“Have you ever been kissed, Spock?" Kirk asked him softly, quite sudden and direct. 

Spock felt as though his heart and breath had stopped. Jim was looking at his lips, smiling. 

"Y'know, human kissed, Vulcan kissed . . .” Kirk continued. Spock stared straight ahead, terrified, and made no reply. It was all he could manage to breathe . . .

“Intentionally?” Jim laughed, propping up on an elbow, willing eye contact or some sign of life. Spock glared at the jovial man now, a healthy dose of reality settling in. He was deadpan:

“You are my first friend, Jim. Derive from that what you will.”

“Well, we’ve tried it your way . . .” Kirk’s voice finally dared to break that heated silence between them, husky and low. “And let’s be honest, I had no idea that it happened your way, which is hardly fair. You can’t really say that counts.” Jim's voice was flirtatious and soft.

Spock could feel Jim physically drawing near, seeking out more contact. He felt the coolness of that human body, felt Jim's breath on his face now. He heard the smile in Jim's voice when he said, gently: “I admit, I don't know a lot about Vulcan kissing. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to try it the human way.” 

It was so impossibly sweet, so charming, and Spock was stunned that this was a moment finally taking root in his life. 

These were not the kind of things that were supposed to ever happen to him. Certainly his life would be carried forward by his work, his intelligence . . . this was something he had never accounted for as a possibility. This was the first time a prospective being had asked to kiss or touch him that he was wholeheartedly interested in.

Still, his logic lay mortified and frozen in the face of this unaccounted for event, struggling to evaluate, but his human heart invited Jim in with a gentle nod. It was all the response that was needed to beckon Jim forward. Spock’s human heart was desperate for that to happen, seizing the opportunity as his Vulcan mind spiraled to recollect itself. 

He felt weak and hot as Jim swam up into his vision, taking up every sense Spock had. He was helpless against what was unfolding, a moment he never dreamed would happen to him in his lifetime. 

“Are you sure?” Jim asked hesitantly, impossibly handsome. Spock swallowed heavily, nodding affirmatively once more. He would never have been able to find his voice in that instance if he tried. His heart thudded in his ribcage as Jim leaned forward on his left forearm, and his right hand came up to gently touch the sharp jut of Spock’s left cheekbone, tracing up to the point of his left ear.

Jim’s smile was dazzling when he felt the full body shudder of excitement it elicited in the flushed Vulcan below his gaze, his touch. Spock involuntarily let out a deep breath as Jim took up every ounce of space left between them. 

“This was a terrible idea.”

“Spock, don't you even think about–”

The screen went dead as Spock abruptly ended the call with his mother.

He turned sharply on his heel and began stomping toward his room, desperate to meditate. His comm. began sounding off noisily in the background, but he left it unattended.

He entered his room, lit his incense, and let it beep.

He took root on the mat in full lotus pose on the floor, trying to connect with his entirely too elevated breathing rate, and he let it beep.

He closed his eyes, rested his wrists on his knees, deepened his breathing . . .

beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. . . beep-beep-beep-beep-beep . . .

Spock huffed loudly in a long suffering manner before returning to a stance, tugging irritably at the hem of his shirt. He stalked back out of the bedroom into the main living quarters, positively rigid and seething with anxiety.

He made his way to the comm., slapped the button with far more gusto than was required, and stood before the screen as it descended once more. His hands were shaking where he clasped them behind his back, but he had to ensure he would reveal none of that.

His stance was defiant, and he was met with an equal wall of stubborn outrage when Amanda returned to the screen with a glare that could burn holes.

“My child, you will be the death of me one day.”

“But humankind is not dramatic at all,” he retorted, deadpan.

“What have you done with a human?”

“It was a kiss. Nothing more–”

“Nothing more?!” She hissed, eyes darting about herself again as if Sarek was going to come blasting through the door like a militant. “My child, you are engaged!”

“Yes. Thank you for the reminder, mother.”

“So can you explain to me why you have suddenly taken up the hobby of kissing humans on Earth?!”

“It is not!-” Spock caught himself getting elevated, steeled himself huffily, and began again more calmly: “It is not plural. And I believe long term exposure to the good doctor’s sarcasm has had an unfortunate effect-”

“--THE DOCTOR?!” His mother leapt from her chair, a great clatter sounding as her elbow caught her desk sharply. “--Ah!”

“--My wife?”

“NOT NOW SAREK, I'M WORKING!”

The Vulcan backed away from the study door his wife was behind with huge, worried eyes.

The last time Amanda had screeched at him in such a way, she had been pregnant. He knew better than to enter that room until he was invited – and from the sound of her composure, he was uncertain if he wished to be privy.