Warnings: Sexual content, language, AU, hermaphrodism, general blasphemy, etc.
Summary: As a half-Vulcan, Spock never expects to imprint. It's rare enough for a full-blooded Vulcan to imprint, so why should he have it easy? But he does imprint – on the delinquent who sabotaged his Kobayashi Maru. And everything he once knew is about to change.
The Enterprise arrives at the station as scheduled, and Spock finds he can most certainly divine a change in the crew’s morale. Where before there had been resignation, shock, and sorrow, he now sees a movement towards determination and solidarity. Each crew member he encounters seems eager to complete their duties at the station and return home.
Jim had taken charge of the engineering department while at base, going over plans and requisitions and barking orders as necessary. Spock, for his part, had assisted in moving the most badly injured of the crew to the station’s hospital and acquiring the necessary medical equipment for the rest of their trip.
He does not see Jim while at the station; Jim remains on the ship as his self-selected duties in engineering require. Spock, in the meantime, remains in the station for the most part. He does not mind the distance.
At last, he understands the concept of ‘parted from me and never parted’.
Nyota and his father join him for dinner at the station, and he knows they can see the difference in him. Nyota’s shoulders relax at last, as though a weight has been lifted, and he wonders if perhaps she had been more concerned than even he had been. His father gives no indication that he had ever been too worried. Perhaps he hadn’t been.
Spock supposes he will never know. And he is surprised to find he is all right with that.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting a wedding invitation anytime soon,” Nyota teases between dishes. Spock raises an eyebrow, and her smile widens. “Or will I?”
The half Vulcan shakes his head. “I believe that would be highly unlikely,” he replies, wondering idly how Jim would react to a proposal of marriage. He cannot begin to fathom that he would accept, but Jim has surprised him before. Besides which, it is not time for this. They both have priorities beyond their relationship.
Nyota seems content to let the subject drop, but his father is not so generous. He folds his hands in his lap, glancing over Spock appraisingly.
“It would be prudent of you to marry him sooner rather than later,” the older man advises, thankfully quieting as a second course is brought to him. When the server is out of earshot once more, he continues. “There needs to be a level of concern held for our clan’s place in Vulcan society, Spock. You would be wise to act for the good of the family, now more than ever.”
Spock shakes his head – a very human gesture, but one that conveys his meaning more than any Vulcan one he knows. “I will not pressure him,” he says firmly. Nyota cocks her head, even as his father remains still. “We will both require time before that step is taken. I’m certain you appreciate this.”
“Still scared he’ll reject you?” Nyota asks. She is thankfully completely serious. He is not made to answer, though; she nods to herself and sighs. “He probably wouldn’t, but what would I know?”
“Indeed,” Spock concurs, sipping his soup. A pang goes through him with his father’s disapproving gaze – but the disapproval is gone in an instant.
“Perhaps it is wise to wait. Diplomatically speaking,” the older Vulcan concedes, and it is difficult for Spock to restrain his surprise. He settles for allowing his shoulders to rise a half a centimeter. His father easily interprets the subtle gesture. “Clearly, your marriage will be a significant event, given your heritage and status. It will require ceremony beyond which we have the means on earth. With our efforts best concentrated towards rebuilding Vulcan society, a display the likes of which your wedding should be would not be in the best interest of gaining public sympathy.”
Nyota takes a moment to translate his father’s awkward speech. “It would be insensitive to celebrate when so much has been lost and so much is left to do,” she summarizes. Spock nods, and she hums. “I think I’d have to agree on that.”
Spock does as well, though it is not his primary concern. He is grateful for the diversion. Even more so when the communicator at his waist beeps at him.
“Pardon me,” he says as he excuses himself from the table. He takes himself out into an abandoned stretch of hallway before he answers it. “Spock here.”
“Hey,” his mate’s voice greets him. Spock murmurs back an acknowledgement. “Just thought you should know – we’re two hours ahead of schedule. We might get to head back to base before noon tomorrow.”
The half Vulcan breathes deeply. “A departure ahead of schedule would be good for crew morale,” he says evenly. A sliver of amusement slips through the bond from Jim. “Have you alerted Starfleet of the potential change?”
Jim is quiet for a moment longer than he needs to be. “Well, yeah, but that’s not really why I called,” he admits. Spock can feel the nervousness emanating through the bond, along with trepidation and…hope, perhaps? Jim clears his throat. “I don’t want you to stay down on the station overnight.”
Spock wonders for a second why Jim would express such a thing. Thoughts in the vein of suspicion float to the forefront of his mind, but he ignores them. Instead, he simply asks, “why?”
“No reason,” Jim admits, and Spock’s suspicions are heightened. Jim obviously picks up on this. “No, no – Spock, I don’t mean that. I mean I don’t know why I don’t want you down there. I was hoping you could tell me. Something about the mental bond thing, I’m guessing?”
Spock finds himself frozen in position. He catches himself in his pause and straightens his back. “I will join you on board the ship,” he agrees, feeling his pulse accelerate minutely. It sends the tiniest thrill through his spine. “I can be on the Enterprise in approximately seventeen minutes.”
The relief that slips through the bond is nearly palpable. “Great,” Jim sighs. “I’ll be in your quarters.”
Jim greets him at the door of his quarters, hands gripping at his collar and dragging him into a very wet, very warm, very human kiss. Spock doesn’t think he could have repressed the shudder it sent through him even if he’d had time to anticipate it. A deluge of lust floods through the bond, and nearly all thought leaves him. All he knows is that right now, his mate needs him.
He is vaguely aware that he has removed his clothing by the time he comes back to himself. Mostly, he is distracted by Jim’s bare torso. Unlike Spock, his chest hair is sparse, and his muscle is thick. A rumble fills the room, and Spock is surprised to realize it is emanating from him.
Jim is completely nude seconds later, and this time, he shoves Spock back onto the bed. He parts his legs, and then he is pushing inside. Spock groans; he’s already close. Jim is in a similar state, rutting into him almost mindlessly, barely thinking to stimulate Spock’s phallus as he moves. Altogether too quickly, he finds himself gasping as a fiery climax burns through him. There is a flash through the bond, and Jim groans long and loud, twitching inside him before he falls to the side.
For a moment, they simply catch their breaths. And then Jim lets out a small laugh.
“I didn’t plan on that,” he says, voice betraying his amusement. “I thought I was asking you to come back so we could talk.”
Spock turns his head to look his mate over. There is an abundance of bare skin on display, and he takes a moment to admire it. “About what would you like to converse?” he asks, not taking his eyes off his mate’s impressive physique. Jim laughs again.
“Just what this bond thing is doing to me,” he admits easily. Spock raises an eyebrow; Jim wiggles his in response. “I’m not used to wanting someone all the time.”
The half Vulcan shifts, suddenly aware of the cooling semen on his chest. He chooses to ignore it. “The desire to mate so frequently will fade with time,” he assures the other man. “I understand it is potent at first, but once the bond has completely solidified—”
“Not what I meant,” Jim murmurs, turning his head to press against Spock’s shoulder. “I don’t want you all the time. Not like that. I just want you.”
Spock takes a deep breath. “Changing the word which receives the emphasis—”
“I just want you here. With me. I couldn’t care less if we’re going to have sex or not,” Jim says in a rush. It takes Spock a moment to pick out the words themselves, and he finds himself blinking in surprise. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. Just humor me a little, all right?”
The Vulcan is more than agreeable to that suggestion.
Spock is postulating upon the possibility of interdimensional communication while the ship undergoes repairs. The transference of objects and living beings is possible – that much has been made abundantly clear. But the transfer of messages – of comlinks, sound, thought itself – he wonders if it could be possible.
It could be.
When he stands face to face with an aged half Vulcan, name and genes and lineage all shared, he knows it is possible. There is barely a word spoken between them. There doesn’t need to be. Everything is made clear with a gaze.
The older man turns his head, eyes lighting on Jim – Jim, who has so recently been promoted to captain; Jim who still dons his academy reds as he paces in the hangar; Jim, with his blue eyes and toothy grins – and, in spite of all Vulcan upbringing, his eyes relax and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. It is perhaps the smallest smile Spock has ever seen, but it is enough.
“I will care for him,” he promises himself, both figuratively and literally. The older man’s eyes do not leave his mate.
And even if a method of interdimensional communication is perfected in his lifetime, Spock knows he will never need use it.
He has already confirmed everything he needed to know.