This is yet another K/S Advent contribution. Check out the full advent calendar on ksadvent . livejournal . com for some serious talent. People put so much time and effort into this every year and you definitely want to give them a look. (Thanks to the mods for putting on the event every year. Without them it wouldn't be possible. You guys are totally awesome.)

:D

His room is his sanctuary. The one place that might, just a little, feel like home. The temperature is just right, an almost perfect mimicry of the dry heat of his homeplanet. A planet which hasn't existed for over four years. One he, illogically, misses more often than any self-respecting Vulcan would admit. Maybe it's a blessing that he is only half self-respecting Vulcan. The only half Vulcan and, it is likely, the only one there will ever be.

Born in this universe, at the least.

Spock is still unsure what he thinks about the Ambassador. The older -calmer, wiser, more likeable- version of himself. In a way, he wants that. He wants to be that man. Looks forward to the day when he can wake up and feel at home in his body. Not just in this one room on a starship thousands of lightyears from the planet where he was born.

The remains of the planet where he was born.

But, in another way, he fears it.

Fear of the unknown is illogical. He is a scientist. An explorer. And yet sometimes he catches the huge festering wound, the loneliness and hurt eating away at his older self. And he can't keep himself from wondering. What exactly happened to him? Spock feels the absolute devotion and trust and love the Ambassador holds onto. For the Enterprise. For Kirk -Jim. For McCoy and Chekov and Sulu and Mr Scott and Uhura.

And Spock knows that they are a set. He can feel it in his katra. Where there is one, the others will be sure to follow. He knows, with a certainty that sometimes scares him, that there is no other universe where Jim is and he isn't.

And when they spent time ferrying the Ambassador to New Vulcan after a rather spectacular fail at diplomacy - and the Ambassador had just laughed and patted them on the back and said 'just like last time' - Spock couldn't help but wonder. His Jim was dead. Had been for quite a number of years before the whole Nero incident. How did he cope? How did he look at Spock's Jim, the young, fierce Captain and not buckle under the pain?

Spock wasn't an idiot. He could feel the remains of a bond Vulcans only weave stories around. And, after years of knowing James Kirk, of feeling that brilliant mind brushing up against his own, he had begun to notice the first strings of a bond stretching between them.

Spock has never been weak but even the slightest thought of a life without his Captain sends him to his knees.

In that time, where Jim was dead and Kahn was loose, Spock felt nothing but a biting rage. The world was not red, as so many stories had left him to believe, but a lifeless -Kirk-less- grey. And Spock couldn't think. He couldn't feel. He couldn't hear. Everything in him screamed for retribution. His katra lashed out at those unfortunate enough to get too close. He was consumed.

So maybe that was why, two years after the event, Spock silently put up with Kirk's odd sleeping habits.

For the past few months - just after they'd rescued the captain from the Illyrian slave ring - Jim had been sleep walking.

The first time it had been a surprise. Spock had just gotten to sleep himself when he felt the Captain enter his quarters. He'd only really woken when Jim slipped into his bed, curling himself into the crook of Spock's body. It had been late enough, and Spock certainly had been tired enough, that he'd spent the first 34.09 seconds just blinking at the Human nestled in his arms.

He'd then silently wondered about Jim's appearance in his room for 15.6 seconds. With a less than stellar grip on his emotions, Spock had then thought about just leaving it for the morning.

He hadn't.

Eventually, a whole 6 and a half minutes after Jim had stumbled his way into Spock's own bed, he extracted himself from the Human's grip. Picking the Captain up and carrying him back through their adjoining bathroom was fairly effortless. If Spock felt any regret, he didn't acknowledge it. And he certainly hadn't tucked the Captain back into his own bed with a kiss of the forehead. Not at all.

And the following night, when Spock woke with Jim settling himself against his stomach, his hand squirming under the extra pillow, he let himself just watch. There was something sweet and innocent about the Captain when he was asleep. And it highlighted just how stressed Kirk was when he was awake. Spock was, quite frankly, worried.

So he did what any good friend would do, let Jim sleep as he carried him back into his room. Whispered sweet nothings into his hair when he came close to waking. Tucked him under his blankets and moved a pillow behind his back. A mockery of another body keeping the Captain safe while he slept.

Jim responded to it well, so perhaps he'd made the right choice.

And so the nights continued. Jim would walk in, waking Spock and getting carried back to his own room.

Maybe Spock should had mentioned it to the Captain. But he knew that Jim would stop taking his medications, would stop getting better. And talking to McCoy was out of the question. It was, Jim had revealed during one of their chess matched, the only sleeping medication he wasn't allergic to.

Not that Spock truly minded the nightly interruptions. His sleep schedule was thrown off kilter but he just remedied that by doing less overtime. Which in turn gave him more time to spend with Jim.

Which was almost always a positive thing. Excepting of course when Jim was being a brat. The now blessedly few times when Spock wanted to send him to time out or shut him up or kiss him until he couldn't remember his own name, let alone the new thing he had to fight about. Because James was sometimes petty. Sometimes he just wanted all of everyone's attention.

And that was when -at the begging of the entire bridge crew- Spock would take him aside. To the ready room. Or his quarters. And they'd argue. They'd argue for the sake of letting off steam. Over stupid mission details. Or the unfailing contempt of certain Admirals. Or the way Spock interacted with other officers.

And sometimes Jim's words were stupid. Sometimes they had merit and Spock argued just so Jim knew someone was listening and paying attention. Sometimes Spock was fundamentally against Jim's opinion. Sometimes, Spock suspected, Jim did it just to be spiteful.

He used words as a weapon and their edges cut deep. They opened wounds from his childhood, from when he'd moved to Earth, from his time as a professor or his first few missions aboard starships. Jim was smart, smarter than he acted, and he'd seen enough of Spock's mind to know where to aim.

These times became less and less. Chess and laughter was now the main staple of their interactions. But even then, even before the Federations cockup with the Illyrians, Jim had become quieter. His smiles were more brittle. His sighs a little deeper and occurring more often. And Spock spent his shifts beside the Captain, just a few steps away and always ready to give him whatever he needed.

Maybe it wasn't the healthiest of relationships. But then, he also knew that Jim would do anything for him. Like hold an entire planet hostage until he was returned. Or skip poker night to find out why Spock was being more Vulcan than normal. Or embarrass himself in front of the entire bridge crew when he figured out one of Spock's riddles. Or learn Spock's birth language so he had someone to talk to.

James Kirk was many things. And he was growing up, along with the rest of the Enterprise crew.

So normally Spock didn't mind the break in his sleep cycle. Or sneaking his Captain back into his own room without waking him. He liked that his voice would calm the Captain back to sleep. And his touch, with the tingle of telepathy, could work the stress right out of his body. It was illogical but then, most things involving his Captain were.

However, the last week had been a 'hard slog' as Lt. Summers had taken to referring to it. Spock had barely gotten Jim back to his own room before Spock's alarm was going off for alpha shift. And that had worn down even Spock's reserves.

Humans had very specific –and perhaps unrealistic- ideas about the celebration of Christmas. And Pavel had already figured out the best way to get Spock to do his bidding. It may or may not involve dimples and mathematics. Because even Vulcans could be susceptible to Pavel's many charms.

Spock had set aside a portion of his science team and lab six to attempt to bring the season to the Enterprise. It was a successful mission. Mr Scott and Hikaru had taken over when Spock signed off. This meant that theoretically, when Spock woke up in the morning the whole ship should have been transformed into a Christmas wonderland.

But tonight Spock couldn't be fucked.

With that thought in mind, Spock strips off his shirts. His boots are off next, kicked roughly towards his wardrobe. His pants follow soon after.

In only his boxers, Spock makes his way over to his bed where Jim was still fast asleep. His sleep pants are strewn across the end of the bed, disturbed when Jim climbed aboard earlier. Spock saves them and slides into bed. Almost instantly Jim is pushing back against Spock's body, shuffling and rearranging himself to curl around Spock like a blanket. It's pleasant in a way Spock's never allowed himself to really notice until now.

Sometimes Spock thinks he's gotten used to the way James Kirk makes his heart race in his side. But then he does something, catching Spock off guard and it's like he's falling in love with the reckless fool all over again.

Spock pulls Jim even closer, arms wrapping around his Captain's waist and closes his eyes. It takes seven minutes for Spock to shut down his mind sufficiently for sleep. In that time the feeling of Jim's skin under his own, the steady beat of his thoughts, never leaves Spock's awareness.

Which is how Spock knows the exact second that Jim wakes up. The mind entwined with his own suddenly jolts into full wakefulness. It takes Jim several moments to calm down enough to take stock of his situation. By the time he does, Spock is completely awake. Any chance of sleeping later is gone. There aren't even any negative emotions for Spock to clamp down on because Jim is loose and happy in his arms.

"Spock, wake up. Please." Jim mutters, hands sliding over his cheeks and up towards his eyebrows. Before Jim can reach his goal, Spock opens his eyes and Jim's whole body stills.

"Merry Christmas, Jim." Spock says voice thick with sleep. He lets his eyes drift shut as he yawns, his jaw almost cracking with the force. Jim takes the opportunity to nuzzle into Spock's neck, skin catching on Spock's stubble. Pleasure buzzes across Jim's mind and Spock's hands squeeze his hips in response.

Jim groans, mouthing at Spock's neck as his thighs slide to straddle Spock's hips. The thin sheet slides down his back, pooling at his waist. Spock stroked his thumbs over Jim's hip bones and Jim leans forward, hands holding his bodyweight on each side of Spock's face.

Before Jim can move, Spock closes the distance between them.

It's a soft press of lips; on the edge of chaste. Jim sighs against Spock's mouth and he takes the opportunity to slowly lick into Jim's mouth. He sucks on Spock's tongue, cheeky in everything he does, and Spock breaks away to draw a much needed breath.

He lets himself take a moment to run his sensitive fingers over the exposed tan skin. Jim shivers above him. Spock's never seen anything quite so gorgeous. Jim always takes his breath away.

Jim slots their mouths back together, smiling into the kiss. Spock can't help but draw his tongue across Jim's lips, his teeth as if he could taste the smile which makes his knees weak. Jim giggles making Spock smile in response. He has never given thought to how Jim would act in bed but he doubts he'd have guessed Jim is like this.

Their foreheads bump together, Jim's eyes so soft in the dim lighting. Warmth and awe radiate off his skin, flowing into Spock. His chest feels a little tight in a way it hasn't since the last time he'd seen his mother.

Without thinking it through, Spock strokes Jim's cheeks. Het dots kisses across Jim's jaw, over his temple and down his nose. Jim glows under the attention, drinking up Spock's show of affection.

Strong hands run down Spock's chest, tangling in his hair as Jim levers himself up.

Spock's hands slide beneath Jim's briefs, cupping his ass before pulling them down far enough to free his erection. Jim lifts himself up, wiggling free of the garment as he divests Spock of his own pants.

Once they're finally, blessedly naked, Spock barely knows what to do with his hands. He trails them up and down Jim's body, drawing constellations along the curve of his spine. Jim arches his back, grinding himself down onto Spock.

"Oh! Spock." He moans and Spock replies in turn. It's difficult to keep his strength, his telepathy in check.

Spock's hands clench tighter as Jim rolls his hips. He rotates; abs flexing and Spock can feel the coil in his gut tightening.

"Spock. Spock. So close baby." Jim begins to mutter, licking at his lips and adjusting his position. The friction between them is delicious. And Spock can feel himself releasing moan after breathless moan.

Lust sparks at every point of contact, driving Spock to thrust up against Jim.

Open mouthed kisses are placed everywhere Spock can reach and Jim melts atop him. He whimpers as Spock flips their positions. He takes a moment to just drink him in.

Jim's gaze was smouldering, blue eyes barely visible behind his pupil. Spock distributes his weight over his mate and reaches down between them, fist tightening over both their dicks. Jim twitches against his hand, releasing the single most lewd sound Spock has ever heard.

His hand tightens automatically, twisting as he takes them both to the root. Jim rocks into his touch and, like always, Spock follows his lead. He can feel his orgasm coming, the tingling starting at the base of his spine. And in that moment Spock knows exactly what to do.

It takes less than half a second to lower his shields and let Jim feel exactly what he does. Without contact to Jim's primary psi-points Spock cannot initiate a true meld however he finds that he does not need to. The connection between them flares with their arousal and they teeter on the edge of ecstasy together.

With one last wet glide, their orgasm takes them.

As they pant and calm down, Spock manoeuvres them into a more comfortable position. Jim's flushed face is becoming and try as he might, Spock can't take his eyes off him.

"Best Christmas ever, just so you know." Jim grins lazily as he strokes their fingers together. Spock releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, content to be right where he's always known he should be.