Chapter Text
"Humans have a term for this: 'Bad luck' and 'raw deal' and 'this is some bullshit'."
- Harry Vanderspeigle, Resident Alien
The human fascination with caves, Spock is given to understand, is a long one.
He has certainly seen images of Cueva de las Manos and Lascaux. The silhouette handprints papering rough surfaces or stylized beasts carved out in primitive color. Perhaps there is something comforting to humans about being ensconced in dark, protective stone. Perhaps, Spock also thinks - recalling the numerous and frankly idiotic caving deaths that littered the 21st century - they simply cannot resist a challenge.
“Oh come on, why not?”
He looks at the Captain’s grin thrown back over his shoulder, one hand already on the rock of the entrance. There is approximately a nine-point-six-five percent chance that the Captain will listen to Spock’s concerns, a percentage which reduces steadily as Spock notes the spark in his near-glowing blue eyes.
“Cave exploration is outside of the parameters of our mission,” he begins the walk into the mouth of it, “however given how loose your usual interpretation of our mission parameters is, I see no point in arguing.”
“You’re a smart man, Mr Spock.” Jim touches him lightly on the shoulder as he follows.
As a matter of fact, the tricorder readings of the cave betray nothing more threatening than a slight downward gradient. Behind him, Jim relays their intentions and location to the remainder of the landing party. They have been instructed to conduct a standard survey mission of the planet, to update Starfleet’s records of the planet’s progress towards complex life-forms. Little has happened in the five years since the planet had last been surveyed. However, after the stresses of their past several missions, Spock will not complain.
The cave itself is standard in structure. There is some lichen on the walls, but it is surprisingly dry otherwise. It does not appear to have been mapped on previous missions, though Spock would hardly expect it to have been.
“Have your guys found anything exciting yet?”
“My guys,” Spock begins a little acerbically, “have found nothing which was not reported to you prior to your decision to beam down.”
“One day you’re going to have to stop acting like you’re mad that I’m joining you on away missions because you think I’ll ruin the scientific integrity of your work.” Jim tucks his thumbs into the loops of his pants as he admires the yellowed crystalline structures up along the wall of the first cavern. “We both know you’re just secretly worried about me being in danger.”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “I do not believe I had made a secret of this. And before you claim it as illogical, may I remind you that you have been present on approximately ninety-six point four percent of away missions which have gone awry?”
“Correlation, not causation.” Jim laughs, slapping Spock on the back.
“I am not convinced.” He says wryly.
Spock had certainly been well-aware of Jim’s ability to get beneath his skin well before accepting his place under the Captain's command. If the first sighting of Jim nonchalantly eating an apple as he brought the Kobayashi Maru to its knees had not been sufficient, the events shortly after were comprehensively so. He had known that there would always be the risk of Jim goading him into yet another awful, full-bodied emotional response.
He had not quite anticipated that the push and pull of it would have settled into something quite so… comfortable. Or, as the good doctor puts it, quite so close to an old married couple.
They walk in easy silence down through the first of what appears to be two narrow bottlenecks, based on Spock’s scan. It was not possible to tell in the first chamber, where the light had spilled through the wide entrance, but it is now clear that the crystals glow. They bathe everything in a golden light that suffuses across Jim’s skin and hair.
“Wow.” Jim says softly.
Another thing that Spock had not quite anticipated. That Jim’s hedonism was simply one part of an endless, searching wonder at the pleasures of the universe around them.
“Indeed.” He scans from the ceiling down to the slightly wet, uneven floor. “I am registering a bacterial mat in this area.”
“Anything interesting?” Jim asks, stepping to Spock’s side as he kneels.
Holding the tricorder closer, Spock adjusts the shoulder-strap and cocks his head at the readings. “It appears to match a species detected previously on this planet. A harmless consumer of dissolved gases, though it appears they are usually water-dwelling.”
“They must be shriveling up here, poor guys.”
He ignores the anthropomorphization. “I believe there may be water pooled further down.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” An absent brush of fingers to the top of Spock’s shoulder. “It’s been a while since we got to explore a cave, huh? Not since the Horta on Janus Four.”
“I am gratified you are no longer referring to her as a ‘meatball monster,’ Captain.”
“My sensitivity training must be working, then.” Jim grins. “Hopefully one day yours kicks in, and you’ll stop telling all the locals that their age-old traditions are illogical.”
Spock follows Jim down towards what appears to be the entrance to the third chamber. “Their traditions are often illogical.”
“They are. But it’s about tact, Mr Spock. Delivery.”
“If you insist.” Spock quirks a fond eyebrow as Jim side-steps what appears to be the beginning of the small stream coming up from further underground.
They explore the final cave. Jim has not bought his own tricorder but comes over several times to look at the readings on Spock’s. It appears that there is indeed water beneath this part of the cave system, which is seeping steadily up into this chamber as it fills what are likely additional caverns below. In Anteros Twelve’s rainy season, it is likely that the area in which they are standing would flood completely. Perhaps as far up as the mouth of the cave.
“The glow of these crystals is pretty relaxing. What do you think makes them do that?”
“Unclear, Captain.” He turns his attention from the pool at the termination of the stream. “It may be a more stable crystalline form of phosphorus, however it is unusual for the element to be activated while in its raw form.”
“And volatile as well.” Jim comments, stepping lightly away.
“The structure is stable.”
Jim hums in acknowledgement but does not speak on it further. He is more relaxed than Spock has seen him in several weeks. The events of the past missions have indeed been challenging. They had lost four members of the crew in total over the preceding months. It would have been five on the official count, if Spock had not been able to intervene in the trial of negligence against Jim and prove Commander Finney remained alive. The court martial, though ultimately shown to be based on a ruse, had shaken Jim.
He completes the scan of the interior structure. “I believe we should take our leave, Captain.”
“Yeah, uh - sounds good.”
There is something in Jim’s tone which gives him cause to look, but when Spock turns, it appears he is merely distracted. Spock moves towards the entrance.
“Jesus, it’s getting hot in here.”
“It is below the temperature generally considered comfortable by humans.” He represses the beginning flicker of a frown. “Are you quite alright, Captain?”
In the pallid glow from the crystals, it is difficult to tell by Jim’s face if anything is wrong. He has perhaps a light flush to his cheeks, but no more than Spock may expect in compensation to the slight chill. His breathing is heavy but even.
“Yeah, I’m all good. Who knows, maybe I’m developing claustrophobia.” Jim chuckles a little self-consciously.
“Perhaps. Are you experiencing any symptoms beyond a hot flush?”
“Hot flush?” Jim scoffs. “What am I, menopausal? No - I probably just need some air.”
“Indeed.”
Spock eyes him, before stepping forward to press a light hand at the small of Jim’s back and usher him towards the exit. They have had too many emergencies come on too quickly for him to disregard this as Jim is want to do.
As they walk back up the mild incline, Spock notes that Jim’s breathing becomes heavier.
He scans Jim surreptitiously. It is certainly not strenuous enough exercise for him to be out of breath, regardless of how many jabs Doctor McCoy has been making about salads as of late. His heart-rate is slightly elevated, and there appears to be the beginnings of a slight increase in some hormones. It is certainly nothing which cannot be easily rectified.
They have almost arrived in the middle chamber when Jim stops abruptly.
“Spock, I - oh god, Spock.”
His voice is pained. Something - else, as well. Spock catches Jim’s wrist in an attempt to see his face. Jim turns, swaying slightly. His gaze is hazy for a moment, the flush on his cheeks now highly pronounced, before he focuses on Spock. Even through his clothes, there is a pulsing of something that reads as a deep need.
“Jim, please describe what you are experiencing.”
Jim lifts the arm which Spock is not still holding and places an uncoordinated hand on Spock’s chest, over his pectoral muscle. He watches Jim wet his lips with his tongue, breath heaving.
“I want - I need -” his shirt fisted clumsily in Jim’s fingers, “Spock, I need you so fucking bad.”
“What do you need from me, Jim?” He asks urgently, locking eyes. His pupils are dilated.
There is an unsteady moment where Spock believes Jim might faint. Instead, Jim leans forward in the tepid cave air, and rubs his face across the side of Spock’s, their stubble grazing and catching. The wet hint of a mouth as Jim drags his lips across the hook of Spock’s jaw, head falling onto Spock’s shoulder before he kisses at the skin exposed besides the shirt.
He freezes.
“Captain, what are you -”
“Shhhh,” Jim lurches backwards, petting at Spock’s jawline and cheek, “please just listen to me. I know this is illogical but I’m begging you. Please, I’m begging you.”
Arousal pulses through Spock. He shuts the transference. “We need to return to the surface, Jim. You are under the influence of something.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m under your influence,” and before Spock can catch him, Jim has fallen heavily to his knees, pressing his face to Spock’s stomach, “just c’mon, please - let me -”
“Please return to your feet, or I will have to carry you.”
There is another wave of arousal to see Jim on his knees before him, Jim moaning wantonly as he tries and fails to undo the buckle of Spock’s belt. His face is upturned to Spock, written with a slack-mouthed need that leaves those bright eyes hooded and his high cheekbones darkened. He forces himself away. Pulls his belt back through the loop.
“You are not in your right mind.”
Jim looks distraught, crawling hungrily along the floor. The picture he makes is - it is wrong.
“Spock, please. I’ve never needed anyone as badly as I need you.”
He reaches down, disconcerted to see the degree of naked bliss which transcends Jim’s face as he does so. Jim moans as Spock makes as if to touch the side of his face.
He goes for Jim’s shoulder instead.
Spock catches him as he stiffens from the nerve pinch. Lays him carefully down upon his side on the floor, ensuring that his head is supported. He opens his communicator. There is no signal. In the privacy of Jim’s unconsciousness, he allows himself a delicate sigh.
He has seen Jim flirt with others, of course. His bravado and slick self-assurance is nothing akin to the raw desperation with which he had looked up at Spock from on his knees. He curbs his inappropriate dwelling on the matter and picks Jim up, rearranging his limp body until Spock can carry him more comfortably.
It is illogical to dread paperwork, however he is not particularly enamored with the idea of turning in a report on this one. There is no logical - or indeed professional - manner in which to say one’s superior officer attempted to provide a blow-job while on duty.
Spock begins the walk back to the mouth of the cave.