogical to discount his own involvement in influencing Kirk's mood because Kirk has had the same effect on him. ]
I have not.
[ And the thought alone is enough to inspire his first direct effort to reach Kirk's mind.
The image of rays of light hitting blue waters, refracted in sharp flashes and the brilliant glinting of jewel-like shine on the crests of gentle waves... All paired with the searing, unavoidable knowledge that they too will burn Kirk's skin just as effectively, rendering his new plan utterly unserviceable. ]
Vulcans do not share the human desire to submerge themselves in water for leisure. You are aware of this.
(in his surveil of the sea, it's as if another is layered on top of it. a sunspot in his vision that causes his sight to momentarily swim, thoughts inclined to stray to the momentary "intrusion" to sort his own impressions of the ocean from spock's.
it feels so distinctly like him that it'd be impossible to miss his presence, but the message is received through a filter. distance, perhaps, or a weak connection.)
I am, but that'll never stop me from asking.
(he's asked the vulcan to accompany him to an argelian café, knowing full well the idea would be met with a raised brow. if it'd all been in poor taste someone might've told him so, but there'll never be an event of interest he fails to invite spock to.
his company will always be welcome and always be sought out.)
I saw what you wished to send me and it's amazing, Spock. I doubt I'll ever get used to it, but in a good way, of that I'm certain. However, I'm having some difficulty determining the meaning behind the images. They're perhaps easier for me to sense than specific thoughts are.
Words might get lost in the transference, but they say that a picture is worth one thousand.
[ A fair assessment. How would his own time spent with humans go, after all, if he abandoned them to their illogic after the first attempt to get them to see the errors in their behavior? Perhaps his resistance to human ways and their resistance to Vulcan ways both need to be overcome... with certain sharp stipulations, of course. Should he make more of an effort?
Should he go scuba-diving? ]
I attempted to impress upon you both image and intention. The latter is perhaps still too complex.
Did you experience any sensation of discomfort? I will not proceed with refining this method of communication if I sense any risk to you.
[ But it is satisfying – and a bit humbling – to realize that he had succeeded at all. That they had succeeded. ]
The double vision was disorienting for a moment, but it wasn't painful. Not at all, in fact; it was rather pleasant.
(there's salt on the breeze coming from the sea, fine particles of water misting his skin when the next wave pounds crystalline rock face. it's nostalgic and makes him think this is what i've wanted all along.
spock should know that, so he tells him. focusing on sensation, he shares his own picture without words.)
(in an already perfect moment, all that could make it better is to have spock physically at his side. if he were, he'd feel emboldened to touch him again, a slip of fingers into his, a deep lean against his shoulder.)
Good.
(kirk takes a deep breath and draws himself out of the water for the final time, catching his linens and shaking out a sandy towel.)
Between my brush with danger and our discussion, have you become distracted from your tour of the museum? I'd act apologetic, but I'm starting to think I had ulterior motives.
I'd like to join you, Spock, or take you out to dinner.
[ His awareness of the world around him has been muted as he speaks to his t'hy'la, more interested in the inner workings of the man's mind than the outer workings of anyone else's. But now, when he calls attention to where he isn't, the cacophony of his surroundings crashes into him all at once, somehow both too chaotic and far too empty. What he seeks is solitude, but solitude with him.
Keen brown eyes reread his captain's invitation as it's meant to be read, having been asked on countless occasions in the past to join him for dinner or a late night briefing but this is different. There are certain human implications that accompany the phrase "take you out" and his awareness of that carries with it knowledge of Kirk's awareness. ]
I left the exhibits some time ago. It was a disservice both to them and to you for me to divide my attentions.
There's a restaurant, Elisium, by the Sky Whale Flotilla. When we first arrived, I made a point to look into it; they serve primarily seafood, but the menu is robust. They'll have plenty of options to choose from.
(for the past few months, spock's dietary restrictions have been at the forefront of his mind. it's little wonder now why kirk's begun to see menus in a different light, and he's happy to report that he's found a restaurant that harmonizes with his high expectations.)
How does 1830 sound? We could walk there together from the cabana.
[ James Kirk is a man who thinks ahead. Even knowing this, his answer is provided with an almost suspicious speed.
His own reply, however, is more thought out and far more inscrutable, as if even in matters like these there are certain tacit Vulcan expectations to be met. ]
I am familiar with the restaurant to which you refer and am quite certain I would prefer to meet you there directly. I presume this will be suitable.
(it's as bewitching as it is bewildering, often able to make executive decisions without spock weighing in with his personal preferences. usually, the captain's idea is analyzed, discussed at length over a debriefing room table, or agreed with outright as the most logical way to proceed. here is a fine example of unfamiliar behaviour that excites him.
undeniably, this is more romantic.)
Of course, it is, Spock. I'm looking forward to seeing you.
[ Kirk, a learned man, is well-versed in poetry. Spock, a learned man, is also. As surely as his captain is able to quote such an overtly romantic and desperate piece, the Enterprise's first officer is able to recognize it.
The next image that will blossom in the human's mind like a sunspot is that of their ship itself, a stark tableau from an eidetic memory that has them both seated together for lunch, locked in heated discussion. It is only thanks to the perspective of the memory's owner that it becomes clear that it was literature they were debating, in fact another work of the illustrious poet Kirk is quoting now.
It bodes well for their next encounter, one that has him already buzzing with an unsettled energy, aroused by feelings he can't name but driven by a need to channel this newfound elevated state into action. He must, after all, prepare for their dinner. ]
(closed eyes act as a blank canvas on which the image can bloom, kirk pausing in step to allow it to come to him. at first, it's as unreliable as water on paper, soaked fibres causing the image's centre to ripple and its edges to curl. thankfully, spock's memory lasts as long as his focus does.
in the scene, they look natural together, safe within their home's walls. passion is contained within the moment, spock smiling without smiling in that way that he does, stare thoughtful and kind and soft even in debate. and beyond it, he sees himself the way that his friend would: real, imperfect, exactly the way the world's made him. this he suspected he'd see, the vulcan powers of retention better than a photograph. never in his life could he have anticipated, however, the depth of his own adoration for spock and how overt it'd be in his expression.
he's in love with his best friend and tonight, over dinner, he intends to show it.)
(returning to the cabana, there's no trace of spock, so kirk showers the salt and sand from his skin and begins his rituals. it's the first time he's been hesitant to touch himself, erection a relentless presence since the beach. he's certain it'd be impossible to avoid thinking about him and more difficult still to keep from knocking—again and far less politely—which inspires him to not. being accompanied by a "persistent and unnecessary" reminder for the better part of the hour it takes him to primp and preen is annoying but ultimately ignorable. unlike his more humbling moments in the enterprise's gymnasium, at least he's in private and not the subject of careful study by his curious crew. his first officer had always kept his line of sight level with his face, past his shoulder, or directly over his head out of respect, but he knew. they both knew. their recent foray into romance will have raised as many flags as he has in the past, but he thinks, at that moment, that he'd rather set himself on fire than bring himself to orgasm with spock cognizant of that fact before their first official date. and if there have been times when he's done so before being made aware of their mental link, they don't damn well count.
kirk decides to wear green. the tailor told him it brought out the colour in his eyes and, flattered, he bought it before checking the price tag like a sucker. it is finely made, though, and it suits him. therefore, it isn't the blazer's fault it's been second-guessed at least five times, held with a tie against a white button-up that he can't decide to dress down or up. heaven forbid he show up in something casual, because if he's familiar with spock's culture—he's unconfident in the preferences of the many, but something of an expert in the preferences of the one—high-flown vulcans don't do casual. he has no standard of measurement for how elegant spock's outfit is going to be, knowing only that it will be eye-catching and it will be better than his. once kirk's accepted that, choosing the rest is easy.
leaving two hours early from the cottage on the beach is an executive decision he makes after he spends ten minutes walking the living area in a closed cleaning loop. it'd be nice he thought, for us to return together to a tidy environment. then his pulse got away from him. suffice to say, he's at the restaurant's bar for a reason and there he waits, nursing a stabilizing brandy, for their table to clear.
they've been waiting a long time for this. spock knew before kirk did that their lives were destined to intersect, though the meaning of it escaped him until only recently. all of the shifts they spent admiring how the other worked, all of the missions they went on fearing for one another's safety, all of the visits they made to each other's quarters under the impression that the person before them was unobtainable for reasons beyond their control culminated into this beautiful accident. with every sip of his beverage, ice clinks against the side of its crystal glass; he considers that it might've all been chance. similar to particle collisions in seas of unborn stars that once comprised the universe, each impact responsible for one thing they know and a million things they don't. their odds, by that logic, would be staggering and stacked against them. he can only believe in what spock believes: they are one split soul, striving to return to create a whole.
that's what feels right.
he takes his coaster with his drink and thanks the bartender as he's escorted by the hostess to their table. they'll be seated against towering windows at the back of the room, wall a single pane he finds is composed of a material that refracts light and glimmers as though faceted. only when his fingers skim the exterior does kirk realize that it's a thin sheet of water suspended by magic that neither buckles with the wind nor ripples under his invasive touch. it's like spock's projection of the ocean, cleverly created to wow, and he finally expresses through their bond that he's arrived and already prepared to show him something marvellous.)
[ It isn't often that Spock is overwhelmed, for the Vulcan mind itself has many safeguards in place to prevent any such thing from happening. Now, however, it has become necessary for him to conjure those boundaries consciously, for if he doesn't his human emotions may succeed in sidelining his Vulcan practicality. He has agreed to a private, intimate dinner with his superior officer, one which is not predicated upon sheer proximity, work, or even friendliness.
This is a dinner which will celebrate their relationship and possibly deepen it, for while the Vulcan perspective on romance has its necessary limitations the view of lifelong bonds is robust and intrinsically understood.
Their conversation in the library made him fully aware of the simple fact that to remove James Kirk from his life will require entirely deadening a large part of himself. It also made him aware that should he remain, in any capacity, his affection for and dedication to the man will do nothing but grow. It was with this in mind that he agreed to the dinner at all, predicting that such an opportunity would arise given his captain's behavior as of late.
Any self-satisfaction with his own statistically-measured computations is short-lived, however, forcing himself smoothly to his feet after meticulously formulating his plan for the next few hours in his mind. He will shelter himself from Kirk's thoughts entirely and in doing so offer him some much-needed privacy as he makes his way to the boutique he'd admired on his morning walk, soul rebelling at the separation all the way. ]
He had assured Kirk, after all, that it would be, and thus it is with forty-seven seconds to spare that he arrives to address the hostess, considering it a sufficient buffer to allow for brief conversation and then his direction to their table. Ultimately the guidance is unnecessary. The second he feels a presence seeking to intersect with his own, he knows where Jim Kirk is.
The back of a golden head, crowned with hair lightened by hot beach days and bright rays of sunlight, arrests his attention immediately when he turns a moment before the young lady indicates his table. He thanks her with a short nod and his legs start to carry him forward almost unconsciously a moment later – does he have any choice any longer to stay away? It takes a purposeful lift of his chin for his composure to become close to regained once he's at his side, finally stepping fully within view as slender fingers alight momentarily on the back of Kirk's chair before finding his own. ]
You're early, Captain. I anticipated that this might be the case.
[ He's beautiful.
It's the first unhelpful thought that strikes him as he draws out his chair to take a seat, no longer able to dwell on his own careful fashion choices when the man opposite him is so arresting. It's with a numb hand and a frozen, unreadable expression that he hooks his bag onto the back of his chair and then fixes an impatient gaze back onto his captain. Presented in a way that so few others have seen him, out of his command golds and relaxed, intimate, honest. His attention fixes onto eyes that remind him of nebulas frozen into awe-inspiring displays of power, roiling from within with mysteries unknowable. He's dedicated the first half of his life to understanding the secrets of space. He feels he'd need even longer to understand this feeling. ]
You composed your outfit well. Most flattering, and an ensemble I have not previously seen. [ It falls so, so achingly short of all he truly wants to say. And only now does he seem to even acknowledge their surroundings with a glance towards that sheet of water and a quiet "fascinating" muttered under his breath. ]
In point of fact, your choice of restaurant is also suitable. You have my compliments.
(as cliché and unscientific as it is to report time's halting, kirk, raising his face to behold the man at his side, decides the feeling is accurate. while it's more credible coming from him, someone who has experienced being put on pause, it remains untrue; the restaurant and its waitstaff are as preoccupied as they were when spock walked in. from now until they part, everything that doesn't matter will be stripped away. and all that's left seems to be more than he can handle, slow smile his only outlet for the excess appreciation welling up in his chest at the sight of him.
after spock removes his hand but before he sits, adrenaline and midwestern manners force kirk out of his chair in both greeting and invitation. in his stricken and unspeaking state, he overtly takes the opportunity he's been so graciously given to admire him in whole.
each item is catalogued: black boots, ankle-cut with a pointed toe; black pants, hemmed to lengthen mile-long legs; a black turtleneck, fabric's tight knit accentuating a strong chest; a black coat, creaseless, hung from broad shoulders. everything expensive, tailored and matched to kohl-black lashes and to hair shining like obsidian in the light of the setting sun.
kirk doesn't have a breath left in his lungs to hold. dark and warm, it's undoubtedly an outfit for an iowan autumn. this may be why, among countless other reasons, he's so attracted to it. he's always seen his friend as a masterpiece of art and music and poetry; therefore, he loves what is, for marilla, an unconventional choice. its contrary nature suits spock, because while kirk dresses like the others—in white and bright colours, and in light linens and flowing silks—spock dresses like himself. he is demonstratively unique. kirk wonders if he's seeing in spock's outfit a conscious acceptance of what their evening together means. he'd be satisfied if the reason were far simpler than that, but he's found that not to be the case with his often mystifying first officer.
right now, this second, questions don't matter. spock is, as no other word will suffice, exquisite.)
Thank you, Spock, I'm very pleased to hear you say so. (he says, taking his seat to absorb the validating praise he finds irresistible.
this time the relationship is built on an unshakeable foundation of trust. this time mistakes won't become barriers to overcome but conversation pieces designed to bring them closer together. this time it's right, finally, and it's affecting him more than he suspected it might.)
The hostess was kind enough not to correct me when I asked to reserve a table near the "window." Imagine my surprise when my finger went straight through it. (but that's not what he's been desperate to tell him, years of restraint finally slipping from his hands. the speed at which it all unravels from its moorings would be enough to burn his palms.)
[ Any attempts to retain his focus on a pane of water he would, in any other circumstance, refuse to leave unexamined, are rendered utterly moot once Kirk begins speaking. Rich brown eyes instantly snap back to warm hazel, as keenly aware of the fact that they fail to meet his own as he is of the full three buttons his normally fastidious captain has left unfastened below his collar. Would his skin radiate heat, sun-kissed as it's been on this day and the day prior? That is a logical assumption, given the tendency of human bodies to gather blood at the sight of fresh burns to aid in the healing process.
The fact that the thought occurred to him at all is less logical. ]
I would hardly classify such a statement as professional. [ For a moment it's almost as if he'll extend this charade past its welcome, all until one of those upswept brows quirks and his hands fold primly on the table's surface. ]
Jim.
[ The switch from title to name is, of course, deliberate. ]
It is rare that I am afforded the opportunity to choose my own style of clothing, nor do I often wish to. On this occasion I made an exception.
(there's only one thing kirk has to say to such a playful brow:) To Hell with professionalism. (no one in heaven nor on earth can stop him from admiring how handsome spock's high collar looks against olive skin cast in fractured light. his smile illustrates as much, only turning sheepish after "delight" has had its turn.)
I've been here for some time, actually, which was long enough to have a drink at the bar. Honestly, Spock, I was nervous, (he admits,) and excited about tonight, so I decided to come early.
(palms that have turned skyward during his explanation clasp together when he's done, and his knuckles come to rest against his empty tumbler.
there aren't many things he'd omit when speaking to his friend. there are aspects of his personal life that he chooses not to volunteer, the only obvious exceptions, but their trust in one another generates something in him that's more fundamental than that. he cares and strives to be as honest with spock as spock is with him; moreover, his is the only judgement he'll allow with little protest because it is always accurate and often warranted.)
Tell me about your day—and don't leave anything out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I believe we have established that you can successfully get my attention, Captain.
I told you that repeated joining of minds deepened the connection between individuals. There is no one with whom I have melded more.
no subject
(spock has performed mind melds with him in the presence of romulans, the natives of amerind, the melkotians, their own people aboard the enterprise. only once, the most recent time, were they alone.
kirk's better situated to attempt a gentler contact now, sitting in the shallows where the ebb and flow of the ocean pulls grains of sand from beneath his feet. the knock is finally a knock. it helps to apply spock's more straightforward lessons in meditation and his own robust imagination, literally envisioning the door to his quarters.
i'd like to see you.)
no subject
To say entirely conclusively, when on some nights he's instinctively responded to Kirk's mind's bid for contact with a half-open door, is difficult.
But he does know that no matter what Kirk's assumption is, the true number is higher. And in spite of all the things they've shared with one another, painful or joyous, this is one he will keep from him.
His gaze softens, lids heavy as his head tilts and he focuses on the far quieter prodding seeking to distract him from unwise memories. I'd like to see you appears in his mind like a thought of his very own, and the familiar pain in his skull at the swelling of resultant emotion is quickly repressed. ]
We will see one another soon. You still have a considerable amount of time left for yourself, Captain.
no subject
later, the sobering thoughts will come as he reflects on the day and he'll have to broach a subject he's unsure how to navigate. for now, however, he'd like to do as he's told and try to unwind. it's a predictable chore to convince the captain of the enterprise to stay in one spot for long.)
Relaxation is relaxation, isn't it? Does it really matter where I rest and with whom? Either way, I'm getting out of the sun before my skin turns an uncomfortable shade of red.
Have you ever been scuba diving?
(stop him quickly)
no subject
It would be illogical to discount his own involvement in influencing Kirk's mood because Kirk has had the same effect on him. ]
I have not.
[ And the thought alone is enough to inspire his first direct effort to reach Kirk's mind.
The image of rays of light hitting blue waters, refracted in sharp flashes and the brilliant glinting of jewel-like shine on the crests of gentle waves... All paired with the searing, unavoidable knowledge that they too will burn Kirk's skin just as effectively, rendering his new plan utterly unserviceable. ]
Vulcans do not share the human desire to submerge themselves in water for leisure. You are aware of this.
no subject
it feels so distinctly like him that it'd be impossible to miss his presence, but the message is received through a filter. distance, perhaps, or a weak connection.)
I am, but that'll never stop me from asking.
(he's asked the vulcan to accompany him to an argelian café, knowing full well the idea would be met with a raised brow. if it'd all been in poor taste someone might've told him so, but there'll never be an event of interest he fails to invite spock to.
his company will always be welcome and always be sought out.)
I saw what you wished to send me and it's amazing, Spock. I doubt I'll ever get used to it, but in a good way, of that I'm certain. However, I'm having some difficulty determining the meaning behind the images. They're perhaps easier for me to sense than specific thoughts are.
Words might get lost in the transference, but they say that a picture is worth one thousand.
no subject
Should he go scuba-diving? ]
I attempted to impress upon you both image and intention. The latter is perhaps still too complex.
Did you experience any sensation of discomfort? I will not proceed with refining this method of communication if I sense any risk to you.
[ But it is satisfying – and a bit humbling – to realize that he had succeeded at all. That they had succeeded. ]
no subject
(there's salt on the breeze coming from the sea, fine particles of water misting his skin when the next wave pounds crystalline rock face. it's nostalgic and makes him think this is what i've wanted all along.
spock should know that, so he tells him. focusing on sensation, he shares his own picture without words.)
It doesn't hurt you, does it?
no subject
This is what I've wanted all along.
The sense of connection is as natural as if he had been born with it, a thought that feeds his next words. ]
It doesn't. I have significant doubts that my linking with your mind could ever cause me serious discomfort again. It has become familiar to me.
no subject
Good.
(kirk takes a deep breath and draws himself out of the water for the final time, catching his linens and shaking out a sandy towel.)
Between my brush with danger and our discussion, have you become distracted from your tour of the museum? I'd act apologetic, but I'm starting to think I had ulterior motives.
I'd like to join you, Spock, or take you out to dinner.
1/3
Keen brown eyes reread his captain's invitation as it's meant to be read, having been asked on countless occasions in the past to join him for dinner or a late night briefing but this is different. There are certain human implications that accompany the phrase "take you out" and his awareness of that carries with it knowledge of Kirk's awareness. ]
I left the exhibits some time ago. It was a disservice both to them and to you for me to divide my attentions.
2/3
3/3
Where and when might I meet you?
no subject
(for the past few months, spock's dietary restrictions have been at the forefront of his mind. it's little wonder now why kirk's begun to see menus in a different light, and he's happy to report that he's found a restaurant that harmonizes with his high expectations.)
How does 1830 sound? We could walk there together from the cabana.
no subject
His own reply, however, is more thought out and far more inscrutable, as if even in matters like these there are certain tacit Vulcan expectations to be met. ]
I am familiar with the restaurant to which you refer and am quite certain I would prefer to meet you there directly. I presume this will be suitable.
no subject
undeniably, this is more romantic.)
Of course, it is, Spock. I'm looking forward to seeing you.
"Withhold no atom's atom or I die."
(a ham)
no subject
The next image that will blossom in the human's mind like a sunspot is that of their ship itself, a stark tableau from an eidetic memory that has them both seated together for lunch, locked in heated discussion. It is only thanks to the perspective of the memory's owner that it becomes clear that it was literature they were debating, in fact another work of the illustrious poet Kirk is quoting now.
It bodes well for their next encounter, one that has him already buzzing with an unsettled energy, aroused by feelings he can't name but driven by a need to channel this newfound elevated state into action. He must, after all, prepare for their dinner. ]
1830. I intend to arrive precisely on time.
[ take that as you will ]
1/2
in the scene, they look natural together, safe within their home's walls. passion is contained within the moment, spock smiling without smiling in that way that he does, stare thoughtful and kind and soft even in debate. and beyond it, he sees himself the way that his friend would: real, imperfect, exactly the way the world's made him. this he suspected he'd see, the vulcan powers of retention better than a photograph. never in his life could he have anticipated, however, the depth of his own adoration for spock and how overt it'd be in his expression.
he's in love with his best friend and tonight, over dinner, he intends to show it.)
2/2
kirk decides to wear green. the tailor told him it brought out the colour in his eyes and, flattered, he bought it before checking the price tag like a sucker. it is finely made, though, and it suits him. therefore, it isn't the blazer's fault it's been second-guessed at least five times, held with a tie against a white button-up that he can't decide to dress down or up. heaven forbid he show up in something casual, because if he's familiar with spock's culture—he's unconfident in the preferences of the many, but something of an expert in the preferences of the one—high-flown vulcans don't do casual. he has no standard of measurement for how elegant spock's outfit is going to be, knowing only that it will be eye-catching and it will be better than his. once kirk's accepted that, choosing the rest is easy.
leaving two hours early from the cottage on the beach is an executive decision he makes after he spends ten minutes walking the living area in a closed cleaning loop. it'd be nice he thought, for us to return together to a tidy environment. then his pulse got away from him. suffice to say, he's at the restaurant's bar for a reason and there he waits, nursing a stabilizing brandy, for their table to clear.
they've been waiting a long time for this. spock knew before kirk did that their lives were destined to intersect, though the meaning of it escaped him until only recently. all of the shifts they spent admiring how the other worked, all of the missions they went on fearing for one another's safety, all of the visits they made to each other's quarters under the impression that the person before them was unobtainable for reasons beyond their control culminated into this beautiful accident. with every sip of his beverage, ice clinks against the side of its crystal glass; he considers that it might've all been chance. similar to particle collisions in seas of unborn stars that once comprised the universe, each impact responsible for one thing they know and a million things they don't. their odds, by that logic, would be staggering and stacked against them. he can only believe in what spock believes: they are one split soul, striving to return to create a whole.
that's what feels right.
he takes his coaster with his drink and thanks the bartender as he's escorted by the hostess to their table. they'll be seated against towering windows at the back of the room, wall a single pane he finds is composed of a material that refracts light and glimmers as though faceted. only when his fingers skim the exterior does kirk realize that it's a thin sheet of water suspended by magic that neither buckles with the wind nor ripples under his invasive touch. it's like spock's projection of the ocean, cleverly created to wow, and he finally expresses through their bond that he's arrived and already prepared to show him something marvellous.)
1/3
This is a dinner which will celebrate their relationship and possibly deepen it, for while the Vulcan perspective on romance has its necessary limitations the view of lifelong bonds is robust and intrinsically understood.
Their conversation in the library made him fully aware of the simple fact that to remove James Kirk from his life will require entirely deadening a large part of himself. It also made him aware that should he remain, in any capacity, his affection for and dedication to the man will do nothing but grow. It was with this in mind that he agreed to the dinner at all, predicting that such an opportunity would arise given his captain's behavior as of late.
Any self-satisfaction with his own statistically-measured computations is short-lived, however, forcing himself smoothly to his feet after meticulously formulating his plan for the next few hours in his mind. He will shelter himself from Kirk's thoughts entirely and in doing so offer him some much-needed privacy as he makes his way to the boutique he'd admired on his morning walk, soul rebelling at the separation all the way. ]
2/3
3/3
He had assured Kirk, after all, that it would be, and thus it is with forty-seven seconds to spare that he arrives to address the hostess, considering it a sufficient buffer to allow for brief conversation and then his direction to their table. Ultimately the guidance is unnecessary. The second he feels a presence seeking to intersect with his own, he knows where Jim Kirk is.
The back of a golden head, crowned with hair lightened by hot beach days and bright rays of sunlight, arrests his attention immediately when he turns a moment before the young lady indicates his table. He thanks her with a short nod and his legs start to carry him forward almost unconsciously a moment later – does he have any choice any longer to stay away? It takes a purposeful lift of his chin for his composure to become close to regained once he's at his side, finally stepping fully within view as slender fingers alight momentarily on the back of Kirk's chair before finding his own. ]
You're early, Captain. I anticipated that this might be the case.
[ He's beautiful.
It's the first unhelpful thought that strikes him as he draws out his chair to take a seat, no longer able to dwell on his own careful fashion choices when the man opposite him is so arresting. It's with a numb hand and a frozen, unreadable expression that he hooks his bag onto the back of his chair and then fixes an impatient gaze back onto his captain. Presented in a way that so few others have seen him, out of his command golds and relaxed, intimate, honest. His attention fixes onto eyes that remind him of nebulas frozen into awe-inspiring displays of power, roiling from within with mysteries unknowable. He's dedicated the first half of his life to understanding the secrets of space. He feels he'd need even longer to understand this feeling. ]
You composed your outfit well. Most flattering, and an ensemble I have not previously seen. [ It falls so, so achingly short of all he truly wants to say. And only now does he seem to even acknowledge their surroundings with a glance towards that sheet of water and a quiet "fascinating" muttered under his breath. ]
In point of fact, your choice of restaurant is also suitable. You have my compliments.
no subject
after spock removes his hand but before he sits, adrenaline and midwestern manners force kirk out of his chair in both greeting and invitation. in his stricken and unspeaking state, he overtly takes the opportunity he's been so graciously given to admire him in whole.
each item is catalogued: black boots, ankle-cut with a pointed toe; black pants, hemmed to lengthen mile-long legs; a black turtleneck, fabric's tight knit accentuating a strong chest; a black coat, creaseless, hung from broad shoulders. everything expensive, tailored and matched to kohl-black lashes and to hair shining like obsidian in the light of the setting sun.
kirk doesn't have a breath left in his lungs to hold. dark and warm, it's undoubtedly an outfit for an iowan autumn. this may be why, among countless other reasons, he's so attracted to it. he's always seen his friend as a masterpiece of art and music and poetry; therefore, he loves what is, for marilla, an unconventional choice. its contrary nature suits spock, because while kirk dresses like the others—in white and bright colours, and in light linens and flowing silks—spock dresses like himself. he is demonstratively unique. kirk wonders if he's seeing in spock's outfit a conscious acceptance of what their evening together means. he'd be satisfied if the reason were far simpler than that, but he's found that not to be the case with his often mystifying first officer.
right now, this second, questions don't matter. spock is, as no other word will suffice, exquisite.)
Thank you, Spock, I'm very pleased to hear you say so. (he says, taking his seat to absorb the validating praise he finds irresistible.
this time the relationship is built on an unshakeable foundation of trust. this time mistakes won't become barriers to overcome but conversation pieces designed to bring them closer together. this time it's right, finally, and it's affecting him more than he suspected it might.)
The hostess was kind enough not to correct me when I asked to reserve a table near the "window." Imagine my surprise when my finger went straight through it. (but that's not what he's been desperate to tell him, years of restraint finally slipping from his hands. the speed at which it all unravels from its moorings would be enough to burn his palms.)
You look incredible.
no subject
The fact that the thought occurred to him at all is less logical. ]
I would hardly classify such a statement as professional. [ For a moment it's almost as if he'll extend this charade past its welcome, all until one of those upswept brows quirks and his hands fold primly on the table's surface. ]
Jim.
[ The switch from title to name is, of course, deliberate. ]
It is rare that I am afforded the opportunity to choose my own style of clothing, nor do I often wish to. On this occasion I made an exception.
Have you been waiting long?
no subject
I've been here for some time, actually, which was long enough to have a drink at the bar. Honestly, Spock, I was nervous, (he admits,) and excited about tonight, so I decided to come early.
(palms that have turned skyward during his explanation clasp together when he's done, and his knuckles come to rest against his empty tumbler.
there aren't many things he'd omit when speaking to his friend. there are aspects of his personal life that he chooses not to volunteer, the only obvious exceptions, but their trust in one another generates something in him that's more fundamental than that. he cares and strives to be as honest with spock as spock is with him; moreover, his is the only judgement he'll allow with little protest because it is always accurate and often warranted.)
Tell me about your day—and don't leave anything out.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)