Jim sits up, the rustle of Spock moving about the room is a comforting sound. The cover pools around his hips, bare chest exposed to the warmth of his quarters where they spent their night entangled under bedsheets and encompassed in the other's embrace. He smiles as Spock makes eye contact with him, folding the shirt he held in his hand and placing it on top of Jim’s dresser. “Morning.” Jim speaks, his voice hoarse and throat raw. He swallows heavily and tries to soothe the burning he feels in the back of his throat.
Images flashing in his mind in spurts, and Jim can’t help the blush that spreads across his face as he recalls the events of last night. Of Spock’s body above him, how his fingers gripped along the expanse of sun kissed skin and the lips that will now forever haunt his dreams.
It’s like Spock knows what’s going through Jim’s mind, his eyebrow quirked up in amusement as he continues with his task of cleaning the room they made a mess of. Jim doesn’t miss the smirk that occupies his lips and it makes him want them against his once more.
So Jim speaks again, only because the silence in the room now is the loudest thing he’s heard. His heart hammers in his chest as his eyes drink in the way Spock bends down to pick up a discarded pair of pants. Jim’s not sure who it belongs to, and he finds that he doesn’t quite care. “You’ve been quiet all morning.” He says, even though he’s only been awake for a solid ten minutes but has spoken more words than Spock has. He wants to run his fingers in his hair, or Spock’s. He's not picky at the moment. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks and Spock turns towards him, opening his mouth to say something before Jim cuts him off. He knows his first officer well enough, “And don’t even start, you know what it means.” he says and Spock eyebrow quirks in a way that should be classified as illegal and dangerous.
“I’ve been processing the information received yesterday.” He replies, a smirk on his lips as he walks closer to Jim. His gaze unwavering as he drops the pants at the foot of the bed. His knee comes up and rests on the disheveled sheets.
Jim’s mouth goes dry, “I-information?” he asks. He wants to continue, to ask Spock to elaborate more but his thoughts are empty and his brain just can’t seem to function. No neurons firing off and no words leave his lips. Spock is closer now, his face just inches from his and making eye contact with Spock almost sends him into cardiac arrest. Spock’s looking at him like a predator does his prey, and Jim’s not above knowing he’s quite the snack.
“In particular, my positive reaction to you repeating my name as a result of the targeted stimulation of your body.” And Jim knows his neurons are firing like those old classic cowboy movies and he’s the empty saloon. The words take root and translate and if Jim knew that Spock was this wild and forward, well, he would have bedded the man months ago. Spock’s hand lifts up, his fingers finding purchase along his neck. The pads of his fingers making contact with the bruises they left behind during their tryst, and Jim can feel his heart skip a beat. His face leans in and he’s absolutely frozen as Spock’s lips brush against his ear, hot breath on Jim’s skin. “Simply put,” Spock says, and goosebumps break out across Jim’s skin as lips move against his cheek, “I like it when you scream my name.” he finishes, pulling away from Jim in a quick fluid motion that leaves Jim dizzy and feeling weak. Spock's knuckles brush against Jim’s face and he wonders for a brief moment if they could have the morning off to continue what they started last night.