Archive of Our Own

Jim dropped his tray onto the table with a clatter. Bones looked up at him, annoyed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked after he swallowed, because Bones was a gentleman like that. Jim gave him a look and slumped down into his seat, grabbing his own sandwich and taking a bite. He sighed, noticed that a girl a few seats away from him was all but drooling onto her PADD and then sighed again.

Bones followed the line of his sight and raised his eyebrows. “You’re upset about the Prince visiting?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I thought you’d be excited. I’d thought you’d be making a plan for how you were going to get him alone so you could seduce him.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “No one here’s going to seduce him,” he said. “Vulcans have got that permanent life-bond thing everyone’s talking about.”

“Ah ha!” Bones exclaimed. “You’re upset because he’s immune to your charms! All your plans for bedding royalty, ruined.”

This was closer to the mark than Jim would like.

When the Vulcan Prince’s visit to Earth had first been announced, everyone had been in an uproar. Aliens were pretty common-place these days; every city with a shuttle port was used to its fair share of Andorians, Orions, Betazoids and so on. But there was something about the reclusive Vulcans that fascinated people– the strong, vastly intelligent warrior race, with their mysterious religion and garb that spoke to times long gone by.

Translations of their epic poetry were popular among the romantic and would-be warriors alike. Fake Vulcan religious artifacts were sold alongside Betazoid goddess statues and Andorian holy bells in ‘spirituality’ shops. And romance novels with strong muscled Vulcan men pinning Humans against walls or sweeping them over their shoulder sold in record numbers.

On top of all of that, they had royalty. Despite having rid themselves of most of their last remaining monarchy (Bhutan still had a king apparently, but he wasn’t affiliated with the Pan-Asian Congress), hundreds of years previously, Humans still had a fascination with royalty.

Anyway, when the media had had a field day announcing the visit of Prince Spock, even Jim had indulged in the odd daydream about the strapping long-haired warrior sweeping him up in his arms and pinning him to a wall. It was pretty hard to avoid, what with the photos the media showed; the prince was lean but fit, and the traditional Vulcan princely attired didn’t leave a lot to the imagination, showing most of his muscled chest, impressive abdomen, bulging biceps, and the black royal tattoo that swirled across his chest and up his back and made you want to trace it’s line with your tongue. Okay, made Jim want to trace it’s lines with his tongue.

It’s when they learned the prince was coming to visit Starfleet Academy that everyone really got going about it. You couldn’t have a conversation without someone mentioning the prince’s visit and probably drooling a little. It seemed like everyone was reading and sighing over those Vulcan romance novels, to the point where one of his professors had to confiscate three of them in class one day (it was Rules and Regulations, so Jim totally got it, but still).

It had been Uhura who’d really got her classmates’ imaginations going, though. Fed up with the salivating of her classmates, she’d snapped and informed one particularly swoon-prone classmate that Prince Spock would not be sweeping her off her feet, as Vulcans did not do casual sex– they had permanent bondmates, t’hy’la, who they recognized as soon as they met. Their souls cried out to each other, Uhura decidedly did not say, and they were drawn together as inevitably as a moon caught in a gravitational pull.

A bit of research confirmed that not only was Uhura correct (and of course she was– no one would ever question her xeno-cultural knowledge) but that Prince Spock had not yet met his t’hy’la. Any of them could be the one! They’d become princes or princesses, tied to a rich powerful family which could make all their dreams come true.

Uhura rolled her eyes and stomped her foot and tried to explain that no Human could be a Vulcan bondmate– Humans did not have a high enough psi rating, nor did they have a katra. Alas, the flurry had begun, hordes of students running out into the city to investigate patchouli-scented stores for fake Vulcan meditation aids to help them shine up their katras so they would be extra attractive to Spock.

“That’s not how that works at all!” Uhura complained. “Humans don’t even have katras!”

No one listened. Except Jim, who tried to be a comforting presence and possibly a shoulder for her to cry on, and, if she was interested in any of his other body parts… Needless to say, she gave him a scornful look at the suggestion, followed it up with a threat of bodily harm, adjusted her already impeccable uniform and marched off to hide herself in the linguistics library until all of this had blown over.

“I would like you to escort Prince Spock around campus,” Admiral Pike said.

Jim blinked at him. He had stayed awake too late studying and clearly hadn’t had enough coffee.

“Excuse me?”

“I seem to remember you’d studied a little Vulcan,” Pike continued.

This was true. At the time Jim had been trying to get into the pants of a boy with a major Vulcan obsession and had memorized a few stanzas from ‘Tavaan and T’Lome’, one of the more romanic Vulcan epics. Of course he couldn’t just memorize the sounds, he had to know the words, and what the words meant and then he’d gotten interested in the grammar and when he came up for air the boy had gone off with a girl who, rather horrifically had a pair of fake Vulcan ears and wore them around campus, but by that point Jim was more or less conversationally fluent. He knew that because sometimes he talked to Uhura in Vulcan because it irritated her when he revealed himself to be more intelligent than he looked.

He shrugged. “I can say a few things. But why me? Why not Uhura? She definitely knows way more than I do.”

Pike sighed. “I was going to ask Uhura, but when I was approaching her I overheard her complaining about the Prince’s visit, and I’d honestly appreciate having someone a little more enthusiastic about the whole thing.”

Jim nodded. He considered telling Pike that Uhura wasn’t upset about the Prince visiting but all the fangirls and boys, but didn’t. It would irritate the hell out of her if Jim was asked to be her escort not him. Plus, that was Jim would get to spend some quality time in proximity to those abs.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said, and went to do research into Vulcan etiquette, i.e. lurk nearby while an increasingly frustrated Uhura fielded questions from excited cadets worried about how, when the prince had discovered that they were his t’hy’la, they were supposed to: greet their new parents-in-law, attend a fancy Vulcan dinner, speak kindly to their new subjects, discuss floral arrangements with their new maids, etc.

The next two days passed swiftly and before Jim knew it he was dressed in his itchy dress uniform, standing at the end of an impressive line of captains and admirals and such, while the Prince’s sleek shuttle touched down on the landing pad.

A moment later, the ramp extended and the pageantry began, two severe-looking Vulcans exiting the craft and looking around suspiciously, lirpa held tightly in one hand, fantastically ornamented pulse cannons tucked into their waist-sashes. Finally, satisfied that the arrayed humans posed no threat, they took position at either side of the end of the ramp and shouted a salute in Vulcan and the rest of the party began descending; an older Vulcan, in what Jim recognized as scholar’s robes, two quiet-looking Vulcans in plainer garb Jim assumed were servants, and finally, the prince himself.

The holos had not lied. The prince was fit. His main garment appeared to be a long piece of cloth pleated around his waist and then thrown over his shoulder, in the manner of a great kilt or a sari, leaving one half of that glorious chest exposed, the deep iridescent blue of the garment perfectly accentuating his golden-green skin. Over that, over his shoulders he wore the fur of a le-matya as a cloak, pinned around his shoulders with a jeweled chain. A tattoo, all abstract shapes and Vulcan letters, swirled up his exposed side, down his arm and up his neck, covering the shaved side of his head, while the hair on the other side was braided back, twined with jewels and gold chain, to show of the intricate gold cuff that ran down the lobe of his pointed ears.

His exposed nipple was pierced with a gold hoop, dear gods. Golden rings hung from his patrician nose and sharp eyebrow. His sharp brown eyes examined the officers standing before him, assessing them, noticing everything, Jim suspected; the shabbiness of some of the older uniforms, the tell-tale circles under her eyes that meant that Admiral Chu was having trouble sleeping again, the way that Captain Belai was favoring her leg.

The prince inclined his head as each of the officers was introduced to him, the scholar pretending to translate, although from what Jim could gather, the Vulcan he spoke was not a translation, but commentary. The prince spoke Human standard, Jim was pretty sure. He was careful not too, but he still twitched when Admiral Nogura began complaining about the youths, and he definitely suppressed a smirk when Admiral Archer asked about Vulcan pets and then began to sing the praises of dogs, offering to obtain one for the prince with one if he was at all interested.

“It would make a good meal for I-Chaya,” the scholar commented in Vulcan.

“I’d hate to expose her to foreign pathogens,” the prince replied.

Finally, it was Jim’s turn. He was glad he’d gotten so long to recover from the shock of seeing the prince’s bare chest (nipple ring!), but he still wasn’t prepared to look up into his sharp brown eyes.

“James, family name Kirk, one of our finest cadets,” Pike introduced. “We thought the prince might enjoy some company his own age.”

“He looks intelligent,” the scholar commented. Jim tried not to preen.

“Do you think so? Perhaps too pretty to be so intelligent.”

The prince was still inspecting Jim, so he didn’t miss it when Jim’s eyes went wide at that.

“And you speak Vulcan,” he added.

“A little,” Jim admitted. He had been going to pretend his Vulcan was nearly non-existent so he could enjoy listening in on their side conversation. “Us pretty folk have to have something to do when we’re not being admired.”

The Vulcan prince arched an eyebrow slightly. Jim took it as amusement.

“Perhaps Jim could take you on a tour? Show you what life is like for cadets here?” Pike prompted.

Jim had gotten strict instructions on this; to only show the prince the most state of the art buildings and avoid the falling-apart monstrosity that was the Hall of Higher Mathematics or the meant-to-be-temporary-but-never-replaced trailers that served the very meager xeno-cultural department.

He had even been provided with a dorm room to pretend was his, significantly more luxurious and light-years more clean than the one he shared with Bones.

Jim eyed the prince and thought that he didn’t seem like someone who would be fooled.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?” he asked.

“The prince is quite fond of Human art,” the scholar said.

“You’ve come to the wrong place,” Jim commented, confused.

“I have already had an exclusive tour of the Louvre and of the Forbidden Palace in Beijing,” the prince said, dismissively. “I would like to learn more about what your life is like.”

“My life?” Jim asked, surprised.

“Human students in general.”

“Huh,” Jim said. “Well, I guess I can show you what a normal day is like?”

The prince nodded.

“That would be adequate.”

So they left, Jim leading, the scholar and the prince with him, the bodyguards trailing behind. The servants stayed with the ship.

The prince (“please, call me Spock”) looked around at the campus with interest, asking questions about the plants (which Jim was not quite suited to answer), the architectural style (which he was completely unsuited to answer), about the classes, flight simulation training, how they prepared for other types of atmospheres, and then, discovering Jim was studying engineering, increasingly complex questions about new developments in engine design.

When his interested in engineering became clear, Jim diverted them from their path towards the fake dorm room towards the engineering building, where he knew Scotty, Pavel, and Gaila were working on their transporter array. Once the engineering building and berth had been inspected by the guards, and the cadets patted down for hidden weapons, Jim introduced them and the project and soon Spock and Scotty were in a heated argument about the properties of space-time, the prince having stopped pretending not to understand Human standard, Pavel throwing in his two cents to whichever side he felt like supporting at the time, and Gaila standing next to Jim, elbowing him in the gut occasionally, and sending him salacious looks.

This went on until the scholar, clearly used to this behavior, interrupted to suggest that it might be wise to get some food. Spock insisted on visiting the campus cafeteria, despite warnings that the food was subpar (Pavel, still disgruntled at the lack of Russian food), that the cafeteria was an unsecured location (the guards, clearly very anxious about their prince getting attacked by xenophobes), and that it would be full of fanboys and fangirls, who had been easily avoided in the engineering building, but who would be out in full force now (Jim).

Spock did not understand Jim’s concern.

“Many humans find Vulcans very, uh…” Jim began.

“Sexy,” Gaila cut in.

“Romantic,” Jim said.

“Romantic?” Spock repeated, one pointed eyebrow arching.

“Yeah, you know,” Jim said, aware he was beginning to flush red. He gestured vaguely. “Strong, noble warriors. Exotic, uh, clothes. Muscles…”

“Humans do not have muscles?” Spock eyed Jim’s biceps.

“Not on show,” Jim said, gesturing, then wished he could jump in a hole.

“Humans love stories about war and royalty and forbidden love,” Gaila jumped in, bless her. “They like democracy and living comfortably and eating lots of junk food, but they like reading about stories that are different from their lives. Vulcans are very different, so they make good subjects for the stories.”

“And they all think they could be your t’hy’la,” Pavel said. “What?” he asked, when the others gave him a look.

“They wish to be my t’hy’la?” Spock asked, eyes wide. “But they do not know me.”

“It’s a fantasy,” Jim said, feeling helpless to explain.

“But they still all want to meet me?”

“Yes,” they all said. “And they’re going to be annoying about it,” Jim added.

Spock made a gesture that was not quite a shrug, then looked pointedly at his guards.

Jim grinned. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As they’d predicted, the center of campus was a wash in cadets dressed in their best clothes (Jim spotted a few fake Vulcan ears oh my god) and looking like they were trying to pretend they were doing anything other than standing around gawking. The guards walked on either side, idly spinning their lirpa, and Spock remained in conversation, now animatedly discussing bioneural computation with Gaila.

Bones, Uhura and Sulu were waiting for them near the cafeteria, Bones giving a skeptical look to one of the guards while Uhura was scowling at them, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Why does she dislike me?” Spock whispered to Jim.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Jim admitted. “Spock, this is Uhura, the cadet here who is most gifted in languages–” Uhura’s scowl faded a little, “– and Dr. Leonard, family name McCoy, my best friend. Uhura is much better than I at Vulcan, so I thought you might enjoy meeting her, and Leonard can scan any of the food to ensure that you can eat it. He does it for me. And this is Hikaru, family name Sulu. I didn’t invite him. He just shows up places.”

“Pavel invited me,” Sulu said, grinning. “Trying to keep this all to yourself, Jim?”

Spock looked at Jim. “You cannot eat a regular Human diet?”

“Jim is allergic to everything,” Bones said.

Spock looked even more confused. “Then how do you eat?”

“It was hyperbole,” Jim explained, “I’m only allergic to, like twenty things.”

“The twenty most common foods,” Bones muttered.

Jim ignored him, guiding them into the cafeteria and showed Spock how the buffet line worked, describing the food to him while Bones scanned it.

“My mother has often spoken with great fondness of pizza,” Spock commented. “I have been curious about it.”

“Me too,” Jim said, with a sigh. “Unfortunately, dairy is one of my allergies. But there’s vegan pizza– I’m told it’s almost as good.”

Vulcans, it turned out, were severely lactose intolerant (having not had a reason to develop lactose tolerance, there being no mammals on Vulcan) and so Spock joined Jim in taking several slices of vegan-cheese pizza, along with some other foods he ‘had been curious about’.

Jim wondered how it was a Vulcan prince’s mother had been so familiar with Human food, but didn’t think it would be polite to ask. He ushered Spock over to the table Uhura had been reserving for their group with the power of her forbidding stare and in a few minutes they were all sitting, Uhura asking the scholar (whose name, it turned out, was Sylk) about Vulcan history, while Spock meticulously ate his pizza with a fork and knife, finger foods apparently being beyond the pale (when he had seen Jim pick up his pizza in both hands, take a big bite and then lick the extra grease off his fingers he had actually turned a little green and had to tear his eyes away).

The whole time they were doing their best to ignore the fan boys and girls who had crowded into the cafeteria after them and were now treating them as live entertainment– he only managed to resist the urge of standing up and doing a song and dance routine because he was afraid the Vulcan guards might take it as an attack on the prince (Jim was that bad of a singer, admittedly).

Once they had eaten, Spock turned to Jim expectantly. “What else do students here do?” he asked.

“Go to classes,” Jim said.

“Study sessions,” Pavel added.

“Lab hours,” Scotty put in.

“Spend time at the library,” Uhura said.

“Martial arts training,” was Sulu’s contribution.

“Jim here spends a lot of time at the bar.” Bones rested his arm on Jim’s shoulder until Jim shook it off.

“The bar?” asked Spock, curious.

“It is a place where lively social interaction and alcoholic consumption happen,” Jim explained.

“And where you pick up,” Gaila added.

“Pick up what?”

She leered at him. “Whatever you want to pick up. Man, woman, person, Human, non-Human…”

“Why would I want to pick up a man?” Spock asked, slowly.

Gaila chortled.

“‘Pick up’ is slang for ‘find a sexual partner’,” Uhura explained, glaring at her roommate.

Spock turned to Jim. “You do this often?” he asked. “Find sexual partners?”

Jim felt his face turn bright red.

“Uh, I mean, sometimes?” he shrugged. “What do you define as ‘often’, exactly?”

“What is your preference?” Spock continued. “Man, woman, person, Human, non-Human?”

Jim shrugged again. “It’s not about the gender or species,” he said. “It’s, you know, how we get along. The chemistry.”

“Would you like to ‘pick me up’?” Spock asked.

Jim’s eyes darted around, looking for cameras or someone about to jump out of the bushes to shout ‘surprise!’ at him.

“Uh,” he said.

“To be clear, I am asking if you would like to engage in sexual activities with me,” Spock added.

“Uh,” Jim said.

“Sorry,” Gaila said, “you’ve blown his mind.” She shoved Jim in the prince’s direction. “He says ‘yes’.”

Jim nodded, still unable to regain his command of language.

Spock looked doubtful. “I would prefer enthusiastic consent…” he began.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Very enthusiastically. Uh… I don’t…” he looked around, like there might be a bed right there for Spock to ravish him on.

“We could return to my ship,” Spock suggested.

“Uh,” Jim looked at Sylk and the guards, all of whom seemed extremely unconcerned. “Okay.”

“You really want to?” Spock asked.

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I’m just… sorry, I’m really surprised. Like, I’m really into all of this.” He gestured to Spock. “Uh… yeah, let’s go.”

They said goodbye to his variously annoyed, disapproving, and catcalling friends, then followed Spock, Sylk and the guards back to the ship, so caught up in his disbelief that this was happening that he found himself in Spock’s quarters before he really knew it.

Spock gestured to him to sit at a low table and then proceeded to make tea for the both of them.

It was delicate, light in flavor, similar to a white tea with a small amount of spice.

“Jim,” Spock said. “I must stress that you are under no obligations to engage in sexual activities with me.”

“I know that,” Jim said. “I do not feel obliged at all. I’m just… I thought you guys had soulmates or something. T’hy’la.”

Spock was silent for a long moment. “I think the human imagination has perhaps romanticized the truth. In adulthood adult vulcans undergo a… physiological experience which can be deadly if they do not already have a bonded mate. For that reason, children are bonded at a young age, so the vast majority of Vulcan adults already have a bondmate. The stories you have heard, of t’hy’la, are from times before the childhood bonding was common practice. They were bonds that would spontaneously occur between unbonded adults who were extremely compatible. It was especially common among warriors.”

“But then you have a bondmate?” Jim asked.

“I am the rare exception,” Spock explained. “My bondmate and I did not suit and she wished to sever the connection.”

“Which leaves you free to hook up,” Jim said.

“I am sorry, I must misunderstand you. Hook…?”

“Have sexual activities that are not part of a deeper relationship.”

“Ah,” Spock said. “Yes.” He was silent again. “I must clarify. I do not… ‘hook up’ regularly. As you have ascertained, my species is deeply monogamous. But I thought… as you seemed well acquainted with the practice, and as I am attracted to you and you to me, I wished to gain experience.”

“Oh,” Jim said. That certainly reframed things. That the prince might not be as confident as he seemed… that he might be looking to Jim for an education… That made all of this so much hotter. Well, the ball was in his court now.

Jim stood up and rounded the low table, sinking to his knees beside Spock. “I heard Vulcan’s kiss with their hands,” he said. “Will you show me?”

Jim lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, which was beautiful, cream-colored and curved and glowing. It was like being, he thought muzzily, on the inside of an egg. Beside him Spock lay on his side facing him, tracing absent patterns on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Jim whispered.

“If you belonged to my clan, this is the tattoo you would wear,” Spock explained. His own tattoo reached down to his knee, curving around his firm butt and his tight waist and snaking around his muscled thigh. “It would be beautiful on you,” he continued, his touches skimming the knife’s blade between sensual and ticklish. The steady motion of his finger stopped when it brushed into a drying patch of cum on Jim’s thigh.

“Are you satisfied with your experience?” Jim asked, amused.

Spock looked up at him, and he looked satisfied, though Jim could not say how, his eyes sleepy, his face relaxed. “Extremely,” he said. “You have far exceeded my expectations.”

“Is that why you came here?” Jim asked. “I thought it was a little odd for someone like you to visit the academy.”

“Someone like me?” Spock asked.

“A prince,” Jim said. “Someone important. Starfleet is so small and shabby– you saw. We don’t have beautiful ships like this, cutting edge technology… We’re hardly scraping by.” He shrugged. “Strange enough that you visited Earth, but to visit this pathetic excuse for an exploration service…”

“It is not strange that I visited Earth,” Spock said. “My mother is Human.”

Jim was so shocked he sat up. “Your mother?”

Spock sat up as well, the sheet sliding down his glorious body. “The geneticists who combined my parents genes ensured that in most cases my father’s genes would be dominant– they did not wish to risk the physiological catastrophe that combining such unlike beings might cause, but there are still some places where her genes run true, and I grew up with her stories of the beauty of Earth and the ingenuity of its inhabitants.

“Her mother was in Starfleet, and she often spoke of her courage and her exploits… exploring strange new worlds, meeting new species and seeing sights no one had before seen. There was a time when, as a child, I promised myself I would run away and join Starfleet. Of course such a thing was not to be– as a member of the ruling family I doubt my family would have let me go as far as T’Knut by myself.”

“Imagine if we had met as cadets,” Jim said. “Imagine if we served on a ship together.”

Spock ran his fingers down the side of his face. “It would have been an honor to serve with you, I think,” he said. His fingers caught on Jim’s lips and Jim slipped his tongue out to lick at them, earning a gasp from Spock, who caught him around the waist with his other arm and pulled him down again.

They ate some Vulcan dish that tasted like bitter nutty rice for dinner, Spock wrapping his iridescent blue garment haphazardly around his waist and disappearing for a few minutes before coming back with it.

“When do you have to go?” Jim asked, when he’d eaten his fill and they’d set the dishes (real earthenware (Vulcanware?) hand-thrown with a beautiful bluegreen glaze) aside.

“In the morning,” Spock said, pulling him down beside him. Jim felt a pang of loss. How could he miss someone he just met?

Spock kissed the side of his neck, bit at the tendon. “I do not know, Jim,” he murmured into Jim’s skin, making Jim shiver. “But I believe I will miss you as well.”

I didn’t say that out loud, Jim thought, brushing Spock’s long hair (it had come undone from its braid hours ago) behind his ear.

Spock pulled back, forehead wrinkling. “You didn’t?”

No, Jim thought. Okay, I’m thinking of a blue square. Can you hear me?

“I can hear you, but I don’t understand your message,” Spock said. “What blue square?”

“I thought you couldn’t hear thoughts,” Jim said. “Only feelings and brief impressions.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Spock said. “I don’t understand… Jim, would you permit me to do a mind meld?”

“What is that, exactly?”

“It will allow me a superficial impression of your mind,” Spock said. “And a greater understanding of this phenomena.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jim said.

Spock reached up and lightly covered one side of his face with his hand, arranging his beautiful long fingers so they touched particular points on his face.

Psi points, Spock informed him, and then he was slipping. His first thought was that this must be what it’s like for soil when a plant’s root network grows through, burrowing through all the empty places, nudging aside soil particles here and there. He felt Spock’s amusement at this description as the roots spread, tunneling deeper, seeking out water and nutrients.

It is more as if I am mycorrhizae, Spock suggested. A symbiotic relationship between a plant and a fungus. The fungus covers the roots of the cells, grows into them to exchange nutrients.

An exchange of sugar for nutrients and water, Jim’s memory supplied. Parasitized, in some cases by certain plants– Monotropa, a number of species of orchids.

Spock’s amusement grew. Neither of us are parasites, he said. Oh, Jim, your mind is beautiful. Vast and complex and so vivid.

Jim reached out– in his mind he reached out– felt the tendrils of Spock inside his consciousness. He felt… affectionate, joyful, kind. I wish I could see your mind, he said. I am sure it is even more extraordinary. He thought about how much he had enjoyed Spock’s body; the firm muscle, the hard planes of it, the swirling tattoo, the golden piercings, his sharp eyebrows and amused eyes. Then he thought about how much he had enjoyed spending time with him, arguing in the engineering bay, talking during lunch, the soft conversations they had had between rounds of sex.

He felt, rather than heard Spock gasp, felt a rush of amazement and pleasure.

What is it? he asked, reaching out as if he might twine his thoughts with Spock’s.

We are connected, Spock murmured in his mind. He imagined something golden– no, light scattering. A bridge of prisms, a rainbow. A tunnel for his thoughts to slide into Spock, and Spock’s into him. It has happened after all.

What? Jim asked, feeling Spock’s wondrous amusement.

“What your classmates had been hoping for,” Spock murmured in his ear. “Ashayam, we are t’hy’la.”

They spent the rest of the night sleeping and not sleeping, slipping from one mind to the other. Spock shared memories of his childhood, of the Vulcan desert, of fighting the le-matya he wore over his shoulders, of exploring the cool ruins deep under his family’s fortress palace.

Jim shared his childhood in Iowa, his endless friendship and bickering with Sam, his parents variously on missions, staying with his parents' friends or spending a few months on ship with them. He shared his childhood fantasies, of making friends with aliens on bizarre worlds, of seeing astrological phenomena he hadn’t known at the time weren’t visible to the Human eye.

It felt as if they were building something beautiful between them, or weaving themselves together. He imagined the fates of Greek mythology. Spock would be the most gorgeous tapestry, his half-awake mind decided. You are gorgeous, Spock told him, you will be even more so when you are tattooed as a member of my family.

Yours, Jim thought. Yes. His mind rested, thoughts spinning without purpose for a while more. Will I get to make people call me ‘prince’? He imagined Bones scowling at him and then bowing.

Spock wrapped an arm around him. You can do whatever you wish, ashayam.

But in the morning Jim could not help but worry. Surely Spock would have to leave now. Would Jim have to choose between his t’hy’la and dreams of going out into space?

Spock stroked his fingers down the side of Jim’s face. “Do not worry,” he said. “We will find a logical solution.”

They took sonic showers and dressed, Spock wrapping his own clothes (which were just as fiddly as they looked) around Jim, and leading him into what seemed like a conference room, where Sylk and Admiral Pike were waiting.

Pike raised an eyebrow at Jim’s new clothing. “When I suggested you make friends I didn’t have this in mind,” he said, voice full of humor.

“Prince Spock,” Sylk said, getting to his feet and bowing. “And Prince James. I must congratulate you both.”

“Thank you,” Spock said, inclining his head at his scholar… tutor? Minder? Advisor? Spock sat and Jim took the seat beside him, having some trouble sitting with messing up his new clothes. “Admiral, this event was unforeseen by us both; I ask your forgiveness for any trouble we have caused you.”

“No forgiveness is necessary where no offense was taken,” Pike said, clearly quoting a source Jim was unfamiliar with– but Spock recognized it and was pleased.

“Indeed. Admiral, I asked you to join us to help us work out a path forward,” Spock continued. “My bondmate wishes to continue his studies here and I do not wish to be parted from him. But due to my allegiances, you will understand if I cannot enroll in your academy.”

Pike nodded, seriously. “If I remember correctly the record of your achievements I scanned before your visit, you are, uh… overqualified to be a student here. Are you requesting permission to remain here without enrolling?”

“I shall need the permission of my matriarch,” Spock said. “But it would be good to have a feasible plan before introducing it to her.”

“Spock,” Jim said. “Are you seriously suggesting you stay here?”

“You do not wish to be parted from your dreams, and I do not wish to be parted from you,” Spock said. “It is the most logical course. I need not be idle– with permission I can lend my skills to the academy, in an informal or formal role.”

“A formal role?” Jim repeated.

“I would be pleased to serve as lecturer,” Spock told Pike. “You will find that I already have experience, but I can have my curriculum vitae sent to you. Obviously, I would not require remuneration.”

“But what about your duties on Vulcan? Your family?”

“They can do without me,” Spock said, confidently. “I have numerous cousins to serve in the administration and, because of my mixed blood I am not eligible to be in the line of inheritance. Were I on Vulcan I would be spending time at the Vulcan Science Academy, doing research. I don’t see why I can’t do the same here– and in more pleasant company.”

Oh, Jim thought, and was so overwhelmed he couldn’t look at anyone. He stared up at the ceiling, the better to fight off the tears that itched at his eyes.

“You,” he said, “you really would do that for me?”

“I would do it for me,” Spock corrected, “that I might not be without you.” He turned his attention back to Pike. “Members of my family have previously discussed engaging in exploratory missions,” he said. “Perhaps in time we can discuss a joint Starfleet-Vulcan venture.”

Jim found his hand and clenched it. Spock looked at him with faint amusement. “Are you okay, Jim?” he asked.

Jim looked at him. He couldn’t help imagining himself with big hearts for eyes, like they had in cartoon. Spock must have caught the image because what felt like laughter rippled through the bond.

“I’m afraid my bondmate is a little overcome,” Spock told the Admiral. “Jim, I must contact my family and share the news with them. Perhaps you should reassure your friends I have not kidnapped you.”

“I doubt they think that,” Pike said.

“I have seen some of these ‘Vulcan romance novels’,” Spock said. “You must assure them I have not yet thrown you over my shoulder and carried you away.”

Despite the very extensive sexual activities they had engaged in the night before, Jim somehow still had enough libido for his blood to rush downward at the image.

Spock’s amusement fluttered through him again.

“Come Mr. Kirk,” Pike said. “I’ll escort you. Or is ‘Prince Kirk’ now? Prince…?” he glanced at Spock.

“S’chn T'gai,” Spock said, “if you are looking for my family name. But in our culture it is not given in marriage.”

“Thank goodness,” Pike said, “I would have really butchered that.”

“Maybe he would get my name,” Jim protested, as Spock led him and Pike out of the ship.

“That’s as likely as Una ever taking my name,” Pike replied, amused.

At the bottom of the ramp Spock kissed Jim. They may have gotten carried away, because when Spock finally pulled away he saw a crowd of cadets staring at them, open mouthed and envious.

Jim grinned and waved at them, then kissed Spock again and made his way to his dorm.

Bones was at his desk when Jim entered. He glanced at Jim and then did a double take. “For God’s sake, Jim!” he exclaimed, jumping up and grabbing his medkit. “Were you attacked by octopuses again?”

“What?” Jim asked, then caught sight of himself in the mirror. The Vulcan garb was just as revealing on him as it was on Spock, but where on Spock it revealed an eight pack and a sexy tattoo, on Jim it revealed enough hickeys that it did, in fact, rather resemble the time he had gotten a little too friendly with an octopus.

“Wow,” Jim said, dreamily, pressing on one of the bruises and wincing slightly.

“That good, huh?” Bones asked. “Can’t believe you came back wearing his clothes.”

Jim smiled and brushed the silky fabric of the garment. “Yeah,” he said, fondly.

“It’s too bad he’s gone,” Bones said, sounding like he was making a good faith effort to be sympathetic. He frowned at Jim’s face. “He’s gone right?”

Jim shook his head, smiling.

“What do you mean?” Bones demanded.

“He’s going to stick around,” Jim said, dreamily. “At the academy. He’s going to lecture or something. Then we’re going to go on an expedition together.”

“What?!” Bones demanded. “Your ass was good enough he’s moving here?”

Jim laughed. “Actually it was his…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bones interrupted quickly.

“Vulcan reproductive organs aren’t really…”

“Shut up, shut up,” Bones said.

Jim shrugged and took out his PADD.

“You’re probably gonna have to learn,” Jim said. “If he’s gonna stick around there’s gonna need to be a doctor who can treat him.”

“Why is he sticking around though?” Bones demanded.

“Oh,” Jim said. “We’re soulmates.”

“You’re what?” Bones shrieked.

JIm shrugged. “We’re basically Vulcan married.”

“Oh my god,” Bones groaned. “Only you.”

Jim grinned at him. “Yep,” he said. “I’m gonna go get some food. You coming?”

“Dressed like that?” Bones asked, eyeing him.

“Why not?” JIm asked.

“Gonna give everyone an eyeful,” Bones muttered, shrugging on his jacket.

“After we eat I’m going to go find Uhura,” Jim said, following Bones through the door. “Imagine her face when I tell her.”

“She’s actually going to straight up kill you,” Bones said.

Jim grinned. Uhura was gonna be pissed. Jim was going to have to get her access to secret Vulcan texts to make up for it or something. “Worth it.”