A/n: Edited on 1/21/2014. Because I will never be happy with anything. If you're re-reading this, I hope you can tell the difference.

It happened very suddenly and unexpectedly.

Spock was sitting by his lonesome in the mess, his attention occupied by the cooling bowl of Plomeek soup before him. He only sought to finish his meal in a timely fashion and return to his quarters for a well overdue session of meditation. Spock didn't often receive what he sought. His Captain made certain of it, and Spock was beginning to suspect the man of being deliberately obtuse. There he was, flopping into the opposite seat and beaming at him with all the golden radiance of a couple hundred suns. Spock almost frowned.

"Spock." His smile was all white teeth and warmth [a warmth Spock would readily deny feeling, as a facial expression is incapable of producing tangible heat]. "Captain." He nodded curtly.

"Guess what." Jim wore an expectant look. As he didn't know what response Jim was expecting, he answered logically. "I do not have enough data to postulate an accurate guess, Captain." His voice bordered just on the side of dry, but Jim only grinned harder.

"You must be the square root of -1, because you can't be real."

So it began.

The next time was over a game of a three - dimensional chess.

Spock watched in quiet fascination, as a surely unorthodox strategy clicked and locked into place just behind the absurd blueness of his Captain's eyes. He had firsthand experience with the dynamic landscape of Jim's mind, and it was relatively simple for him to picture the vibrant coils of thought unfurling across that incandescent space. The mental image was enough to make his pulse stutter.

Jim smiled that crooked smile. He curled thin fingers around his Bishop, feeling out the dips and curves of the aged wood with an almost eroticism, before sliding it across the board. It was something of a chore, Spock decided, not to stare. "You seem a little distracted tonight, Spock." He sounded cheeky. Spock promptly lowered his eyes, studying the stacked levels of the board with feigned intensity. "I am not distracted this evening, Captain."

"Jim." Their eyes met, clashing audibly. Spock raised the one brow, and Jim discerned its meaning with an ease that only comes from time and nights like that one. "I've told you a million times, call me Jim when we're off duty." He said this very seriously. If Spock were human, he might've smiled. "My apologies, Jim." Somehow, his voice registered just an octave lower than it should have. He cleared his throat.

"So. I have a question to ask you, it's pretty important." Jim said suddenly, his expression sobering. Spock looked him over in searching flickers, his brows pulling together in barely concern. Jim was by no means a serious man unless the situation demanded it of him [which it often did]. They rarely spoke of "important" matters during their shared free time, sticking to lighthearted banter and topics of which they're both enthusiastic [their conversation on dilithium crystals versus the primitive nuclear core as a power source was particularly stimulating]. Spock feared something terrible to be amiss, and braced himself.

"Can I bisect your angle?"

As Captain and First Officer were condemned to sharing a bathroom space, they had quickly found a routine that suited them. Spock required far less sleep than his human Captain, and was thusly able to utilize the facilities hours before Jim awoke. There had never been any need for them to occupy the bathroom at the same time. It was for this reason Spock didn't think it entirely necessary to fully clothe himself before entering.

The very moment his foot met chilly tile, the opposite door [Jim's door] hissed open. Jim stepped into the bathroom. His eyes were hooded with sleep, his mouth hanging in a silent yawn. He didn't seem to notice Spock [hovering in the doorway, too terrified to move], but Spock certainly noticed him. Spock felt his mouth dry up. It was hard to swallow. Jim was nearly nude, a thin pair of black briefs the only article he donned. Spock couldn't have imagined so much skin, gold and perfect in all its scars and blemishes, in a way that would do it justice. Vulcan's weren't particularly imaginative, though not for lack of trying on his part. He had imagined Jim many times [without meaning to]. Jim was beautiful, and Spock wondered if he knew the extent of his own, breathtaking aesthetics.

Before he could make himself known, bleary blues alighted on him [and grew impossibly round]. "Spock?" He rasped, his voice thick with lethargy. Jim's eyes slipped low [coasting down his own bared physique], and there was undeniable appreciation in those eyes that Spock was too shocked to acknowledge [or even understand].

"Spock...? You're not wearing a shirt."


"Is there a, um...reason for that?"


Apple green splotches crept over his pale cheeks, and an answering rosy hue was burning in the face of his Captain. Their eyes met in a mutual flurry of embarrassment and unspoken things. There were many things that needed saying in that moment, but those were dangerous things [things that might tip the balance of their already precarious friendship].

"I guess this would be a good time to tell you - "


" - I think you just made my binomials expand, Mr. Spock."

Spock was focused, more than focused. He was downright oblivious to the encompassing world, as he considered the readings flickering across the screen. This data could structure the way for prolonged growth and maintenance of terran crops in those extremely dry, arid Federation colonies. It was paramount he discern this strand from that one, and find the little notch that will bring both into harmonious cooperation.

Then his Captain was right there [his proximity outright startling], and Spock was absolutely not startled, he wasn't. "Hey there, Spock!" He chirped, and it seemed to Spock that Jim almost had a trademark on the certain flavor of cheer he brings with him. Spock looked to Jim with quiet reproach in his eyes, a not frown shaping his mouth. "Captain." He didn't sigh, he didn't. "Do you require assistance?"

"Nope, I just wanted to spend time with my favorite First Officer."

"I am your only First Officer." Spock shot Jim a withering look.

"If I had another First Officer, you would still be my favorite." His white grin stretched from rounded ear to ear, and Spock found it difficult to remain irate with this particular human. He chose not to mention that it was only possible to have one First Officer serving on a Starship, as he felt Jim was simply being facetious [again]. "I am attempting to conduct research at this time, Captain. If you are not in need of assistance - "

"What kind of research?" Jim leaned forward [encroaching into his personal space, because he knew he could get away with it], and Spock found it didn't bother him as much as it used to. "By finding and measuring the link between these two molecular strands, I believe it can be made possible for tropical, terran plants to flourish in extremely arid temperatures. It is quite fascinating." Jim dropped his chin into the palm of his hand, eyes bright with a hungry curiosity that was also solely his. "It certainly sounds fascinating."


" I think there's something else you should be measuring, Mr. Spock." There was that smile again, it set Spock just at the edge "And what is it you suggest?" He asked slowly.

"Why don't we measure the coefficient ofstatic friction between you andI?"

Dead silence followed this statement.

"That hardly seems like a satisfactory use of my time."

"Ouch, Spock, ouch."

They were gearing up for their latest away mission.

The Captain [to the ultimate disapproval of his First Officer] was joining the landing party. His eyes were just as bright and worthy of poetic waxing as they always were, his smile just as mischievous. Jim was unnaturally stubborn about joining all landing parties, despite the several regulations he was breaking in doing so. There was also the troublingfrequency in which he managed to become incapacitated by injury, illness, unexplained alien phenomena or some combination of the three.

He watched in silent displeasure as Jim strapped a communicator to his belt. Spock wasn't pleased, and while he had few reservations in voicing his displeasure, there was little he could do once Jim had his mind made up. He would simply be keeping an extra sharp eye on his Captain at all times [Jim referred to this as being 'babysat', Spock referred to it as necessary]. He began fastening a phaser to his belt. There was a 86.0986 percent chance it would be utilized.

Then Jim was at his side. Spock might say he was vibrating with excitement. "Captain." He acknowledged. Jim bounced on the balls of his feet. "Do you think the Boglodites are as violent as they're rumored to be, Spock?" He almost sounded thrilled at the prospect of a violent, alien confrontation. Spock raised a stern brow. "I sincerely hope not."

He went back to fixing the phaser at his side. He pulled his uniform shirt over the handle of his weapon, it was mere habit. Just as he looped a tricorder about his neck, he caught Jim's soft laughter. He looked to his Superior with a microscopic frown. Jim gestured to the phaser at his side. His grin was wry and filthy.

"Is that an asymptote in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Spock blinked. "That would be my phaser, Captain."

They were in sickbay.

Jim was curled up on a biobed, half - delirious from the cocktail of drugs pumping into his damaged body. He was mumbling incoherencies, clammy lids fluttering over glazed eyes. Salty beads trembled in the crevices of his face and throat, and his chest was shuttering too quickly. Spock sat next to him, all but radiating polar rage with little more than a straight spine and slight tightening of the mouth.

Doctor McCoy hovered on the opposite side of the bed. His lips were a harsh gnarl as he read through the scrolling blocks of text on his PADD. A sound rattled in his throat, and his fingers whitened around the stylus. "Six broken ribs, mild concussion, cracked femur, shattered wrist, dislocated knee. Goddamnit, Spock! What the hell happened down there?" He hissed quietly, mindful of their mostly unconscious patient.

"It was an ambush, Doctor. The Boglodites were perfectly aware of our coming, and they did not take kindly to our attempts at negotiation." He said in clipped, cold tones. Leonard grunted sardonically.

"Those bastards did a real number on him." He grouched. He looked down at Jim [the discoloration and frailness] and seemed to quickly deflate [the anger leaving him in a rush of hot breath]. "How the hell does this keep happening? I know Jim's a giant magnet for trouble, but this." The Doctor's exhaustion was a prominent part of him by that point. "This is just ridiculous!" Spock was inclined to agree. It was something of a small miracle for Jim to walk away from a landing party [successful or not] unscathed.

"The Captain manages to find danger in every quadrant of the universe."

McCoy barked a rough laugh. "That's one hell of an understatement if I've ever heard one!"

"Sp'ck!" Jim was more lucid than they assumed him to be. He reached for Spock with his good hand, a sloppy smile mottling his worryingly pale face.

Spock stilled as cold fingertips kissed his neck, like the tips of feathers. McCoy openly gaped. "Nngh, Sp'ck! Guess wha'?"Jim slurred.

"Captain, I must ask you to cease moving. You require rest." He sounded strained to his own ears.

Jim paid little heed to this request. "If you an' I were linear inequalities, we would be intersecting all over the place." If he were more conscious, Jim would probably cringe at the tactlessness of his own line.

McCoy was faintly choking. "What? Jim!"

A subtle dusting of green enveloped Spock's face, but his expression kept stubbornly blank. "Captain, please - "

"You should be the numerator and I should be the denominator, and we should reduce to the simplest form! Which means be naked, together, also in a bed." Spock looked upon him in something like horror. "You are being deliberately obtuse, Captain. I urge you to remain still."

"I'm not being obtuse! You're just acute Vulcan! Get it? Acute?" His proceeding giggles were definitely hysterical. McCoy was gobsmacked. It was just the drugs talking, he told himself, it had to be [dear God, let it be the drugs]. "Jim, stop squirming around! You'll tearyour stitches!" He barked [and was blatantly ignored]. Jim only had eyes for Spock, and Spock looked about as mortified as a Vulcan could look.

"You should squeeze my Theorem, while I poly your nomial!"

"Captain - "

"I wish I was a problem set, because then I'd be hard and you would do me on the desk." No one in the room was quite prepared for that one, least of all Spock.

It was so silent, a pen could be heard hitting the floor in the next room. Spock and McCoy were staring at their Captain, varying degrees of shock and horror registering on their vastly different faces. Jim blinked up at them, the perfect picture of drugged up and delusional. "Hey, Sp'ck." He murmured."Yes, Captain?" Spock sounded dazed. He didn't have it in him not to answer

"What do me and math have in common?"

The room held its breath.

"We're both easy for you to do."

It had been 5.349 minutes. Spock studied his Captain's door as if it might answer the multitude of questions he had [which would be illogical, for doors were not sentient], instead of the man behind it. He wasn't afraid to enter, he was waiting for the right opportunity. [un]Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long. The door snicked open with a soft, pneumatic hiss only seconds later. Jim squinted at him from within. "Spock! You're, uh, standing outside my room." He frowned, confused. Spock wasn't certain how to reply, so he nodded.

"Did you want to come inside?" He asked/offered awkwardly.

"That would be acceptable."

Jim stepped back, the dimness of his quarters swarming him. Spock hesitantly followed. The door hissed at his back, and they were alone midst the cover of shadows. A thrill of excitement lit up in him, but he was quick to stamp it out. It wasn't the time for such distracting contemplations. "Lights to forty percent." Jim called, and the room was flooded with soft fluorescence.

"What did you need, Spock?"

"Captain, it has come to my attention - "

"Jim, Spock, call me Jim." Jim was gazing at him so intensely, and he realized he was returning that stare with an equal intensity. It felt as though something was coming, something they were ready to embrace, and it might already be there [it might have been there the entire time]. "Jim." His said it soft around the edges, and Jim beamed like that was all he needed to hear.

"I now realize that you have been utilizing mathematical quips in an attempt to snare my attention."

"You just now realized that, huh?" Jim was amused by this, laughter shone in the corners of his eyes.

"I wish to inform you that your attempts are no longer necessary." He said formally. Jim reeled back as if suddenly slapped. "Oh. Spock, I - " He wasn't able finish his faltering reply, as Spock soldiered on.

"It has never been necessary, Jim. From our first meeting, as...unconventional as it was, you have been a source of great fascination to me. That fascination has only grown with time, until I feel your presence in my life has become almost essential. You challenge me, you ground me, you bring me a peace of mind I thought previously unattainable. I would gladly give my life in exchange for yours, and not simply because it is my duty to do so." He was baring his heart on his sleeve for the very first time, his deep timbre resounding with a soulful honesty.

Jim mouthed uselessly. "Spock, what are you...?"

"I believe this is what humans might call 'love', Jim."

It was unceremonious in every sense, but they really didn't care. Their mouths met in a hot flurry of teeth and tongue and [everythinggoodintheworld]. Jim wrapped around the tall hardness of his gorgeous Vulcan, desperately hoping their bodies would fuse. He felt warm fingers pushing under his hem, gripping his hips [impressions of Jimnewwhydidthistakesolong? and homeMothersandnottheway and colors that Jim swears up and down don't exist in the optical spectrum]. Their tongues were tangled sweetly and wetly, their lips scraping feverishly. Jim felt breathing came second in the face of kisses with Spock, but alas.

Spock pulled away long enough to mouth at a tender throat, and Jim moaned in a way he'd never done before. It was a long, loud sound that actually fucking echoed. "Spock! Are you [gasp]sure about [moan] this?" He breathed it all in. His fingers tangled in a perfectly straight, black cap. Spock licked a blistering stripe along Jim's clavicle. "I have never been so sure about anything in my life, Jim."

"Holy God, I can't believe it took math humor to make this happen."