STAR. TREK.

johix:

happily sketching spirk

(via cptkirksnipples)

plaidshirtjimkirk:

It was time. He’d fought against it for so long—too long.

How many nights had been spent in the darkness of his quarters, in futile attempt to quell these thoughts? How many times had he pulled himself free from the confines of his sheets, dragged himself over to his meditation stone, and assumed the position to push them out?

Every night.

Every night, the urge mounted. Every night, the desire ran rampant throughout him and wreaked havoc in his orderly mind. Every night, he failed to rid himself of it. Every night, he found himself staring out the window above his bed and taking in the view—a view which he had realized was a metaphor for what he carried with him. The darkness of space splattered with brightly shining stars was just as beautiful, unbreakable, and constant.

It was just as damning.

And yet, he fought it anyway, knowing well enough he was destined to lose. He struggled and contended to bury it for hours, which turned into days, which turned into weeks and then months and years—only to bring him right here to this very moment, standing in the exact place he started.

But no longer. Now, he would finally take a step. He could have denied himself this until the end of his life, but to have those emotional human eyes upon him—waiting and filled with so much hope—was more than he could ever bear.

All it took was a subtle change in the brow to transform that expression of anticipation to concern, and that was when Spock realized he’d taken much too long to respond to the question he was asked.

The moment had hung between them, their faces close and their noses barely touching. Spock could feel the displacement of soft breaths spilling over his sensitive skin as Jim began to pull away.

That was when his hand raised quickly. A protest.

“Jim.”

Vulcan fingertips gingerly touched the side of a human face, sliding over it so that the palm of Spock’s hand cupped Jim’s cheek and kept him from retracting any further than he already had. Spock’s eyes softened and he quietly nodded multiple times. He whispered his one-worded response so softly that he almost didn’t even hear it himself.

Time seemed to slow; how it happened, Spock wasn’t rightly sure. It wasn’t logical. But then again, none of this was. The seconds it took for Jim to close the space between their lips had seemed much, much longer than they actually were.

And then they touched—softly, gently. It was experimental at first, Jim carefully searching for indication that he was overstepping a boundary. He received no such sign. Their mouths parted slowly and Spock felt Jim’s hands rise to his shoulders to squeeze them tenderly once, before relocating to entwine with his hair.

Jim pulled down, bringing Spock’s forehead to his lips and he pursed them upon the soft skin. The kiss lingered for moments that had singularly burned themselves into the archive of Spock’s memory; he was positive that he would relive them every day until his eyes closed forever, and possibly even after that.

This simple action was all it took to end a war of wanting and denial. It was all it took to convince Spock that what he had felt and repressed for so long was mutual—that for as deeply as he found himself in love with Jim, Jim’s own adoration for him equaled it.

This simple action signified the beginning of the rest of his life.

And when their lips touched for the second time, Spock realized that it was all he had ever needed…and all he ever would.

(via petimetrek)