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Author's Chapter Notes:

I set out to write a snugglefuck and got a snugglefest inspead - go figure ;)

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Had there been a time when he’d not known his lover? God yes, although for the life of him Jim Kirk couldn’t remember when. Dim, dim, days back at the Academy. Days that didn’t matter. Days before he began.

Had there been a time he’d not known this man as a Lover? Jim groaned as he remembered. God, yes. Far far far too many of them. He’d been such a fool. But the days of foolishness were over now. For good. He’d be damned to the other side of Orion and back if he ever … EVER … contemplating giving up this man … this Alien being … this glorious pent up monster of flame who could turn on a dime into the most sublime pool of love and tenderness he’d ever known… he’d be damned if he was going to let anything … ever … get in the way of what they had together. If he had to sell his grandmother to green skinned eight limbed sex-slavers … or, or, (Jim struggled to find a sacrifice too great) … blow up this DAMNED SHIP … or cut off his own cock – he laughed – he’d do it in a heart beat to keep this prince, this demon, this angel at his side. Forever.

He was asleep in his arms now. Finally, submissive in sleep. A rare moment for there truly weren’t many where Jim was awake and Spock slept. Fewer still when he slept in his arms like this. Jim was always the first to fall asleep and his fully human body demanded twice as much of the stuff as Spock’s did. His inhumanly strong half Vulcan hybrid lover ‘got by’ on less than 4 hours a night. Jim was jealous of that. He needed 6. Well, 7 really. 8 was good too. And 9? Oh, 9… he thought enraptured,  dreaming of lazy Sundays in Iowa that he longed to share them with his … ‘forever man’ as he secretly called him, in his head. He was lucky to get 5 most nights, especially *now*.

Jim chuckled to himself. He’d heard of ‘hybrid vigour’ but Spock really took the biscuit. The man was a marvel. He had the staying power of ten Klingon Battle Cruisers … or 10,000 Klingons for that matter.  … not that Jim had ever tried ten thousand Klingons … or even one … or would ever want to! But you get the idea. Yet he was so gentle. Well, sometimes. Jim grinned to himself. When Jim let him be.

He laughed. And Spock stirred below him. Jim froze, not wanting to lose the moment no matter how sweet the one that replaced it might promise to be. For this, THIS, right here, was his idea of Heaven. Jim felt so safe, so secure. So *alive* in Spock’s arms. He knew that he’d never be alone again. Because it was a lonely place, the Captain’s chair. He sat there, day after day, surrounded by friends he had to command to lay down their lives if the situation demanded it. Such a responsibility, the burden of leadership, meant he never truly relaxed either on duty or off – only when he was in Spock’s arms. That was where he found his freedom. And the truly amazing thing was that it was reciprocated. Spock felt EXACTLY the same about HIM! It was a source of amazement to him. It was what kept him alive.

It was what kept the crew alive actually. Because, despite the odd ‘mishap’ with a red-shirt every now and then, The Enterprise had the lowest casualty rate for any vessel of its class – or even anything like it – in all of Star Fleet. They were a superlative team. A gestalt entity. Jim was great – yes he admitted, his ego was big enough to allow himself to admit the truth of that statement without embarrassment – and Spock was great; the best First Officer in the Fleet. Together they were … a tour de force, a work of nature, the greatest leadership team in the cosmos, by a long chalk.

And they were Good.

 

 

 

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