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The Virgin King

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Jim is, true to form, in boxers, sprawled on the bed. Spock suspects, actually, that Jim does it deliberately to keep T’Pring exasperated.

Spock doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until he glances at the screen and sees that Jim is watching some trite romantic bullshit that normally he would be heckling but right now he seems to—

“Is that us?” Spock demands, horrified, halfway out of his vest. Where was Nyota when this was going on? Where was T’Pring?

Sybok must never see this.

“I like the part when you propose on the west lawn so the sunset illuminates us and we kiss right in front of the sun and the birds fly overhead. Also, this is George and Selek,” Jim says, and glares at him as though somehow this is Spock’s fault. Jim never wants anything from Spock except the impossible: stop terrible re-imaginings of their romance, and make peace with the Romulans.

“This is about the virginity debate, isn’t it?” Spock says. It’s going on in parliament, though Pike is delighting in calling the opposition idiots in the way only Christopher Pike has been able to do. Spock is only peripherally aware of it, but he’s not an idiot and he’s fully aware that Jim’s crew are laughing themselves sick at the thought of Jim as virginal.

The opinion is shared, with the tabloids’ persistent theme of HRM’S BADBOY FIANCE NO VIRGIN: PALACE INSIDERS FURIOUS. Somehow the consensus is that Spock should be mad that he’s not going to be Jim’s first.

He isn’t, though. Sometimes he hates all the people who came before him—the ones who had Jim before Spock found him again. But most times he just watches Jim and wonders how any of them gave him up, how they could stand not to have him—how they can watch him now and know that they’ll never have him again. Spock doesn’t know how many Jim’s had, and he doesn’t need to, because out of all of them he’s the only one who Jim comes home to: he’s the only one who got under Jim’s skin and who Jim liked enough to keep.

“I hate them all,” Jim tells the comforter as the music soars dramatically and George swoons a bit. Spock finishes stripping down and wants to know how anyone could possibly have thought that Jim would swoon, and then the horrible thought occurs.

“T’Pring didn’t...” he says, and Jim laughs into the comforter.

“No, and she’s mostly given up on the ‘sleep in your own room’ thing. Well, unless she remembers, and then she eyebrows at me.”

Spock climbs onto the bed and settles beside him. Selek is passionately telling his father that he will have George and no other, damn the consequences.

Spock decides to be more concerned with the fact that Jim has decided that “eyebrow” can be turned into a verb.

Jim smiles at him, lazy and a little dangerous, because there is no part of Jim that isn’t, and Spock loves him unbearably, all his sharpest edges.

“We could get Dr. McCoy here, if you were concerned about a stranger,” Spock offers, and Jim stretches out on his back and lets his legs fall apart, stretching the fabric of his boxers. Spock lets his eyes follow the slide of Jim’s hand down his stomach.

“You could do it yourself,” Jim invites, and Spock thinks that there is just no part of him equipped to say no to that and he slides down Jim's body, turns him into a trembling mess and holds his hips as Jim slides down on his cock, working himself hard and furious, taking Spock over the edge with him and then grinning, lazy and sated.


"I regret to inform you that that was not virginal behavior, and you have corrupted your king," Spock says, kissing the inside of Jim's thigh as he runs the warm, wet cloth over him. They should have done something cleaner—blowjobs, or at least using condoms (though Spock isn't sure they have any)—but Spock hasn't learned how to say "no" to Jim yet.

Jim grins at the ceiling, glancing at the movie (how is it still running?) with George telling Selek that he likes the him only he gets to know. "But I'm making an honest man out of you," he says, and Spock pulls the covers over them, sliding in and wrapping an arm around Jim's waist. If he doesn't draw attention to it, he gets to be the big spoon.

"To the chagrin of many," Spock agrees, smiling and pressing a kiss to Jim's neck.

The thing is, for Spock, it had never been worth it, before. There had never been anyone who was worth the risk of exposure and heartbreak and the danger of public embarrassment. He would have gone into a loveless marriage and hoped that affection would come out of it, and his wedding night would have been his first time and, frankly, it would have been terrible.

But now he’s meant to be the Virgin King and he’s letting Jim blow him in public restrooms and backing Jim against walls and bending him over desks—keeping him in bed and up until the sun is bright in the sky and the two of them are shaking and exhausted and soaking and not sure where one of them begins and the other ends.

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” Spock murmurs into Jim’s skin.

Their wedding day is going to be a Federation-wide holiday and people who are interviewed on the street all over giggle and laugh and and beam as though they’re personally invested, which Jim laughs at and takes as his due, somehow used to the way strangers have fretted and looked on indulgently after him. Spock finds it fascinating, sequestered away for most of his life and used to not quite fitting, it’s a strange thing that his people should care that he’s happy.

(“This is because you’re an idiot,” Sybok explains kindly. Sybok has been banned on pain of disembowelment from the press, though he did give a press conference expressing his delight on behalf of his father and himself. He had been carefully coached by T’Pring not to disgrace all of Vulcan and Nyota hadn’t allowed any questions at all.)

“‘Til death do us part,” Jim agrees, and Spock stills, because his mother was murdered and Jim’s father died in combat and neither Sarek nor Winona ever recovered. Winona moved on and remarried but Frank seems little more than decoration—a springboard for Jim to ricochet off of. Sarek never moved out of mourning after Amanda’s assassination.

Spock thinks it will kill him, if there comes a day that McCoy is defeated and Jim’s impossible luck fails him.

Jim’s breath is even and he’s relaxed against Spock, and Spock shifts against him, pulling him tighter.

They’ll be married tomorrow, and there’s a war to win and a Federation to rebuild and...and there’s everything yet to come.

“Go to sleep,” Jim groans, reaching back and patting clumsily at Spock’s hip. “I’m not afraid to use my phaser on you.” He rolls over and looks at Spock with a lazy, half-asleep smile, rubbing his thumb over Spock’s cheekbone. “But because I like you I’ll only set it to stun.”There's a joke to make about fearing T'Pring more. She'll be outside the door bright and early, inevitably furious that she's been forced to wait to a reasonable hour rather than starting preparations at 0300. Spock doesn't make the joke, just shifts his hold on Jim and murmurs against his temple, “I love you."

Jim smiles and kisses him, tucks his head against Spock’s shoulder and falls back asleep because they teach that as a class in Starfleet, apparently.

Spock can't sleep so easily, so he lays there, running through the rehearsals and all the worst-case consequences of this (not the absolute worst-case, where both of them are killed and Sybok has to assume the throne, because that makes Spock nauseous and he'll never sleep if he dwells on that).

He's getting married tomorrow.

He can talk about it in detached terms, talk about the release of the photos and the interview and the wedding itself in terms of polls and morale and break it into numbers, but outside the gates he knows there are swarms of reporters and even more in orbit above the planet. People are sleeping on the green and in the parks and along the parade route, already 1.34 million strong and still coming. There has been 24/7 coverage for a week, and there are songs being written, and plates and china with his face and Jim's plastered all over them. The Royal Mint has commissioned a commemorative coin, and people are taking tours of Iowa to see where Jim grew up. His people are hungry for a little bit of the fairytale. They want something good to hold onto while war looms so close on the horizon, and against their best judgement Spock and Jim have become that.

But the truth is, it's not a fairytale and it won't ever be. It's lying and careful pageantry and fighting to have it and keep it, picking battles and staking claims and making stands. This has been their own kind of war, but tomorrow he wins one of the major battles. Tomorrow he gets to tell the whole universe that Jim is his for as long as Jim will have him, put the ring on his finger and make it official.

Tomorrow he gets Jim.