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The body lay still on the operating table, one arm hanging freely over the edge. Spock stooped to grasp the still warm hand, placing it safely back in its proper place.

Safe. Inwardly, he scoffed at the idea. As if the already cooling hand was somehow protected from harm, so long as it lay alongside the torso where it belonged. In a way, he thought, better to leave it hanging free – at least it was honest. At least it was genuine. Placing the hand firmly on the bed somehow seemed disingenuous. It gave the appearance that the man before him was only sleeping, peaceful in repose, and that was a lie. Better to let the limb swing loose so there was no mistaking the reality. The body of Jim Kirk was not sleeping – it was dead.

“Spock?” A soft feminine voice, one to which he was still growing accustomed, called from the doorway. There was a slight tremble in her throat, Spock thought, but she was trying. He was trying.

If Spock was somewhat overwhelmed by the recent course of events, he could not imagine what his captain must be going through at this moment. For while his mind, his spirit, was perfectly intact, his body was stone cold dead on the slab, and there would be no miraculous successes of medical science this time. There was no bringing it back.

Spock turned to face the figure in the doorway, still clad in the bright pink and white civilian jumpsuit she had been wearing before. They had not had time to change the clothes, and; Spock suspected, Jim had likely hesitated over what to change into. A skant? The regular men’s uniform, which would now undoubtedly hang loose and oversized on the much smaller, female body? What garment was most appropriate?

There had not been time nor care to consider these possibilities. They had quickly found themselves here, in sickbay, fighting to keep both Jim and Janice Lester alive as the technology that had switched them in the first place began to fluctuate out of control, putting both of their lives at risk. In the end, the medical team had only been successful in maintaining the one. And Spock was eternally grateful for the identity of that one. The results, he reminded himself not for the first time, could have been far worse.

“Jim,” he said, approaching the doorway. He instinctively put himself between the captain and the operating table at the opposite end of the room. “Perhaps you should not be here.”

“Spock,” came that trembling voice again. “I want to see.”

“I do not think that wise. You should—“ Spock began.

“I want to see!” The voice came more forcefully. The eyes of Janice Lester looked up at him, and though tears threatened to fall, there was also a fiery determination in those eyes that Spock could never mistake. For surely he had witnessed that same expression from the eyes of his captain many times. Golden, beautiful eyes that now lay dead across the room.

But the expression is the same, Spock reminded himself, and the spirit behind it is that of James Kirk. My captain lives, and for that I am grateful.

“Spock,” The ferocity dimmed, threatening to give way to despair. “I just want—“

He grasped the strange, thin shoulder, steadying the swaying form. “Captain,” he said. “Of course you may see. I only wish,” He paused, waiting for the eyes to meet his again. “I only wish to be certain that you are well.”

Jim scoffed, shrugging the too-thin shoulders. “Of course I’m not well, Spock. I’ve never been less well. But I’ve got to… I’ve got to…”

Thin, feminine hands rose to clutch at the strange face, almost as if he might tear it away to reveal his true form underneath. But it wasn’t there of course. It was across the room; a corpse. Jim crumpled, sinking heavily against Spock’s chest. Choked sobs met Spock’s ears, and he put his arms around the small body, pulling it to him in what he hoped was a comforting motion. He did not know what else to do.

McCoy appeared in the doorway, deep dark circles etched under his bloodshot eyes. He stopped in his tracks, taking in the sight of the body of Janice Lester, clasped firmly to a stunned Spock. In any other situation, the sight might have been funny, but there was nothing amusing about this. McCoy sighed, setting aside the data PADD he had been carrying.

“Oh, Jim…” he sighed, placing one firm hand on the small, shuddering back before him. “Hey now,” he said tugging gently on one shoulder. “It’s all right Jim, come ‘ere.”

Suddenly, Spock found himself released, a wet patch of tears smeared across the front of his blue uniform tunic. McCoy gathered the captain to him, making a series of soothing sounds, rubbing a firm hand up and down one arm and shoulder, the other stroking the long hair cascading down his back. Spock was not certain whether this method of comfort was proving successful, as the shaky tears had now devolved into full-blown weeping.

“Doctor, I do not think—“

“Shh, Spock!” McCoy shushed him conspiratorially, indicating with a nod of his head that Spock should withdraw. He trusted the doctor’s judgment with what was clearly a human, emotional moment; and so he moved away, exiting through the side door and leaving the men to whatever therapy McCoy intended to apply.

He recalled something Jim had said to him once, regarding the topic. “Sometimes we humans just need a good cry, Spock. It’s… well, the Greeks used to call it catharsis.”

Perhaps this was such a moment, Spock thought. He was not human, so he could not be certain. Yet another reason why he was not the appropriate one to supply support in such situations. Though he was often remiss to admit it, he was grateful for the presence of Doctor McCoy in moments of emotional distress. He supplied a type of support for Jim that Spock did not always find himself capable of. He took a seat in a row of chairs lining the wall of the emergency medical chamber and waited. He did not have to wait long.

The doors hissed open only a moment later, revealing McCoy looking even more exhausted than before.

He sighed, sounding every bit as tired as he appeared. “Heya, Spock.” He sank into a chair next to Spock, sinking heavily like a man far beyond his actual years.

“Doctor,” he nodded. “Is the captain…”

“Well, I won’t say he’s all right. But I talked him down from the edge as it were. He’s… He just wanted a moment alone. He’s in there… saying goodbye I guess.”

“You trust that he is well enough—“

“Dammit, I don’t trust anything, Spock. But he wanted a minute, and it’s the least I can do.” He ran one hand over his forehead, letting out a scoff of derision. “Turns out, it was the most I could do.”

Spock frowned. “Doctor. You devoted yourself and the efforts of your entire medical team to more than forty-eight hours of effort in this endeavor. If there were any more you could have done, I am quite certain you would have done it.”

“Well, pardon me if I don’t exactly feel like a success right now.”

“Doctor, the captain is alive. You are largely responsible for that. Your work was not a failure.”

McCoy sighed, rising to his feet. “He wanted to see you. You better go.”

*

Spock re-entered the room, noting the lights had been lowered. The small, female body he was gradually learning to associate with Jim stood next to the biobed. Jim was holding one hand, his own hand, between the new set that he must now inhabit. The sight was bizarre, to say the least. Bizarre, and crushingly painful.

“Captain?” Spock called in an almost whisper, slowly approaching the bed himself. As he drew closer, he noted a tear streaming down one side of Lester’s, now Jim’s, face.

“It’s not like looking in a mirror, you know,” Jim said. “It’s totally different. They say a mirror distorts the actual image of yourself, and of course, it’s flipped. So it’s not the same. No one can ever really see themselves as they truly appear; not like others can.”

His grip tightened around the limp hand, his voice trembling as he fought to remain calm. “And now I know that’s true. It’s not the same. Not at all.”

“Captain...”

“And you know, I’ve done this before. I’ve looked at my own face before – That time with the transporter malfunction on Alpha 177… the mirror universe… but those times… it was different. This is, somehow… I don’t know. It’s just totally different. There’s no life here. It’s… too still. He should be moving. He should be breathing. He’s… too pale…”

“Jim,” Spock said firmly, grasping one shoulder with what he hoped was a steadying grip.

Jim took one shaky step backward, colliding with Spock only to lean against the Vulcan’s chest for support.

“Spock,” he said, voice shaking with the effort. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t…”

“Captain,” Spock put one arm around the trembling body, pulling Jim close. “You will survive this. You have the support and utmost dedication of your crew.” He paused. “And of myself.”

Jim turned to face Spock then, a question in his eyes – and Spock made a decision at that moment. From this point on, he would correct that voice inside his own head that insisted upon referring to them as Janice Lester’s eyes. Janice Lester was dead. And these eyes were now the eyes of his captain. The gaze was Jim’s and so the eyes must be as well. What was a body, any body, but a container for the consciousness within?

Spock took hold of the hand that was still clutching that of the dead body on the biobed, and pulled it gently away, clutching it tenderly between his own. This hand was now Jim’s hand, not Lester’s. He would treasure it now just as he had treasured that other. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it gently, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jim. Spock took the cheek, Jim’s cheek, in his other hand, and pressed a chaste kiss on the lips – Jim’s lips, and felt his heart leap when Jim sighed – a sigh of relief, before he leaned into the kiss, choked sobs coming freely now. He kissed Spock with soft feminine lips and dipped his head into Spock’s neck to cry.

“Spock,” he said, choking on tears.

When Jim was calm again, they stood there, gazing over the body, saying goodbye to it; a silent, private wake. Spock lovingly held the hands, stroked each cheekbone, tenderly brushed the golden hair between his long fingers, dedicating each feature to memory. After a time, Jim turned to Spock, eyes reddened but now dry, and gave a single firm nod.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice steady and sure once more. “We can go now.”

They left the room together, arm in arm, and neither of them looked back.

*** 

Uhura arrived at the captain’s quarters promptly at 1800 hours, as promised, heavily laden with several trunks and bags full of clothing and accessories.

“Captain,” she said breathlessly, setting the array of containers down in the doorway, and unstrapping herself from the many bags, some of them spilling over with a wide variety of colored fabrics. “I brought as much as I could carry,” she chuckled, finally freeing herself from the last of her burdens.

“Oh, Lieutenant,” Jim said, rising from desk to take in the pile of garments Uhura was already tugging free from suitcases. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“No,” she said, reaching into one of the packs and beginning to pull out scarves and hair accessories and all kinds of other accouterments Jim couldn’t begin to fathom the use for — “But if you’re going to have a makeover party, you might as well go all out.”

Jim furrowed his brow at the phrase, ‘makeover party.’ He was beginning to doubt what he’d signed up for.

“Now, Lieutenant, I don’t need… don’t want… the full glamor treatment or anything — I just want to work out the best way to blend in. To look… normal.”

She stopped, a length of soft see-through purple fabric clasped in her hands. She looked up at him with wide, warm eyes.

“Oh, I understand, Captain.” Her expression softened, sympathetic. “Don’t worry—we won’t go overboard.”

She put him in a muted red shirt, cut longer in the back so it hung down over the back of his legs almost to the knees, and fitted black pants with tall, mid-calf boots. It almost looked like an Engineering uniform if he didn’t look too closely, and unlike the few civilian outfits he had in his current closet, it actually fit his body rather than hanging baggy in all the wrong places. It wasn’t clingy, didn’t show too much of the feminine curves he was now all too aware of on his frame, and it was modest without being ugly. He nodded his approval. Uhura grinned, reaching into one of her bags to pull out some new pieces.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s try one more. I know you won’t need too many civilian clothes, but it’s always good to be prepared.”

“Thank you, Uhura. I really appreciate this,” he looked at the floor, grateful and a little sheepish over the whole situation. But he’d considered Uhura a trusted friend for a long time now — and the fact that she’d offered to help with this very real problem (one that of course none of the male bridge staff had thought of, not even Spock), meant a lot.

“Don’t be silly, Captain,” she exclaimed. “It’s no trouble! I have more civvies than any fleet woman has a need for, and someone needs to wear and enjoy these. It beats letting them sit neglected in my closet all the time!” She laughed, handing over a new top—this one light green with gold accents. Jim took it, raising an eyebrow in response.

“I have a something similar… but it doesn’t fit so well anymore.”

She smiled, glancing away with a chuckle.

“I was digging through my closet this morning and thought of you when I saw it. It was always a good color for you…” she stopped herself, realizing she’d touched on a potentially painful topic. The colors might not look the same on him… now…

Jim shook off the tension and stepped behind the divider to change shirts. “Well, let’s see if I can still pull it off.” He shrugged out of the first shirt and slipped the new one over his head, tugging it down over his hips.

“Hmm,” he hummed, smoothing the soft fabric over his torso. “Seems okay, I think…”

“Well come out and let me see,” Uhura says, bouncing on her heels.

He stepped from behind the divider, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, Captain,” she said, pressing her palms together before her, “That one looks beautiful on you!”

“You think so?” Jim turned to get a better look in the mirror. It was different—his new skin tone was lighter; different, like so many things… But, he had to admit, the color didn’t look bad on him. He found he still liked it. And it was nice to have something, anything familiar. Normal.

“Yeah, I think I like it too,” he finally announced. “Thank you, Uhura—this is great.” He now had two full civilian outfits if he ever needed them. Not that he anticipated getting much wear out of them — it was comforting to know they would be there if he ever did.

“Okay then,” Uhura clapped her hands together. “Now for the really important part. Uniforms!”

Ah, yes. Speaking of familiarity. Jim’s heart sang when he saw the golden yellow fabric emerge from one of Uhura’s many bags. She laid the skant out across the bed, smoothing the fabric Jim had worn more often than any other. Now that was something he could be comfortable wearing. He wasn’t so sure about the cut though. A skant? Could he really go around wearing that? He wasn’t exactly sold on the idea. But, he thought, it’s what all the other… what the women… wear. He winced internally at the thought.

Just because you look like one doesn’t make you one, Kirk. You can wear whatever you want.

As long as it’s not those baggy pants and tunic that are now at least three sizes too big for you…

Uhura must have noticed his hesitation and the skeptical look on his face, because she put her hands up in defense.

“Now, Captain, if this doesn’t work for you, there are plenty of other options—“

He shrugged. “I’ll try it—but… I don’t know…” he paused, then shrugged. “I’ll try it.”

He took the garment behind the divider and began to change. The first thing he noticed was that the thing was too damn tight, like it was too small for him. He said as much to Uhura, wondering if maybe he needed a different size. She chuckled, then apologized, covering her mouth with one perfectly manicured hand.

“It’s the right size…” she mused. “But it might be tighter than what you’re used to.”

He stepped from behind the divider, feeling like human sausage stuffed into a too-small skin.

“This,” he proclaimed, deadpan, “is awful.”

She couldn’t help it, Uhura doubled over in giggles, waving a hand in supplication. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not—I’m not!”

“How do you do anything in this?” Jim asked, pulling at the tight fabric at his waist. He’d had the thing on for less than one minute, and he felt like it was trying to saw him in half. “This waistline is cutting into my stomach, and I feel like my rear end is going to fall out if I so much as bend over.”

Poor Uhura fell back onto the bed, cackling. “Oh, it’s not all that bad! I’ve worn way worse.” She sat up, chuckling. “You should try walking in high heels sometime.”

“No, thank you.” Jim shuddered at the thought. “Okay, I tried it. I think I’ll see those other options now, please.”

Uhura laughed, getting up to pull another set of garments from her bag. “I think you’ll like this better…”

And thank all the gods in the universe, it was a tunic (cut for a female form, but still very much the shirt he was accustomed to) and a pair of also appropriately sized and cut women’s black regulation pants.

“Thank the gods,” he remarked, disappearing behind the divider to peel himself out of this torture device masquerading as a uniform.

***

“Captain Kirk.”

“Admiral Nogura.”

Jim had to give the guy credit. He was looking at Jim through the view screen with his usual confidence and straight-facedness, unflinching and seemingly unshaken. And while Jim was grateful for the man’s restrained demeanor, he knew better. This was the first time Nogura had seen Kirk on visual since the events they had taken to calling “the Lester Incident,” and Jim knew he had to have psyched himself up for the conversation, so as not to give himself away as being startled. The result was only half-effective. For his part, Jim struggled to keep the color from his too-pale cheeks. He’d never been so grateful for the uniform, giving him at least some semblance of normality and the routine.

After trying on his new clothes with Uhura’s help, he’d had a bit of an epiphany. There were a lot of things about this new body he couldn’t change, at least not without undergoing major surgery he wasn’t yet prepared to consider—but there were some things that were altered easily enough.

“Uhura, I think I need a hair cut,” he’d said, gazing at himself in the full length mirror, glad to see the golden tunic bit perfectly, and the undergarments Uhura had suggested were doing their job — flattening out the breasts he had no interest in showing off into no more than prominently flexed pectoral muscles. He’d said a silent benediction when he realized how grateful he was at the relatively small size of them. He could just as easily have been cursed with a set of double D’s to contend with, but these were at least manageable.

“Oh,” she’d straightened up, eyes bright. “Yes, you do! This long, straight look… it’s not for you.”

She’d sent him off to the barber with a new set of clothes and a new spring in his step. He’d never been more grateful for her friendship.

And now he was doubly grateful. He could practically see the sigh of relief in Nogura’s eyes as he took in the captain’s appearance — obviously changed, clearly a female body, but still the same man. He’d had the barber give him the exact same regulation haircut he’d worn for years, and he didn’t think it looked half bad on this face, even from a purely objective standpoint.

“Admiral?” Despite his attempt at normalcy, Nogura had been looking at him for far too long without saying anything.

He felt a twinge of anxiety from Spock through their link and shrugged it away. He didn’t have the energy to focus on that at the moment.

“Captain, yes. My apologies. You look…” he blinked, seeming to steady himself. “You look well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The Enterprise is being reassigned. The medical supplies you are carrying to Antares V will be delivered by the USS Farragut. They are already in route to rendezvous with Enterprise within the next 24 hours. At that time, you are to continue to new coordinates. They are being transmitted to you now.”

“Very good, Admiral. What sort of situation should we expect? No trouble, I hope?”

“No, indeed. No trouble at all. Should be a nice reprieve for your crew, actually. There was a bit of an unexpected turn in the recent diplomatic talks between President Rhodes and Morus III’s Prime Minister. They are ready for final negotiations to join the Federation.”

“Morus III, I’m afraid I’m not up to speed. Didn’t they only begin negotiations a few months ago?”

“If I may, Admiral.”

Spock’s voice cut through the silence on the bridge, and Jim turned to glance at his first officer, hiding a wince. He loved the sound of that voice and had not heard it nearly as often as he was used to, lately. He shrugged that thought away for the time being.

Nogura nodded for Spock to continue.

“The Morusians began negotiations with the United Federation of Planets for possible admission only three months ago, as you said, Captain. However, most recently, the Prime Minister of their planet moved to increase speed of negotiations on the grounds that his planet is under a potential threat from the Klingon Empire, by their proximity to that border, and the recent discovery of dilithium on the planet.”

Jim’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his hands went instinctively to his hips as he turned back to face Nogura on-screen.

“Ah, that explains it, then.”

Nogura nodded, “Yes, and we’d better move faster than the Klingons if we’re going to do right by the Morusians. They’ve been very easy to negotiate with so far, and our delegates tell me they see no reason why they should be difficult to negotiate with. So far, we’ve been taking things at the usual pace, but this threat of possible Klingon interest has…”

“Has put things on the fast track…” Jim finished, running a hand over his chin. He thought he caught Nogura watching him, apparently bemused by the familiar expression on a new face. He ignored it.

“I understand. The Enterprise will make way immediately. We should be able to be there within…” He caught Sulu’s eye —

Nogura cut in. “We estimate you at roughly two days from Morus III.”

Sulu nodded in confirmation towards Kirk. “At warp 7, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Sulu.” He returned his attention to Nogura. “If there’s nothing else, Admiral—”

“Very good, Kirk. He seemed uncomfortable for a half-second, then went on. “Actually, I do have another message; for your eyes only.”

Kirk blinked. “Understood.”

He turned to Uhura, “Lieutenant, put the Admiral through to ready room one, please.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to her terminal and punched a series of buttons in succession.

“Mr. Sulu—“

“Yes, sir.”

“We have our coordinates; put in course for Morus III.”

“Aye, sir.”

As an afterthought — because he hadn’t needed to say it out loud for several months now, but still did for the benefit of others present…

“Mr. Spock, you have the conn.”

He turned and headed for his ready room almost before the Vulcan could reply, “Aye, sir.”

It was an odd thing to have someone so close to your mind at all times, that you knew if they tried, if they exerted the slightest effort, they could see every thought in your head and every nuance of emotional state you were experiencing at that moment… all while feeling distant and estranged from them at the same time.

Jim felt like shit about it.

Spock had been nothing but supportive, caring, and compassionate after Jim had found himself trapped, apparently for good, in what had been Janice Lester’s body. The first few nights, he’d showed up at Jim’s quarters at their customary bedtime, kissed him in the usual way, laid with him in bed and offered gentle touches up and down Jim’s back, neck, bare arms.

But when his customarily slow-moving and tender first officer finally came to the edge of comfort, when he’d begun to slowly tug at Jim’s now very loosely fitting pajama pants, alarm bells went off in Jim’s head. He’d tumble out of bed, squirming away, all the while apologizing profusely over and over.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry— I just.. I don’t know, Spock— I can’t— I just—“

All which was inevitably met with equally fervent apologies and exclamations of understanding from Spock.

“Jim, t’hy’la, stop— it is all right— I know. I understand. Ashayam, please…”

Eventually, Spock would coax him to lie down again, hold him tightly in his arms while Jim wept and, at last, they would fall asleep.

He hated himself for it.

Over the days since he’d been learning to live in this body, which had stretched to a week, then two, Spock had begun working later and later hours in the science labs after their regular shift. Jim would get the inevitable psychic ping around their usual bedtime—I am delayed, Beloved. Please rest well in my absence.

And he would settle into bed, alone, projecting all the love and understanding he could muster. He still didn’t think he was very good at the whole mind-link thing, but Spock always seemed to get the message somehow anyway.

He knew Spock was finding excuses to stay away because he recognized that his nightly presence was only causing extra stress for his captain, rather than comfort.

Jim hated himself for that, too.

He stepped through the doors to the ready room with a lump in his throat. Focus on the job and stop thinking about that. It’ll work itself out somehow eventually. You have a new assignment; a much more exciting one than delivering medical supplies. Focus on that.

He sat at the video screen and tapped the button to bring Nogura’s face to the now much smaller view screen before him.

“Admiral,” he said, straightening his back in the chair. “You had some further information for me?”

“Yes, Captain,” Nogura sighed, visibly less put together than he had been in front of the bridge crew. That worried Jim. It was the expression the man usually wore when he had less than good news to share.

“Look, I’d just like to say… considering all that’s happened, you are doing remarkably well. And—“

Jim stiffened. “Admiral, with all due respect, if you brought me here just to give me a pep talk—“

Nogura waived a dismissive hand. “No, no, Captain. Believe it or not, and I know we’ve had our differences, but I have more respect for you than that.”

Jim tried to hide his surprise by shifting in his chair. It was possibly the closest thing to a compliment the man had ever said to him in his entire career.

“No, no… It’s just that… I wanted to give you a word of warning if you will. About this mission.”

Jim frowned. “I thought you said the Morusians had been easy to work with so far? With the threat of a Klingon incursion, I can’t imagine they’re going to start playing hard-to-get now.”

Nogura nodded. “You’re right, but there’s just one problem. Well,” he shrugged. “Maybe a problem. Probably a problem.”

Jim sighed, starting to get annoyed. “Yes, sir. What’s the problem?”

“Prime Minister Toruk. Our female delegates have had… They say they’ve had a hard time working with him.”

“A hard time working with him? In what way?”

Nogura shook his head. “Well, Senator Winans in particular. She wouldn’t tell me precisely what happened, but…”

“But what?”

“She left the delegation. Senator Mugabe replaced her and he’s had no problems. But you know Senator Winans’ reputation. She’s very well-respected. Level head. Definitely not a quitter. Whatever happened between her and the prime minister, I’m thinking it must have been pretty bad. We’ve had several female aids complain as well.”

“About what, exactly? Can you give me specifics?”

Nogura shrugged. “Oh, you know, no one wants to give specifics. They just want to do their jobs, same as anyone. But from what I can gather, he just doesn’t seem to respect the women. One of the aids, the under-secretary to Senator Collins. She expressed to her supervisor that on several occasions, the prime minister made her bring him coffee during meetings.”

Jim nodded.

“Naturally, she didn’t want to rock the boat, so she did as he asked, rather than quite rightly pointing out that she’s an under-secretary to a Federation senator and not his damn yeoman.” He paused.

“And then what happened?” Jim prompted.

“Well, coffee is one thing. But when he started commenting on the length of her skirt and leering at her through half the meetings, she decided to say something.”

Jim sighed. “I see.”

“I don’t think I need to state the obvious reason I’m telling you this.”

“No, you do not.” Jim crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair. He paused for a moment, letting the unspoken question hang in the air between them. Can you handle this? Can you handle all the pain, trauma, and disillusionment you’re already barely struggling through, and this?

There was only one answer, for Jim Kirk.

“Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate the heads up.”

“Safe flying, Captain. And good luck. Nogura out.”

***

He sat there in the ready room for long, empty minutes, hands clasped before him, lips pressed into white knuckles. Could he handle this? He was struggling to keep his head above water as it was, surrounded by a crew that he’d come to think of as family. They all understood. They all respected him and believed in him no matter what. He could have been trapped in the body of an Aldurian sea slug and he knew they would still, every single one of them, follow him to the ends of the universe without question.

But the rest of the world was different. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face how someone like this Prime Minister Turuk might treat him. He’d witnessed himself far too many times the way some men, regardless of species, looked at women. And regardless of what he knew he was on the inside, he couldn’t change the fact that to the perceptions of most people looking at him—he looked like a woman. If this Prime Minister was as much of a prick as he seemed, this wasn’t going to be easy.

He couldn’t help remembering some of the things Janice had said; all the reasons why she’d had to do what she’d done. She’d gotten what she wanted, after all, to make him suffer that same injustice.

He felt a tingle on the back of his neck and a familiar, questioning presence in his mind.

He sighed, dropping his hands to the table. “Come.”

The doors on the side of the room to his back parted with a hiss and then closed.

“Everything all right out there?” he said, not turning around. For the second time today, that deep, beloved voice met his ears in a harsh reminder of just how infrequently he’d been hearing it lately.

“Captain, the ship is underway to Morus III. Mr. Sulu has the conn. All is well.”

He hummed a reply, pressing a hand to his lips again and leaning heavily on the table. He was tired. So damn tired. Why was he so tired all the time? He refused to believe this female body to be the source of his weakness—but whatever the cause he was flat out exhausted with what used to be his usual daily activities.

“Jim, after all that has happened, you have every right to be fatigued.”

Stop that. Jim didn’t say it out loud.

“Stop what?” Spock asked innocently.

Oh, you think you’re cute, don’t you?

The Vulcan approached, coming to stop near Jim’s shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Jim could see a familiar eyebrow shoot toward the bulkhead.

“Judging from your currently increased heart rate and past comments regarding my person, it would seem you agree.”

Jim’s hand fell to his lap, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned to direct a withering glare in Spock’s direction. “Oh, yes. You definitely think you’re cute.”

“I cannot imagine what you mean, Captain. I only wished to ascertain your well-being. I trust Admiral Nogura was able to share some helpful information with you regarding the mission?”

Jim’s expression grew serious again, and he took a deep breath before replying. “He was.”

Spock didn’t question him further, but Jim couldn’t ignore that lingering curiosity on the edge of their mental bond—Spock wanted to know more, but wasn’t going to probe any further about information Jim obviously did not wish to share. For his part, Jim wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to say more. He knew Spock would understand and support him any way he could—but part of him wanted to deal with this on his own. It just felt… something about it was too uncomfortable to share, even with Spock. Something he’d been feeling more and more since the… since the switch.

In all the years he’d known Spock, he had never come across an experience or emotion that he felt he couldn’t share with his so capable and surprisingly (at first) relatable first officer… until now. How could Spock possibly understand this? How could he relate to how it felt to be reduced to nothing more than the body you’re inhabiting—what could Spock understand about living inside a female body in a sometimes misogynistic world? The entire situation was just too difficult even to explain and try to make Spock understand, so Jim decided to just let it go — if it became a problem with Prime Minister Toruk, he’d deal with it on his own.

***

The trouble began almost before the away team had even finished materializing. Jim felt the burning heat on his skin, an atmospheric concern they had picked up in their weather reports. Of everyone in the away team, Spock was sure to be the most comfortable. It was, as they say, ‘hotter than Vulcan.’

A group of Morusians, all male and all quite humanoid, Jim noted, were waiting a few feet away. One stepped toward them, leaving the rest of the group. He had a short cropped beard and was wearing a more elaborate hat than the rest, complete with long, colorful robes and a sash of some kind of metallic gold fabric. This must be the prime minister, thought Jim.

But as Jim stepped forward to meet the eagerly approaching prime minister, who already had one hand extended in welcome, he was surprised to see the minister blow right past him. He’d stopped in front of Spock instead, had grabbed the first officer by one hand, and was vigorously shaking it in greeting.

“Ah, yes—Captain Kirk,” he exclaimed in a deep baritone. “Welcome to Morus III. I am honored to welcome the Federation to our planet on this momentous—“

Jim cleared his throat, stepping toward the prime minister and placing one hand on his shoulder to get the man’s attention.

“Um, excuse me,” he said.

The minister turned, taken aback by the interruption. When his eyes met Jim’s, his expression shifted from confusion to open irritation. “Yes, yes, what is it? Can you not see I am busy?”

Jim looked at Spock, who appeared frozen. His eyes had gone wide, and he now took this moment of distraction as an opportunity to quickly withdraw his hand and take a step back from the minister. He cleared his throat and quickly smoothed his uniform to gather himself.

“Prime Minister Toruk, it is an honor to meet you,” Spock said. “But I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding. I am Commander Spock, First Officer of the Enterprise. This,” he gestured toward Jim, “is Captain Kirk.”

Toruk looked back and forth between them, stuttering. “Ah, oh, I see. Ah,” he seemed to gather himself, and then smiled, then chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, I see. A joke? The Federation greets its new friends in good humor, ha ha!” he laughed, turning back toward his group of delegates and waving the Enterprise party to follow behind.

“A female captain! Very funny, indeed. You all come, we will go to my house, where a meal is prepared. There will be time for many more jokes and entertainments there.”

“Ah, Prime Minister, I assure you it is not a joke—“ Spock began, but Jim put a hand to his chest and shook his head, a silent cue to just let it go for now.

“Let’s get out of this heat, at least,” Jim said. “We can sort it out once we’re inside.”

The banquet hall was lavishly decorated, draped in gold fabrics and glittering jewels. As they sat down, Jim noted the women servants wandering amongst the party guests, offering trays of food and drink. They were all half-naked, barely covered in tightly fitting skirts and tops better suited for a pool party than a welcome gala. He couldn’t help but notice that aside from himself and Uhura, there were no other feminine faces seated around the table.

Prime Minister Toruk seated himself across the table from Jim and Spock. Before he could speak, Jim quickly jumped in.

“Prime Minister,” he said, clasping his hands on the table before him and squaring his shoulders in a posture that he hoped made him look bigger than the tiny frame he know inhabited. “I’m not sure where you got your information regarding my crew, but I must apologize for any confusion. I am Captain Kirk. This,” he gestured in Spock’s direction, “is my first officer, Mr. Spock.”

Toruk’s brow furrowed, replacing the cheerful smile he’d been wearing before. “Starfleet must be sorely lacking in proper leadership skill if it allows females to rise to the rank of captain.”

Jim felt Spock bristle next to him and pressed a hand to his side under the table. Let it go… I was warned about him, he thought, hoping Spock was listening.

And you chose not to share this with me?  The question stung a little, but Jim ignored it.

Before he could reply, Uhura had leaned forward from her end of the table. “Excuse me? Some of Starfleet’s most decorated officers are female.”

“Lieutenant, please,” Jim shot her a look before turning his attention back to Toruk. “She’s right, prime minister. In our culture, men and women have the same rights and expectations for success. There’s no difference.” Ideally speaking, he thought.

“Ha ha,” Toruk sat tall in his chair, grinning. “But she is only a Lieutenant, I hear? A nice decoration for your senior officers to enjoy on duty, no doubt.” He leered in Uhura’s direction. “Such a pretty face.”

Uhura recoiled with an expression of disgust but didn’t say anything further.

“Ah,” Toruk exclaimed, “Dinner has arrived.”

The dinner was mostly eaten in silence, with Toruk offering Spock a succession of progressively more alcoholic cocktails. He seemed intrigued by the Vulcan’s unique features and apparent ability to drink anyone under the table. Jim was annoyed to find himself mostly ignored, but couldn’t help but be amused when the minister called a waiter over to offer Spock what must have been his tenth drink.

“Bring our Vulcan friend something stronger, yes! We will show him how real Morusians drink, ha ha!”

Jim tapped a finger to Spock’s side. He has no idea you can’t get drunk on alcohol, does he?

It would appear not. Though it is preferable that he is entertained, yes?

I’m good with it.

Finally, after the dessert plates had all been carried away, and Spock had still failed to become intoxicated, Toruk abruptly stood from the table.

“We were pleased to welcome our new Federation friends. The evening has grown late.”

Jim stood, nodding with his most diplomatic smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, prime minister. We—“

“My good friend, Mister Spock,” Toruk cut him off mid-sentence, moved away from the table, and gestured for Spock to follow.

Spock shot a glance in Jim’s direction, not sure how to proceed. Jim sighed, pointed after Toruk for Spock to follow. “See what he wants…” he said under his breath, tossing his napkin unceremoniously on his plate. Everyone else began to tentatively rise to their feet. Uhura shot him a look, and he shook his head. Just let it go. What was the point if he couldn’t even get the man to acknowledge him long enough to part ways?

As they neared the doors leading back out into the grounds of the palace, Toruk laughed, slapping Spock on the back as if they were old friends, before turning his attention back to the rest of the crew. Jim quivered with anger, but tried not to show it. Spock could take care of himself and would put this buffoon in his place if need be. In any case, the prime minister was obviously more than a little drunk.

The rest of the away party made their way quickly to the beam out point, but Jim hung back, hoping for one last chance to make an impression on their host.

“Prime minister,” he said, approaching the man as he returned up the path. The away team all stood nearby, and Spock was already speaking into his communicator for Scotty to stand by for beam out.

“Ah, yes,” Toruk replied. “Captain… Kirk, ha ha!” He chuckled, raising his eyebrows incredulously at the title as if it were a very funny joke. “I hope you enjoyed our little party.”

Jim straightened his back, balling his fists at his sides. “You know, I can’t say that I did, prime minister,” he said. “I don’t appreciate your deference to my first officer over myself or your tendency to interrupt me mid-sentence. However funny you may think it to be, I am captain of the Enterprise, and I am the one in command of my crew. In the future, I hope that you—“

“You are very pretty, you know,” Toruk said, speaking loud enough for everyone in the away team to hear.

Jim sputtered, caught off guard at being interrupted yet again. “I— what?”

“You should use those pretty lips more for kissing, rather than speaking.”

He stepped closer to Jim, grabbed him by one arm, and leaned in suddenly.

Jim reacted on instinct, ducking to the opposite side of Toruk’s body and twisting his arm to get free of the man’s handhold. The prime minister stumbled but steadied himself. He then began to laugh, as if it was all a big joke. Jim had situated himself so that he was now between Toruk and the away team.

He realized suddenly that Spock had leapt from the beam out area and come to stand next to him. Jim could hear him breathing, seething with controlled rage.

“How dare you, sir?” Spock spoke through gritted teeth. He shot a glance at Jim, meeting his eyes. “Captain?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

Without another word, they returned to the team, and Jim gave the order. “Scotty, five to beam up.” Toruk was still grinning after them as they dematerialized into nothing.

***

Jim slumped into the lift, relieved to finally be alone.

“Level 7!” he huffed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

A hand appeared between the doors just as they were about to close, causing the auto-safety to open them again. Jim nearly cursed under his breath. But when he blinked and looked closer, he realized he knew this hand quite well, and as the doors parted, Jim was grateful to see they revealed Spock. He must have visibly hunched with a sigh of relief, because he immediately recognized a glimmer of amusement through their bond, and there was a subtle smirk on Spock’s face as he entered the lift and quickly ordered the doors closed again.

“Captain, are you well?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

Jim got the sense that Spock wanted to say more, but was choosing to keep his mouth shut. He could almost feel the waves of anger and irritation rolling off of him… Jim squinted, trying to zero in on the words that were flickering through Spock’s open consciousness. But he’d never been good at reading things on Spock’s mind that weren’t being specifically projected toward him. He was only human after all… It was something like… ‘not right.’

Not right? What do you mean?

No right. He had no right.

Jim gasped, turning to face Spock in amazement. The Vulcan looked up, seemingly caught off guard. He had been lost in his own thoughts, not paying attention to Jim’s analysis of his open mind, it seemed.

Jim’s astonishment must have shown on his face because Spock was frowning at him, confused.

“You were jealous?” Jim said, amazed.

Spock blinked, and Jim felt the little flutter of locks falling into place, shuttering the Vulcan’s naked mind.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Jim sighed, reaching to take Spock’s hand in his own. “It’s just unusual for you is all. Never known you to exhibit jealousy or… possessiveness… or anything like that before.”

Spock was slowly turning a deeper shade of green around his neck and ear tips. “It is not a matter of jealousy, Jim.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“No,” Spock shook his head. “It is… I was experiencing the emotion of anger on your behalf. The idea that he thinks he had the right to disrespect you the way he did all through dinner, and then to all but attack you—“

Jim stopped him mid-sentence with a kiss to Spock’s mouth—eliciting a hum of confusion and then, appreciation. Jim laughed through their mind-link, amused by the quickness and ease with which this action shifted the Vulcan’s emotional state. He went from agitated and displeased to calm and interested in the space of two heartbeats.

Jim pulled away just far enough to speak in the now slowing lift. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Mister. Believe me, I was ready to punch him in the mouth by the end of it. I’m just glad the niceties are over. Tomorrow we can put that aside, and get down to the real negotiations. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’m exhausted.”

Spock nodded, and Jim could have sworn he saw his shoulders dip as if under the weight of the day.

“I am also quite fatigued,” Spock admitted. They were both grateful when the doors of the lift parted to reveal the familiar corridor housing Jim’s quarters.

At the door, Spock hesitated. “You are very tired, t’hy’la. Perhaps I should—“ Jim didn’t let go of his hand, and half-tugged him into the room without a word spoken aloud. Please stay. Jim thought, hoping Spock would understand. We never have this anymore. I need it now. I need you close.

His thought was met with a sense of warmth, affection, and color palettes of red and purple—the colors most often radiating from Spock’s mind when he was in a satisfied (what Jim would call “happy” but of course Spock would never admit to being so) mood.

Without another word between them, either spoken or thought-projected — they were both just humming with a familiar intimate thought-space now—they both undressed and fell into bed.

“Lights,” Jim managed to say, dimming the lighting in the sleeping alcove to dark purple shadows that cast Spock’s face in deep contrast. Spock’s prominent cheekbones and the sharp lines of his eyebrows and nose always seemed to elongate in this light—making him look even more severe than usual. For at least the ten thousandth time, Jim thought, My god, you are beautiful. How did I get so lucky as to be chosen by someone so shockingly, breathtakingly beautiful?

Spock sighed in his sleep, shifting closer to Jim. His eyes parted into dark slits, and Jim could only marvel again at this new beauty—those eyes. They were so versatile. In them, Jim had seen a myriad of expressions over the years—incredible compassion, tenderness, acceptance; but also a ruthless drive for achievement, almost terrifying brilliance, awe, and above all, intelligence. There was absolutely nothing else like gazing into Spock’s eyes. He felt he could become lost there, never to return to consciousness, and be perfectly satisfied with that. They had shared mind-melds in the past that weren’t far off from just such an experience.

“Jim,” Spock said, shattering the steady hum of the ship’s engines that passed for silence on the Enterprise. “What is wrong?”

“You’re just so beautiful.”

Spock blinked. “Is this a problem?”

Jim chuckled into the pillow upon which he was resting, turning his cheek into its soft plushness. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Something is troubling you?”

Jim huffed again, more derisive than genuinely amused this time. “No kidding. Where to start?”

“Yes, but you must put those thoughts aside for now and seek rest.”

“I know. I just… Can’t seem to shut my brain off right now.”

“That is not the way to think of it. Do not stop thinking. Simply, ease your thinking into a more reflective state, without any prominent, active thoughts.”

Jim sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not sure human brains work like that.”

They lay in silence for a few moments.

“You’re just so beautiful,” Jim found himself repeating.

Spock stirred at his side, gentle curiosity coursing through the link.

“You used to tell me how beautiful you thought I was, all the time,” Jim said. “Do you remember?”

Alarm and confusion from Spock, before he sat up, leaning on one elbow, to look over at Kirk.

“Jim, what do you mean? You are beautiful to me now. You are beautiful to me always. You are t’hy’la.”

“I know,” Jim sighed. “But it’s different now, isn’t it?” He paused, remembering. “You used to send me images during our melds. Mental pictures of my own eyes, hands, hair…” he flashed a grin Spock’s way before going on, “…my ass, if you were feeling really adventurous.”

Spock blinked.

“You’d send me these images of myself connected with emotions—colors… thoughts. You’d lavish me with praise and appreciation all tied to different parts of myself. And then when the meld ended you’d cover all those parts of me in kisses and we’d make love.”

Spock remained thoughtful; silent.

“All those parts of me are gone now. I’m never getting them back. They’re dead.”

“Jim.”

“It still doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking, ‘oh, when this is all over, when I get my body back…’ it’s like I’m in denial or something… this is how it’s going to be forever, for the rest of my life, but some part of me still can’t accept that. I refuse to fully believe it.”

“Jim.”

“I hate this body—it isn’t me. It isn’t the me you wanted to be with, and I just…”

This time Spock’s voice was firm; louder, “Jim!”

He rolled over, hovering over Jim, his hands pressed firmly into the best alongside both arms. “You are not your body. You are your mind, and your mind is here.” One hand rose to touch Jim’s temple, sending shivers down his neck.

“I know that,” Jim huffed, turning away from Spock’s touch. “But I—“

“It would seem you do not.”

“It’s not the same!” he shouted. “Stop acting like nothing has changed!”

Spock frowned. “I am very much aware that many things have changed, Jim. I am not in denial of that.”

“No, but you’re taking this far too well!” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Like it’s… like it’s not a big deal for you or something. Like it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Spock replied in an even tone. Always patient. Always calm. Ordinarily, Jim would find this steadying… but right now it made him want to scream.

“Ugh,” Jim sighed. “You know what I mean. I don’t know. You just were so.. Accepting… immediately—like it was no big deal for you—like you didn’t care either way.“

“Either way, in regard to what?”

Jim pressed his head into the pillow as if he could sink into it and away from this conversation. He was willing Spock to understand what he was trying to say without saying it aloud. Because to speak it aloud was to demand a real, final answer. And the thought of what that answer might be terrified him.

Spock grasped his shoulders, forcing him to look up again. “What are you asking of me, t’hy’la?”

“Do you even like women?” Jim sputtered, unable to look Spock in the eye. “Females, I mean. Do you even like them?”

Spock frowned, loosening his grip on Jim’s arms. “Like them?”

“Are you attracted to them? I mean…” he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “You know… are you sexually attracted to them?”

Spock remained quiet, unsure how to respond.

“I do not know,” he said finally. “I have never given the concept much thought.”

Jim choked on a laugh, rolling over onto his side, away from Spock. “No, I guess you haven’t.”

“But why do you ask, Jim? I do not see why it should matter.”

“Are you serious?” Jim did laugh now, turning to face Spock. “In case you hadn’t noticed…”

Spock stopped him, placing one large hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Jim, you are not this body. The type of body you inhabit has no bearing on my attraction or undying affection for you. I assure you, Ashayam.” He paused, reflecting. “We have discussed this previously. I thought I had made that quite clear.”

Jim shook his head, dismissing the comment. “It’s a nice sentiment, Spock. But the reality is—“

Again Spock cut him off, shaking his head vigorously. “No. This is my reality. You are Jim Kirk. You are my t’hy’la. We share a mind-link and a life bond. You are mine and I am yours and that is unchanged.”

Jim looked at him in disbelief. “You can’t really mean it makes absolutely no difference to you? That’s not…”

“Captain.” Spock raised one finger to Jim’s chin, coaxing him to look up and make eye contact. “Those images I used to express adoration through the mind-link. It was only to give my affection some frame of reference your mind could interpret. Those parts of you were cherished, and I mourn their loss just as you do, but they were never what defined you, or what caused me to desire you.”

He traced the edge of Jim’s face, cupping his cheek. “You are here. You are still you. And I am eternally grateful for this body—because it has allowed your continued existence and consciousness. I cherish this body now, for the same reasons I once cherished that other. Because it contains that which is most precious to me in all of this universe—your person.”

Well, Jim had no response for that. It was a rare occasion for Spock to be so vocal in his affections, but Jim guessed he had pushed him to it, after all. Feeling so fragile and in need of reassurance made him feel pathetic and needy. Ugh, when had he become so weak?

“You are not weak, Captain.”

“Stop that,” Jim said.

Spock didn’t look up. He had already begun working his way down Jim’s neck, leaving little kisses as he went. He muttered over the place he was currently mouthing at Jim’s throat, “Stop what?” he asked innocently.

You know what… Jim thought the words without saying them out loud, part of the joke.

A shimmer of amusement radiated from Spock. He continued the path of kisses across Jim’s collarbone, nuzzling alongside one breast, and Jim sighed at the familiar feeling of Spock’s inhumanly hot breath on his own sensitive skin. Spock raised his head long enough to press a kiss to Jim’s mouth, and that was all it took for Jim to forget himself, forget all the reasons things hadn’t gone this far in over a week now between them—he suddenly felt hungry for more contact and did nothing to hide that fact from Spock.

His arms came up around Spock’s shoulders, fingers pressing into his back, pulling Spock closer. Their mouths were busy devouring one another and as Spock’s hot tongue pressed into his mouth again, Jim let out a little appreciative moan that he hardly recognized as his own voice. It’s not your own voice, if you want to get technical about it, he thought, almost amused by the realization.

“Yes, it is,” Spock growled through gritted teeth, and it took a beat for Jim to realize what he was responding to. Before he could reply, Spock’s head dipped away again, joining the strong hands that had been busy supporting and squeezing the handfuls of flesh on the front of Jim’s chest that he’d had little interest in before tonight. Though he had to admit… the way Spock was touching them just now was making them much more interesting…

Long, delicate fingers traced patterns in the flesh, gradually hardening nipples between thumb and forefinger.

Jim took a steadying breath, unable to process the myriad of sensations that seemed to be happening all at once.

Encouraged by what seemed to be a positive response, Spock took the next obvious step, dipping his mouth once again towards Jim’s body and laving his tongue across the now pink and swollen nipple.

“Ah!” Jim flailed in surprise, flinching away.

“Jim, I—“ Spock began, reaching for him as Jim shuffled away across the bed.

“What the hell was that!” Jim shouted, immediately regretting it. “Ah,” he stammered, stumbling to get up. “I’m sorry.” He put his face in his hands and sighed.

“Jim,” Spock spoke his name in that steadying timbre that radiated calm and surety. “I apologize. I will not do that again if you do not wish. Please sit down.”

“It’s fine,” Jim said, his face still in his hands. “It’s my fault.”

He could have sworn he heard Spock audibly sigh.

“None of this is your fault, Captain.” He rose from the bed and pulled Jim to him, towering over him in a steadying hug. He leaned forward, whispering into Jim’s ear. “But do please come back to bed.”

Jim hesitated, taking note of the slight tremble that seemed to be running through his entire body, like a hum under the surface. And something else. His breath caught in his throat at the realization.

“Jim?” Spock asked. “Are you all right?”

“I think…” he paused, tensed his muscles to be sure he was feeling what he thought he was feeling… “Spock, I am…” he turned to face Spock, pressing his forehead into the Vulcan’s chest. “I am really wet right now. I think I’m… I am really turned on.”

“I know,” Spock said plainly, as if that were obvious.

“Well, I didn’t!” Jim snapped. “I mean… I don’t know… Everything feels so different. And strange.” He shook his head, burrowing deeper into Spock’s chest, one familiar comfort in the face of so much weirdness. Spock hadn’t changed. Spock was the same, and how Spock felt about him was the same. Despite all the evidence pointing to that being so, Jim was still having a hard time believing it.

“Jim,”

“What,” he grunted, rubbing his cheek against the warmth of Spock’s chest. He could feel the Vulcan’s heartbeat thumping against his own side, and that familiar drumming was a steadying rhythm to the fluttering uncertainty in his own chest.

Spock’s voice was quiet but firm. “I recall a time, not so long ago, when our places were somewhat reversed.”

Jim froze, listening intently.

“A very different situation in some ways, but similar in more ways than one. I was terrified, though I would not have admitted it then, but nonetheless I desired what was to happen. I desired you.”

Jim looked up, meeting Spock’s dark, gentle eyes.

“The first time you touched me, it took all the courage within me not to flee the room in terror, and all of your patience and comforting words to stay me. I was frightened and ashamed, thinking myself somehow less Vulcan by giving into such a physical need.”

“Spock… you never told me this…”

“But you steadied me, and you reassured me that I was safe, and treasured, and wanted. And in so doing, you allowed me to express that which I had so wanted to express, but had not previously trusted myself to express. And that has been thus far one of the most singularly rewarding experiences of my existence.”

Jim couldn’t believe his ears. Spock, his logical Vulcan first officer, was speaking openly about feelings and fear and desire. He was meeting Jim halfway, speaking in human terms in order to relate his own experience to what Jim was feeling just now.

Spock raised one hand to Jim’s cheek, brushing his fingers there. It sent a shiver of mental clarity between their link, radiating comfort and understanding.

Words came directly into Jim’s mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

You are cherished, and wanted, and I wish to please you, however you wish to be pleased.

Jim crumpled into Spock, putting all his weight on him. “I don’t even know how Spock. I don’t know what I’ll like…”

“Then we can discover that together.”

He lifted Jim off his feet, cradling him in his arms, and turned, laying him down on the bed.

“Do you recall the first time we did this?” Spock asked, muttering along Jim’s neck in a new trail of kisses.

“Of course, I do,” Jim said. “Though maybe not in the same photo-realistic detail you’re capable of…”

Spock seemed to be of the same line of thinking, because he raised outstretched fingers to Jim’s face without another word.

The image burst into Jim’s brain instantly, crystal clear. Spock on his back, right here in this bed, stroking himself to orgasm while Jim straddled him, whispering sweet encouragements in one bright green ear.

“Now you try,” Spock whispered in the here and now. Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, Jim thought.

It proved effective in my case… Spock replied, blowing hot breath on Jim’s naked stomach, pressing a kiss into the soft flesh there.

And there was something happening, Jim thought. He could feel that little thrum of energy building between his legs, and an urge to do something about it.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But no promises… I don’t know how this is going to…”

“Jim,” Spock sighed. “There are no obligations, and no expectations.”

It was what he’d told Spock all those months ago, that first night—that first time. Shit. Okay.

Find the clit and go in little circles. That much he remembered. Though he’d certainly never experienced it from this perspective before. Still, it seemed to be working. He let his hands wander, exploring, but always returning to that extra sensitive little bundle of nerves that seemed to be building in energy with each passing second. His breath had started to come in soft little pants as he found something like an even rhythm.

All the while there was Spock, long gentle fingers clasping and smoothing over his sensitive skin. His legs, his face, his hips—it seemed Spock’s hands were everywhere but there, giving him the space he needed to experiment and get used to his own reactions. Jim shifted his legs, readjusting, and brushed up against Spock, realizing suddenly that he was hard, his cock pressed tightly against the inside of his pants. The Vulcan completely ignored his own need, dipping his head to kiss Jim’s now pliant lips once more.

“Ashayam, you are doing very well. I think you may have relief soon.”

Jim let out a small cry then, gasping into Spock’s warm mouth.

“You must continue, t’hy’la. Just a bit more.”

“Ungh, Spock…” Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing—Spock never talked like this. It was unbelievably hot.

The muscles of his thighs tightened, and his hips involuntarily bucked upwards, causing him to collide with Spock’s erect cock again.

“Spock, oh my god; take your pants off.”

A pause—they both grew quiet for a beat. Spock’s hand brushed against Jim’s cheek, again flooding his mind with images and reassurances.

Jim, I can wait.

Spock’s other hand dropped to Jim’s thigh, coaxing it outward. Jim hummed at the touch, and the delicious pressure in the muscles of his inner thighs. All the while his fingers had been circling the clit again, and he was definitely on the edge of something, if he could just hold on maybe Spock would…

“Jim…”

An image of Spock coming beneath him in his mind was what finally took him over the edge. A tightening of muscles lead to a spasm that seemed to engulf the entire lower half his body—his toes curled, throbbing pleasure suddenly the only thing that mattered.

“Ah, Spock—oh gods—” he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore; all was sensation—the warmth of Spock’s hands holding his body gently, the slick of his own fingers massaging him into pure oblivion, eventually giving way to a delicious heaviness that weighed him down.

He collapsed, lay back, and breathed deeply.

The seconds ticked by, and then he realized something. He couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the thought, and let out a little laugh before rolling over to cuddle into Spock’s side.

“Is something amusing, Captain?” Spock said.

“I have no refractory period,” he said nonchalantly. He sat up on his knees, and shot Spock a look. The Vulcan appeared perplexed; then intrigued.

“Ah,” Spock said, uncertain. “Then you,” he rolled onto his side. “You are not finished?”

Jim shook his head. He sat up, rolled over to straddle Spock, and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “You’ve been very patient, Mister.”

He began to work at the fastening of Spock’s pants, tugging them down to reveal a weeping cock that was obviously starved for attention. Jim didn’t waste any more time. He sat up on his knees, lining them up carefully.

“Jim,” Spock said. “There will be other times; you do not have to…”

“Shhh,” it was Jim’s turn to give reassurances. “Just relax. I got this.”

It felt right to be on top again, Jim thought. He felt a ripple of amusement from Spock through the link, paired up with mental images of all the times he’d taken Spock like this before, pounding him into the bed without a care in the world. As the orgasm took them both, Jim took Spock’s hands in his own, and as he had many times before, interlaced their fingers, pinning their hands overhead.

At the end of the day, Jim thought, this wasn’t so different. It was still the two of them, lost in each other’s embrace. Wrapped up in each other’s minds. Never and always touching and touched.

They would deal with Toruk tomorrow. But for now, Jim was finally starting to feel a little more right in this new skin. And that was enough.