Uncaged
written by plaidshirtjimkirk
Rating: T ☆ Word Count: 2380 ☆ Read on AO3
Summary: Jim can easily say he loves anyone… until he actually means it. And when he’s standing next to Spock during one particular shore leave, he realizes just how much he does.
A/N: My response for a prompt I received on tumblr for the dialog meme: “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”
Everything once began somewhere.
The very first time Jim felt it was during shore leave in his first year of commanding the Enterprise.
Out there in the distance, beyond the undulating dunes that came to life with the whispering of a light breeze, was the rhythmic swelling of the sea. The tide drifted inward, calm waves gliding gently toward the shore in hypnotic white ridges that lapped at the fine sand with foamy abandon before receding again.
Lulled by the charms of nature surrounding him, Jim allowed himself to be entirely consumed by the feeling of the warm breeze ruffling through his hair and the sight of the sky—now a breathtaking combination of soft pinks, oranges, and blues all blending together and forming a flawless painting of sundown across an open canvas.
The sun was fading, only half visible on the horizon from the wooden boardwalk they stood upon. Like a reluctant and bittersweet farewell, it slowly descended, relinquishing its reign to the stars that would soon sweep across the night and sparkle like glitter lazily tossed into the darkness. The sinking rays stretched as far out as they could, embracing the line where the sea met the sky and bled over the calm water in distorted, wavy lines of golden light from the motions of the tide.
“It’s been a long time since I watched a sun go down,” Jim spoke suddenly as he comfortably leaned his forearms against the steel railing before him. “I almost forgot how beautiful it can be. …Almost.”
“Indeed.”
The corners of Jim’s lips stretched into a smile at the one word spoken in reply that was as monotone as ever, and he averted his eyes to his loosely clasped hands. While the lack of enthusiasm might have been an irritation to someone else, it was just the particular person Spock was and Jim accepted him for it—accepted him as Vulcan, as human, as whatever he chose to be, because beyond all of the societal labels laid so much more.
When Jim looked at Spock, he didn’t recognize the same misplaced individual with pointed ears, different blood, and the inability to feel whom everyone else seemed to see. Instead, his gaze burned straight through the calloused layers of a lifetime spent existing without a place to belong, stripping Spock bare and revealing the heart of the matter: one beautiful soul locked in a cage that didn’t even know it was trapped.
Someday, Jim hoped he would be able to pick that lock. And when that time presented itself, he would coax Spock’s essence out of its prison, hold it within the safety of his arms, and embrace it for what would be the first time ever before setting it free.
However, thirty-eight years of damage was far too much time to simply repair overnight; for the moment, Jim would do nothing more than simply accept Spock as he was while waiting for the day when he would finally receive his chance.
It was the height of pure friendship that was deep enough to be brotherhood, even, and the likes that Jim himself had never experienced before. In fact, of all the relationships he had ever encountered—professional, romantic, and all in between—he felt a closeness to Spock that was stronger than he had with any other.
At that thought, Jim was compelled to finally lift his chin and show Spock the smile which had bloomed across his face; however, when he turned his head and his hazel eyes fell upon the person both standing to his side and consuming his thoughts, it faded quickly.
Jim’s facial muscles went lax, his eyes parting a little wider as the breath he had just drawn was thieved right from his lungs.
The dwindling rays slowly fading below the horizon cast a warm, golden tone that surrounded Spock. His dark features were a stark contrast to the soft light and the difference in color made it appear that he had an aura about his tall frame.
His silken black hair shined, his eyelashes appeared more conspicuous against the brightness, and his pale skin looked more vibrant—glowing, even. Spock, Vulcan and entirely out of place here, was absolutely stunning against the backdrop of the pastel sky and sandy beach.
And that’s when it first happened: Jim’s heart fluttered, his breath hitched, and at the very moment he felt a flash of heat rush up to his face, Spock turned to him.
“Is there something wrong, Jim?”
Caught completely off guard from the way his heart began to pound and how Spock had faced him at that very moment, Jim stiffened for a second before a small, airy laugh was pushed out from between his lips.
“Wrong?” Jim forced out another amused huff as he willed his shoulders to relax. A small smile spread its way across his face as his digits took hold of the rail and tightened around it. “No, not at all. It’s just… the sunset, the beach.”
He averted his eyes back to the calm water, well aware he was talking in circles. “It’s just…” Jim’s voice softened. “…It’s beautiful.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim thought he’d seen one of Spock’s brows lift before he turned his own gaze back, just in time to catch the sun finally disappearing.
A deep breath was drawn into Jim’s chest and he exhaled, speechless because what he had experienced moments ago was both frighteningly familiar and entirely foreign at the same time; it was that feeling that coursed through his veins the moment his interest had been piqued by the charms of another. In simple terms, it felt like love.
Jim was no stranger to that, though. His alluring and charismatic personality made him just as much a giver as a receiver when it came to the subject of being lulled by affection. The difference was that he could always control it during past instances. This time, however, the magnetic pull on the heart hammering within his chest was so robust, the rush of feelings so strong, that it made his mind nearly go into a haze.
He knew he had deep feelings for Spock, and had known it for a long time… before traveling to 1930s New York, before being exposed to the spores of Omicron Ceti III, before the court martial incident, before the bizarre happenings en route to Talos IV, before… Jim could go on recalling all of the adventures the mission had presented to them. However, all of these memories would lead him back to when it had first begun, over one pleasurable game of chess.
Jim knew he loved Spock, but it wasn’t until that very moment that he realized just how much. He’d thought of how to approach him more times than he could count in the past, but had always decided that their friendship was too important to risk. Now, however, with butterflies fluttering around inside of him and presented with this perfect moment (a sunset, of all things), Jim found himself acting on impulse.
“Spock…” he suddenly spoke, throwing caution to the wind as his eyes fixated upon his digits still gripping tightly to the rail, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”
Spock turned to him once more; first with his face, and then pivoted his entire body.
“Something I wanted to say, actually, before this shore leave is over. I just want you to know that…” Jim’s eyes flicked upward to lock with his, and he paused. He knew his expression had softened and his voice held a gentler tone. The moment hung between them, Spock’s head falling just slightly as he intently stared at Jim and listened.
And then it was lost.
Jim’s expression hardened just slightly and he spoke in a stronger voice. “I could have never asked for a better first officer.”
Tall shoulders stiffened and Spock demonstrated his well-known habit of inclining his chin. His reply was careful and, as always, honest. “Nor I a better captain.”
The corners of Jim’s lips twitched before he directed his attention once more to the ocean. Taking it all in again, he leaned back on the heels of his boots, arms extending in a good stretch toward the rail he still clung to before righting himself.
“Well. I suppose now is good a time as ever then. Back to the ship?”
Spock nodded once. “Indeed.”
~
Everything once began somewhere.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and after several of those, the Enterprise was well into its second year of the mission and Spock was lying on his back in Jim’s bed.
Warm, tan skin was flush against the coolness of pale Vulcan flesh, every passing moment electrically charged by the way in which Jim touched him. Those large hands brought with them tidal waves of human emotion, projected from the tips of his fingers to the base of his palms and every point in-between.
Every single touch was rife with reverence—every caress, every brush, every grope. Even as Jim held to Spock’s bony hips tightly, there was an ever-present indication that he was conscious of not hurting him, that he would never hurt him. He was precious and beautiful and worthy of being handled as if he were breakable… Or at least that was what Spock could read from the digits that clasped to him.
Spock opened his eyes to the sight of Jim kneeling in front of him, his strong human arms still supporting the long legs that were docked at his hips. Those two locks of hair that always seemed to fall out of place were, naturally, swept over his forehead and Jim’s chest was rising and falling, slick with sweat from their exertions.
When their gazes met, Jim gently lowered Spock’s legs to the sheet and then carefully pulled out. He shifted himself upwards so he was straddling the hips he had just been grasping to, and leaned forward until he was prone against Spock’s lanky frame.
Jim’s elbows hit the mattress, the palms of his hands delicately pressed against Spock’s chin and his fingers splayed out along the side of his lean face. With that, Jim pressed his lips against the ones waiting beneath him and he kissed them softly.
Slowly, his mouth retreated from Spock’s, millimeter by millimeter until contact between their lips was lost. Never removing his hands from where they were placed, Jim pulled away just enough to see Spock’s face clearly.
The look in those hazel eyes was familiar, his expression one Spock had seen before. He could picture Jim’s face exactly as it was when they had spent the last hour of their shore leave together on that beach of Emur II—how it looked as though Jim wanted to say something profound, but stopped himself just before he permitted himself to.
Spock had wondered about that moment several times after it happened, but, as Jim had never referred to it again, concluded that it was likely worthy of dismissal. Until now.
Jim’s eyes were half-lidded and he regarded Spock with something deep and undefinable in his gaze. “I never actually told you before, have I?” he asked softly, one thumb barely grazing across Spock’s cheek and then back.
“Told me?” Spock echoed, his voice just above a whisper.
The moment hung between them just as it had when they stood side-by-side before the sea months ago. For a second, it seemed as though it would dissipate once more, but then Jim’s lips suddenly lifted at the corners into a tiny smile.
He raised his chin just slightly. “I love you, Spock.”
Silence followed, exactly as Jim expected. His smile widened and he huffed out a soft laugh and repeated with a shake of his head, “I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
Jim shifted once again so he could wrap his arms tightly around Spock’s chest and settled his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead unto his neck, the grin he wore never leaving his face and the arms around the man he held never loosening.
With his eyes widened only slightly, Spock simply stared at the ceiling, his expression stoic and unreadable. The words, however, did not go without affecting him; in fact, the moment they graced his ears, he felt something inside of him jolt.
Fascinatingly, it wasn’t physical. In fact, it was as if something had, most strangely, been set free that was distinctly not of the body. The sensation was entirely unexpected, considering the fact that Spock had never believed himself trapped in any way. His heart thumped against his ribcage as these thoughts assaulted his keen, logical mind.
Spock closed his eyes then, reveling in how Jim’s warm arms encircled him protectively. Whatever it was that had just been emancipated was being held in them along with his own physical being, and though Spock didn’t entirely understand what had just happened, he knew one thing was certain: for the first time in his life, he felt he actually fit in—belonged somewhere. And that place was entirely within the protection and comfort of Jim’s embrace.
It suddenly made sense then. All the questions and thoughts in orbit came crashing to the ground, drawn in by the gravity of reality.
The hands that were resting upon the sheet slowly lifted into the air and landed softly on Jim’s back. Spock slid them in opposite directions across the warm skin until he embraced him just as tightly.
What Jim’s arms cradled was the entirety of Spock—body, mind, and soul—and, so long as he wanted them, so long as he was willing to hold them, that place was exactly where they would remain.
Everything once began somewhere, indeed. However, as illogical as it would seem, some things have no ending, no stopping point, no finale; they simply exist forever, succeeding change and hardship, even death itself. The notion went against every law of science that intelligent civilizations ever knew.
However, the existence of eternity was a reality, and it all unknowingly began in that very first moment when Jim and Spock laid eyes on each other, sparking a beginning of something profound enough that would never—could never—end.
Ending Notes:
Thank you very much for reading!!
Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers: Scotty, thetroublewiththetribbles, and Theyumenoinu.
plaidshirtjimkirk 