A/N: Thanks so much, reviewers! Here is the last part. I hope it doesn't disappoint, haha. Also, the rating for this chapter is at least an R, for explicit sexual content. In other words, it's mostly gratuitous porn.

x

Jim insists that it's no problem to sneak out, but Spock tells him, as they sit across from each other in the cafeteria, Spock's feet resting gently over Jim's under the table, that it isn't worth it. "I would rather wait," he says, "then cause your stepfather to become angry again."

"Yeah, well," Jim answers, and bows his head as if this could hide his embarrassment, rubs his hand across the back of his neck. Spock has told him more than once that he does not think badly of him, even after witnessing the altercation with Frank; he's told him that it is clear to him that Frank handled the situation badly, even considering that Jim and Spock were breaking his rules. But Jim doesn't even want to think about it. "The only way to avoid Frank's anger is to avoid Frank. Staying in my house all the time isn't the right way to go about that."

Spock tilts his head. "You said that you were…"

"Grounded," Jim supplies. He's sure that Spock knows the word, but he won't force him to abandon this persona he's developed, the alien out of touch and uncomprehending of his second home's language and customs. "For a month."

"Yet this weekend it will be exactly four weeks since your stepfather found us in his garage," Spock points out lightly.

And so, he realizes, it has. He'd almost forgotten, the days piling up on each other, each one too much like the last, waiting and waiting until he'd lost count. But he should have known Spock would never lose count. His face splits into a wide grin, and he say, "We should celebrate the occasion. I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

Spock doesn't smile back, certainly doesn't mimic the easy, flirting tone that Jim has perfected, but the way he stares, the quick rise and fall of his eyebrows, the slight movement of his foot against Jim's, says enough.

"I have one," he says, and Jim doesn't know why, but his heart beats a little faster at the words.

"I like the sound of that."

x

Spock doesn't tell him that his parents are out of town until they're halfway up the stairs, and only then because Jim asks him where Sarek and Amanda happen to be at the moment. He actually pauses, when Spock tells him, one foot on the step above the other. This simple piece of information puts too many thoughts in his head, too many images, too many ideas, and he has to tell himself not to think too much of it. There's no reason they won't spend the afternoon as innocently as Jim had previously assumed they would, hours wiled away with math homework and simple conversation. He tries to joke, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner? Do you like to see me sweat?"

Spock glances back at him. "You do not seem to be perspiring to me," he says. Jim can't tell from the slight twitch of eyebrow that accompanies the remark if Spock is joking back with him or not, and before he can decide, Spock turns forward again and steps onto the second floor. "My room is at the end of the hall," he says.

"All right," Jim answers, and follows one step behind him, past several closed doors and a few abstract paintings, to the last door of the hall. He's not sure if the odd twisting of his stomach is nervousness or excitement, but he's never been in Spock's room before, never even climbed the stairs of his house before, and now it's only the two of them and a house all to themselves, no interruptions and no surprises, for a whole afternoon and the evening, too, if they want it. There are a lot of possibilities open here.

He watches Spock's back carefully, even though not even he knows what answers he's trying to find there, as Spock turns the handle of the door and pushes it in.

The room isn't what he expected. Even when Spock commands on the lights, it's still dark, the walls draped in rich red cloth and decorated with weaponry at least as impressive as the sword in the kitchen. A series of small tables by the far wall hold unlit candles and incense. In the corner, next to a large window that looks out on the backyard, its thick red curtains pulled back now to let in the afternoon sun, is Spock's bed. It's fairly huge, much too large for one person, and piled high with pillows and blankets the same red color as the curtains. Jim can't take his eyes off it. He just wants to throw Spock down on all of those pillows and—

"Are you all right, Jim?" Spock asks. "You have not closed your mouth since we came in."

"I'm fine, Spock," he answers. "Really. I'm just impressed. Your room is…it's really something." He swallows. His throat feels too dry. He looks over at Spock and sees that he's watching him carefully.

"Do you want to sit down?" Spock asks him. He nods. There's a desk in one corner with a chair next to it, but only one, and Spock doesn't even look at it, just leads Jim over to the bed and sits down with him there. They've sat next to each other on beds before. There isn't anything special in this, not even in the way that Spock moves to sit as close to Jim as possible, thigh against thigh. Still, he feels his heart beating in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. Spock is watching him. He has a vague idea that he should grab Spock by the front of his shirt and kiss him, hard and rough, just like he wants to, but then maybe all Spock wants to do is talk, and he's looking at Jim like that, with that carful and studious look on his face, because he's waiting for him to pick the topic, that's all. Jim clears his throat. "Your room," he says again, "it really is nice, Spock. Like, really impressive. I like all the red. And, um, the swords. Are they—are they real? I—"

"Jim."

"Yeah?" He tries to wipe his palms on the knees of his pants without being too conspicuous about it. He looks down more at his hands than he looks at Spock, who's still staring at him in that disconcerting way.

"You can stop talking."

"Oh." He takes another glance at the sword hanging just above Spock's desk, across from them. "Would you decapitate me if I didn't stop?" he jokes.

"Maybe."

"Okay then." He's pretty sure Spock's joking. Probably. But when he turns to face him, to see if he can read anything on that famously inscrutable face, Spock leans forward and kisses him. He misses, a little. He moves too fast, as if expecting that Jim would be moving forward too, and hits just at the corner of his mouth. Then he pulls back as if shocked.

"I apologize—" he starts, but this time, Jim interrupts him.

"Don't." He grins. "Nothing to apologize for, really. Come here." And he grabs Spock by the back of the neck and pulls him in for a real, a proper kiss this time, mouth open against mouth, a long and grasping kiss. He locks his fingers together behind Spock's neck and, as he does, he feels Spock mimic the gesture. The kiss starts to feel cramped, claustrophobic, and it's difficult to breathe. He pulls back. Spock is blushing the most brilliant green he's ever seen, and he's sure he's a red deep enough to match. "Good kiss?" he says. He'd meant it to be a declaration, but his voice breaks at the end into a question.

"Good kiss," Spock affirms.

They've moved so close now that they're almost on each other's laps. Jim's hands have fallen to Spock's shoulders, and Spock's are all the way down at Jim's waist. There's something disorganized, uncomfortable, about the way they're sitting, but Jim finds it hard to care, hard to think of anything except the color of Spock's eyes, the shape of his mouth. He must have it pretty bad, he thinks. He must have really fallen hard. But then, he already knew that.

This time, when he leans in to kiss Spock, he tries to keep it soft, gentle, slow. Just as slowly, he pushes Spock back onto his bed, against all of those oversized red pillows. He has one hand to the side of Spock's neck, angling his head to just the right spot, and he feels one of Spock's hands on his hip, steadying him. They are the perfect balancing act, he thinks. Spock opens his mouth to him without prompting, and he slips his tongue inside that sweet, warm mouth. The kiss becomes messier the longer it lasts, a real swapping of spit, and he almost can't believe that Spock, usually so kempt and neat and straight backed, would ever let himself get this disarrayed. He snakes his hand up under Jim's shirt and starts to trace slight patterns on his side and back. He arches his body up to meet Jim's, and gives him the courage to press his own weight down.

I could do this all day, Jim thinks, and smiles to himself, and then thinks that he loves the way it feels to smile while kissing. They shift and turn around each other until they are lying on their sides on the bed, legs tangled up and hands exploring up stomachs and backs and arms. Spock starts to kiss his jaw and then his neck and all the way to his collarbones, an exploration, yes, but a frantic one, and he would tell him to slow down except that he likes this pace, the almost-desperation of it. He throws back his head and bares his neck to Spock's kisses. Spock kisses some haphazard pattern down towards Jim's chest, then bites him, unexpected and sharp, and Jim pushes back out of instinct and then sets to kissing him again, fierce but not angry, a struggle but not a contest. When he repeats Spock's trick, kissing, nipping, licking, behind his ear and at the underside of his jaw and down his neck, he hears Spock let out the slightest of moans, breathy and deep, and if he hadn't been getting hard already, that would do it, that simple sound like a surrender.

"You're wonderful, you know that?" Jim whispers, the first either of them has spoken in a long time, and even then, he has to manage the words between kisses. It just seems impossible to keep his mouth from Spock's for more than a few seconds. He doesn't know why he says it. Maybe, he thinks, he shouldn't be messing up this moment with words, and yet he feels like he has to say something, has to express something.

It's hard to work out what he means, even to himself, when Spock is running his hands up and down his body, grabbing him and grasping him like he needs him, hard to get his brain working when all of Spock's lithe, stretching body is right there for him to touch and explore, hard to wrap his thoughts around even the simplest of concepts when he can feel Spock getting hard against his leg. He lets his hands rest at Spock's waist, a bit nervous, he doesn't know why, when they've wandered lower before, to move them any further. Then he feels, actually feels, Spock grind down against his leg, desperate for him, moaning again just under his breath, and he finds himself wondering what Spock sounds like when he comes, and somehow this gives him the courage, born from wonder and curiosity, to grab Spock's ass and pull his own body closer, smashed against him. They can't get any closer, not like this.

But he still wants something more.

"Can I?" he whispers, and tugs at the bottom of Spock's shirt. He half expects some sort of discussion, at least some hesitation, but Spock just nods wordlessly, and then strips off not just his sweaters but the light shirt he wears underneath. He's blushing furiously as he does it, and won't meet Jim's eyes. But Jim only half notices.

Spock is lean, almost skinny, but with a certain amount of muscle hidden there, too, and Jim just wants to take him all in, wants to run his eyes and then his hands down that body, and he does. He pushes Spock down on his back and straddles him, kisses his chest and his stomach and licks his nipples and grins to himself when he hears Spock make a perfect sort of "mmmming" sound as he arches back, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes closed.

"Jim," he whispers. The word sounds strangled from him. Jim runs his hands down Spock's arms until he reaches his hands and then twines their fingers together; Spock writhes beneath him at the touch. "Jim," he whispers again. "You too."

At first, he doesn't know what Spock is trying to say, but after a moment, a few garbled gestures, their hands still linked, he gets it. Then he grins. He disentangles their fingers just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and throw it down to the ground. He meets Spock's eyes. Spock doesn't smile. But he looks at Jim with such desire, such want, that Jim just about thinks he will explode.

He takes one of Spock's hands in his again and tries, the best he can, to imitate the movements Spock once made against his fingers, a steady and slow exploration. He watches Spock's face carefully as he moves. His mouth is just barely parted, his body relaxed beneath Jim's, but his eyes are alert, traveling down Jim's chest and back up to his face. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips.

"Like what you see?" Jim smiles. He sounds like a dork, but Spock nods, and reaches out his spare hand to touch Jim's waist. Jim's never felt this sort of easy confidence with anyone, but then, in a moment, Spock shifts his hips under Jim—perhaps it is on purpose, perhaps it is just an involuntary shiver—and he feels his stomach clench with sudden nerves. For just a moment, he'd felt Spock's cock rub against his own, and it had been like a spark or a shock against his skin, as sudden and sharp as electricity. He wants to go farther than just kissing. He wants to touch more than they've touched yet. He isn't sure how far. It isn't a thought, really, so much as a feeling.

"Jim?" he hears Spock asking him, and only then does he realize how long he has been thinking, gazing off into a space just to the right of Spock's shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he says quickly, snapping back, turning his attention to Spock's face again. He's watching Jim with a slightly puzzled expression, expectant, a little confused and maybe, beneath that, slightly nervous. Jim smiles in reassurance. "No, yeah, I'm okay." He's not sure if it's true, if he's really what one could call okay—maybe better than just okay, maybe fantastic, in this gorgeous boy's bed, straddling his hips—but he's nervous too. He rolls the question around in his mouth before he asks it, and even then, at first all he manages is a name. "Spock?"

"Jim?" He quirks up an eyebrow, but he sounds a little breathless.

"How…how do you feel about…" He runs his hands up from Spock's waist to his shoulders, stares down at the flushed green skin. He doesn't even know what sex is for Vulcans. He doesn't quite know what it would be for him, either, right now.

"Feel?" Spock prompts. He sounds as if he were testing the word out, gauging the sound and the taste of it.

"How do you feel about, maybe," he tries again, and lets his fingers graze back down, all the way to the waistband of Spock's pants. He runs a finger around the top button. "Maybe going further?"

For a moment, he's sure that this was the exact wrong to say. Spock just stares at him as if he hadn't understood the words, though Jim realizes a moment later that it was only a thoughtful expression that had fallen over his features. He disentangles their fingers and sets both his hands at Jim's hips, still for a moment, then moves them tentatively around to Jim's back. Something in the movements, slow and considering, the feeling he has that Spock is coming to his conclusions based on what he reads from Jim's body, a language not even Jim himself knows—something in this makes his breath catch. Then Spock moves his hands again. He brings one forward to Jim's hip, then forward again, and he deftly undoes the top button of Jim's pants, then zips down the fly. He watches Jim's face unerringly the whole time. "I would be amenable to that suggestion," he whispers.

Jim slides down without warning, body over Spock's body again, and sets to kissing his neck and jaw and cheeks and ears and mouth, always returning to his mouth, that burn of tongue against tongue that is almost familiar to him by now. For a moment, he almost forgets how his pants are undone, how they had just decided something important, maybe, and all he can think again is Spock, Spock, Spock, how gorgeous he feels. He feels Spock's hands run up and then down his back, pressing down almost painfully hard, pulling him close at once. The touch moves lower, lower, then suddenly Spock is grabbing his ass, his bare ass under the waistband of his underwear. He jerks forward without thinking, crushing their bodies tighter together. His cock rubs against Spock's again, and he hears that wonderful moan again, and he may be making the same sound, he's not even sure. He doesn't know what to ask, what he wants, if he wants Spock to touch him or if he wants to touch Spock, or both, everything, all at once, so he rolls over on his side so that they are tangled up in the blankets now and he maneuvers one hand between them and he palms Spock through the pants he's still wearing, and he feels Spock groan into his mouth. It turns him on. Turns him on like nothing ever has before.

He moves his hand, touching like he imagines he would like to be touched, and he feels Spock push into his hand. He wonders if someday he could actually get Spock, perfectly composed Spock, to beg for him, what that would sound like—the sounds he's making now are just short of begging already. He mumbles a sort of "Can I?" into Spock's mouth, and feels the nod of his head with the back of his spare hand where his fingers are curled into Spock's hair, and then he's pulling down Spock's fly and slipping his hand in, past layers of fabric, until he can curl his hand around Spock's length. As soon as he touches him, he pulls back as if burned.

"What's wrong?" Spock asks him. Jim can see his face now: it's flushed a deep green, his hair messed, and there's an uncharacteristic worry creasing between his eyebrows.

"Nothing," he insists. Spock looks utterly unconvinced. More than that, though, and what is cutting, what stabs right in under Jim's ribs, is how worried he seems, how embarrassed.

"Then why did you stop?" he asks. "Was it something about my—about me?"

"No," he says, "no, Spock, really," and smiles gently. He kisses Spock lightly, sweetly, against his lips, but feels no reciprocating kiss back. "I stopped because I don't want to just touch you. I want to see you."

"See me?" Spock repeats, as if he'd never heard the phrase before.

"Yeah," Jim breathes. "See you."

He doesn't say anything more, doesn't explain any further, only waits. He tries to read Spock's face. It is impassive as always, only the slightest furrow marring his brow, the sign of careful thought. Finally, he nods, a small discreet movement of his head against the pillow. Jim grins. He leans in for one more kiss, a deep, grasping, kiss that takes all the air out of the lungs, and then quickly, hoping to leave Spock still breathless and up in the clouds, still dizzy from the kiss, he pushes Spock back and slides down the other's body, licking one long, light stripe down as he goes. He doesn't want to lose his own nerve. Before he can, he pushes down Spock's pants and underwear, all in one motion, slowed only by his own inept movements; Spock helps him by kicking off his clothes as soon as Jim's pushed them down far enough on his legs. And then they just are.

Jim's never actually touched a cock that wasn't his before, and looking at Spock's now—not as alien as he would have thought, except that it's a dark green color and, he realizes, rather noticeably larger than the average human version—all of the frenzy of the last moments leaves him and he feels quiet, calm. He wants to take his time. He wants to enjoy this, and even more, he wants Spock to enjoy it.

"Can I?" he asks, glancing up. He's rubbing his hands up and down the inside of Spock's thighs, never getting too close, not sure still if he's really going to be allowed, but Spock just leans up on his elbows and answers, "Please do," in a breathless sort of voice that makes Jim think he must be acting a terrible tease without even meaning it.

He touches tentatively at first, wraps one hand around Spock's length but lets his grip stay loose. Spock's skin is hotter here, too, that alien burn of him that Jim knows so well by now. He starts to move his hand, still gentle, up and down, and after a moment he looks up at Spock again, and his blood beats a little faster at the sight of his head thrown back, his neck exposed. He looks so gorgeous. It's almost impossible to take. He wants to drive this boy insane, he wants to make him come, he wants to make him scream out with it, wants to drive him over every edge there is, wants to make him writhe.

He bends his head down, brushes his lips against the head of Spock's dick, then glances up to see what effect this has had. Spock has pulled his head back now, and he's watching him, staring intently and waiting. Jim reaches out his tongue for one tentative lick. The skin at the tip has a pleasant feel against his tongue. His eyes never leave Spock's face, and he watches as Spock swallows deeply, his face flushed a perfect shade of green. "This okay?" he asks.

"I believe, Jim, that 'okay' would be an understatement in this situation," Spock answers. He sounds much too coherent. But Jim thinks he has a solution to that problem.

He's not really sure what he's doing, but he tries his best, licking his tongue in a circle around the head of Spock's dick and then, a bit tentatively, taking the whole of the head in his mouth. He's encouraged by the sounds Spock is making, utterly inhuman and utterly gorgeous, and by the way he puts his hands down on Jim's shoulders and digs in his fingers, his grip just short of painful. He runs his tongue in circles, teases at the sensitive skin. He takes his time. Spock is saying his name, saying "Jim," and "yes," and the sound of him and the taste of him and the feel of him is almost too much. He reaches down with his free hand to stroke his own cock, so painfully hard.

Slowly, slowly, he slips his mouth down farther, until he's taken as much as he can and he worries about gagging, about looking dumb, especially when Spock bucks his hips up too hard, but after a moment, he finds a rhythm. He matches the movements of his mouth to the movements of his hand, a quick tempo up and down and then, just when Spock's moan starts to draw out too long, an abrupt slowing. Spock is saying his name over and over. He feels a sharp grip of fingers into his shoulders, then the grip softens as if by a great force of will, and those same fingers ghost through his hair and even touch, lightly, against his cheek.

He's not thinking of anything now but his actions, his task before him, a mission he's set himself to drive Spock to that edge and then push him straight over it. He pulls his mouth from Spock's dick and, for a few moments, uses just his tongue, trailing it up from the base until he reaches the head and then circling, and in the litany of his name mumbled almost incoherently above him, he starts to hear a few "pleases" mixed in. He moves his own hand faster on himself, though it's awkward enough, his own pants unzipped but still on.

After another moment, he gives in to Spock's insistent pleas, and he really can't believe he's gotten Spock to plead, he's not even that good, Spock must just have low standards or else he's making these noises for Jim's benefit, and he appreciates them, he really does—and he swallows Spock down again. He tries to mimic the same movements of his tongue from a minute before, except now he can feel the head of Spock's dick almost at the back of his throat. He moves fast now, as fast as he can, and he doesn't let up even when Spock's voice, rough and almost inaudibly low, tries to warn him, "Jim, I'm—" and then quite suddenly he feels a spurting of hot liquid down his throat. It's neither painful nor pleasant, and the aftertaste is so slight he cannot quite distinguish it, which is rather too bad—it would be interesting to know what Vulcan come tastes like.

But then that's hardly the most important thing at the moment.

He sits up and then back on his heels, and he watches Spock, the deep breaths he's taking, the way his eyelids have fluttered closed, the way the skin of his face and chest has flushed green. Jim's own breathing is heavy, too, and his cock is still so hard it's painful, but still he can't say he'd trade this moment for anything.

"Are you all right?" he asks, after a moment.

Spock nods. "Yes," he says, "I believe so." Slowly, he opens his eyes and then props himself up on his elbows to look at Jim properly for the first time in many long minutes. "Are you…?" he starts, but he can't seem to form the words. He expresses himself well enough, under the circumstances, by the deeper flush that colors his cheeks and the way that he glances down at the outline of Jim's erection in his pants.

"I think I'll come pretty fast," he admits, "with a little help." He tries to grin in some flirty way, though they're way behind flirty, and then he crawls his way back over Spock and kisses him again, forcing his tongue into Spock's mouth as he does, a forceful kiss that Spock melts into. He seems so relaxed, almost limp, the way he's sprawled out underneath Jim in his post-orgasm haze, while Jim himself is still knotted with tension, aching for release, and he's almost worried that Spock will abandon him here, when he feels an insistent push of tongue against his tongue and then the body beneath him rises up and pushes him back and pushes him down into the pillows.

Then he feels Spock's hand on his cock. It doesn't move, just rests over him, over the fabric of his underwear, and he'd say something about how utterly frustrating that is except that his mouth is too engaged with Spock's mouth to form words. So he just makes a few incoherent noises and bucks his hips.

Spock pulls back just enough to whisper, "May I see you?" into Jim's mouth. He nods quickly. What he wants to say is for the love of all things good in the universe, yes, please, do, right now, but he doesn't quite trust himself to speak.

Spock slips his hands in under Jim's waistband and pushes his pants and underwear down and off with surprisingly little grace, and then, for the first time, they're both naked together. But there's no time to dwell on that. Spock is touching him skin to skin now. His touch is tentative, unsure. Jim takes his own hand and covers Spock's with it, shows him the best way to touch and to move, and Spock watches the movements his own hand is making with that look of open fascination he only gets when he's found something particularly novel to investigate.

The movements of Spock's hand under his hand are awkward, not quite what he's used to, and he's so close and yet not quite at that edge, not quite there. He closes his eyes tight to concentrate and coaxes Spock's hand to faster movement. When he opens his eyes again, Spock is staring at him, staring him right in the eyes. And that's enough. That's what he needs. He's there, and then he's gone.

For a few moments, he just lies on the bed on his back with his eyes closed. He has no bones and no muscles. After a moment, he opens his eyes and sees that Spock is staring at him again. He feels himself blush, not sure what to say or what's appropriate now, and suddenly he's quite aware that he's naked and his chest is, well he would not say it is splattered, but it has a fair amount of drying come on it and he would really rather it didn't. "I, uh, I should go clean myself up," he says, a bit hesitantly.

"Of course," Spock answers. He's staring, Jim notices now, at Jim's mouth, not meeting his eyes, and he sounds utterly calm, unruffled, except that his hair's a mess and his skin is flushed and, oh, he's naked too, and he doesn't make any effort to move. Jim has to climb awkwardly over him to get out of the bed.

"If you do not feel comfortable wandering the halls of my house nude," Spock says, "you may borrow my robe." He gesture to where it is lying draped over Spock's desk chair, and Jim glances at it, then back at the bed, where Spock is still not quite looking at him.

"Well, no one's home right?"

"No," Spock agrees.

He decides to take the robe anyway. With their luck, Spock's parents might just decide to come home early, and if that happened, getting caught in Spock's robe would be bad enough.

The bathroom is just one door over, a large room with shiny fixtures and fluffy towels. He considers taking a shower, but doesn't want to be gone from Spock that long, and anyway, it isn't his house. So he just washes off his stomach the best he can while standing at the sink, then splashes some water over his face too, since he's there. Then he returns to Spock's room. He's not sure what he should be thinking now, or what he should be feeling; his mind is surprisingly blank. He just knows that he's exhausted and a bit weak in the limbs. Happy, certainly. He would say that he is happy. He would say that happy is probably, as Spock would say, an understatement.

When he pushes open the door he finds Spock sitting up on the bed, legs crossed underneath him and hands on his ankles. He's still naked, and so unembarrassed in, unconcerned by, his nudity that Jim feels a little overdressed in his long robe. Spock looks up as soon as Jim enters, but his expression is unreadable. His skin is still colored a light green, but whether this is only his exertion still showing through, or some renewed sense of awkwardness, Jim cannot tell. He smiles at Spock, a thin and nervous smile. "Hey," he says, then adds, "How are you?" as if they had just met up on the street.

Spock looks up at him, tilts his head to the side—hopefully, his version of a smile, though Jim isn't sure—and answers, "I am well. And you?"

"Good. Well. I mean—Spock, that was pretty damn fantastic." He starts to laugh a little, old pent up nervousness finally letting itself out, or maybe just because it is funny, how awkward they are and how stupid it is to be awkward now.

"I am in complete agreement," Spock answers, and before Jim quite knows what he's doing, he's crossed the space between them and grabbed Spock's face between his hands and kissed him, a long and messy kiss.

He pulls away grinning, and even Spock allows himself a slight, quick, upward quirk of his lips.

"Did you know," Jim says, "I've never done that before?" He's not sure what makes him want to confess except that he and Spock are almost nose to nose, too close to look into each other's eyes, and somehow he just thinks that Spock should know.

"Nor have I," he admits.

Jim grins. He puts one hand gently to the side of Spock's neck, rubs his thumb against his cheek. He pulls back just enough to get a proper view of Spock's face, and he considers kissing him again, considers telling him he loves him, because it's true, even considers pushing him back down on the bed and just holding on to him until they both fall asleep, because he's so unfairly tired, exhausted, almost limp, but he can't quite bring himself to do any of these things.

"I had imagined," Spock says, a bit hesitantly, "that you were more experienced."

Jim could almost laugh. "Really?"

Spock just nods solemnly.

"I really wasn't," Jim insists. "You…you're kind of my first, I guess."

He very well might be blushing again, it's sort of embarrassing to say the words, even though he'd said the same thing just a moment ago, but then Spock reaches out one hand and slowly traces the slight smile of Jim's lips with his finger. "And you are mine," he says. "In more ways than one, you are my first."

"That is an uncharacteristically vague thing to say, Spock."

"I believe you understand my meaning."

He does, of course he does. He wants to say it, too. But the words stick in his throat, and anyway, it's understood, passes back and forth between them through their skin; Jim doesn't need Spock's telepathy to hear it. He curls his fingers through Spock's and for a long moment, he stares down at their intertwined hands. He feels like he's been waiting a long time for this, and not just these long weeks where every touch, every kiss was broken in on. He feels like he's been waiting his whole life, short as it's been thus far, for something this right, for something that rings this true.