Eat At Jim's

"Whew...well. I have to tell you, Spock...you were right about running. Its perfect for me. I feel so...good." He shrugged, laughing a little at his lack of eloquence.

Spock turned slightly in his chair to face Jim, and his eyes swept over the Human like a warm wave. Jim suddenly felt the urge to shiver despite the lasting warmth of the look and the sunlight. The Vulcan's eyes took in the slight movement as he spoke. He surprised both people by choosing to do so in Vulcan. Jim spoke it well enough to understand. His mother understood it poorly enough to be very curious.

"I am glad, t'hy'la. That you feel good. That was my original intent, when I recommended running. Your well-being is, of course, of great concern to me. I am glad that it has been improved by this activity." He paused. "It seems that running has had another effect on you--one that was unintended, but not unexpected. It is not only obvious that you 'feel good'. It is also quite apparent that you look...good. As you know, Jim, you have always looked good. To me, and to almost all others. You look as good as you are. You are the best of men. And you are beautiful. Yet lately you look...better. Indeed, you look your...best." Spock's slight smile grew slightly wider, as if amused by his own lack of eloquence. But more so, as if aroused his partner's lack of composure. Jim was finding it increasingly hard to swallow, and it was becoming obvious.

The Vulcan's tone was as casual as could be, and appropriate as always, but included an undercurrent that was not lost on his mate. The look that passed between the two men grew in intensity until even a complete stranger could have seen it for what it was. And Jim's mother was no stranger.

Truth be told, Jim looked as though he had forgotten his glass of water. And Spock was looking at him as though he were one.

"You know what?" Jim's mother said suddenly, startling all three of them. "I think I'll just pop in and check on dinner. I'll call you when its ready."

Spock realized from whence his husband had inherited his diplomacy. Jim just blushed.

The woman Spock still called--though with mutual affection--Mrs. Kirk moved quickly to the doorway between the porch and the house, then turned back. Both men could have sworn she winked as she added "By the way, Spock's quite right, Jim. 'Bye, boys...". There was certainly, they agreed later, a wink in her voice.

When her form, and the sounds of it, had left the doorway, Spock's eyes left it as well. They returned to Jim, who he watched with resumed interest, half expecting the Human to comment.

Jim's mouth didn't speak, but his eyes did. You were saying...? they said. And sparkled. Spock sparkled back. He felt as though he couldn't help himself. He had felt that quite often, where this Human was concerned, ever since they had Bonded. Spock resumed his commentary, this time in English.

"As I was saying...you look...good."

Spock's voice had dropped to the tone that made Jim want to drop to the ground and

take his t'hy'la with him. In an effort to make this happen, he responded to his husband verbally.

"Why, thank you...Mister Spock. But--as always--I need specifics. How...'good'?"

That self-deprecating yet charming smile flashed on and off like the obsolete neon devices

that were still to be found in their current environs. From Spock's point of view, it might as well have said 'Eat At Jim's'. That was the message he received each and every time his t'hy'la smiled thus. Though sometimes, as at this moment, any smile was enough. Spock wouldn't actually admit this--not even to said t'hy'la--even under coercion. Though perhaps one day, he could--and would--enjoy being...coerced. Into such a position...by such a person...

The Vulcan checked himself suddenly, and looked up. To find his Jim still pressed against the porch wall, now looking for all the world like a pinned and exquisite insect. And a highly unusual insect, especially in that he clearly longed to be possessed by the scientist that had captured him...with all that that entailed.

Spock rose, crossed the few feet of porch with his customary grace and speed, and--very slowly--pinned the Human with his body as well as his gaze. Spock let his eyes roam over his husband's body, and then the space that framed the beloved form. Equally slowly. The gold that was...golds that were, rather...Jim were only heightened by the contrast with the weathered gray shingles of the wall. The way both were caught in the light of the setting sun and his own regard took Spock's breath away. The cool air against Spock's neck told him that Jim's breath was being taken somewhere as well, and the rapid force of the little breeze told him that the Human dearly hoped he was next.

Spock shifted and Jim sighed again. A head tilted up, another down. Hazel eyes looked into brown.

"So...you were saying, Spock...?" Jim could not, as ever, resist a tease.

And Spock could not, from his lover, resist the bait.

"I was saying...that you look good. I now say--" he let his hands follow the path his eyes had just taken. Again, slowly. "--that you feel good. Very, very...good."

Spock narrowed his vision to just Jim's eyes, and the favor was returned. He continued to speak to his t'hy'la, slowly and tantalizingly.

"You look good...you feel good...you even smell good, James. Your scent always pleases me...and there is something special about it now, after you have engaged in physical activity designed to increase your inner and outer health and aesthetic. And I imagine...that you taste good, as well. I have always expected you to. And you always have done, to me. Perhaps...in a few minutes...I will retest this theory. Ah...and now you are starting to sound good. So...good..."

The idyllic silence and sounds of the porch were broken only by Jim's frequent sighs. And then, a slight whimper, as Spock concluded--

//Ah...I find that you feel good here, too. But...I knew that. Yes...your touch is good. So very good. Such a beautiful mind. And it...and all of it...mine.//

//Oh...God...Spock.//

Jim was soon sure that he was being driven crazy, but quickly became unsure what was driving him craziest--Spock's hands, eyes, voice, or words. His nails dug into the worn wood behind him as he tried to both decide and stay sane. Within minutes he called it a tie, put it out of his mind, and concentrated on making himself as kissable as possible. Spock found this to be eminently redundant, but he soon took the hint.

The Vulcan's gaze now came to rest, and focus, on Jim's mouth. Jim returned the look, full force. Eyes locked, along with hearts and minds, they closed the short sweet gap between their lips until...

"Dinner!" Mom called.

"Dammit." Jim cursed.

"Dessert?" Spock asked.

"Done." Jim agreed.

They entered the farmhouse with matching small smiles. Jim wondered how fast he could eat now without his mother noticing. Spock pondered how well he could later feast on her son without her hearing.