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In Jim's defense, the chocolate was Chekov's idea.
The evening started innocently enough. The holiday party, the first during their five-year mission, was scheduled for nineteen hundred hours in the Enterprise mess. There was going to be live music and pie and freshly baked cookies, and Jim had even haggled for real alcohol on Starbase 12. Despite all that, however, Spock had informed the captain of his intention to spend the evening in the science lab overseeing inoculations of bacteria he was preparing as a host for virus cultures.
"Sounds fascinating," Jim said over their usual breakfast of toast and coffee and whatever that beige stuff was that Spock always replicated. "But can it wait until tomorrow? I can't think of a better way to spend Christmas morning than staring at Petri dishes."
"Is this your way of telling me that you prefer that I accompany you this evening?" Spock asked, raising his eyes. Jim blinked.
"Of course I'd prefer that. It's the officers' holiday party, and you are my first officer."
So Spock abandoned his proposed evening of agar and cotton swabs and stood beside Jim in his dress blues, straight faced and devastating. He had no idea, no idea how good he looked in uniform. Jim took in the sight of him with a muted sigh and declared himself a masochist, nodding at his officers as they entered the mess. He could have allowed Spock to celebrate by hiding with whatever he was growing down in the lab, and Jim could have spent the evening engaged in innocent flirtation. Instead he had gone and convinced Spock to attend. Why did he do this to himself? Ever since waking up in the hospital to find Spock standing vigil at his bedside and almost splitting his face smiling up at him (Bones later told him he'd been calling Spock's name in his sleep — embarrassing), Jim had abandoned the notion that this was merely a crush. As Bones said, he was head-over-heels fucked, and Spock seemed oblivious. He and Uhura had cooled things, sure, and he hadn't been seeing anyone since—not to Jim's knowledge, anyway. That didn't mean that Spock had clued into Jim's less-than-subtle ardor, but a man could dream. Being captain, Jim was in no position to bring it to his attention (Starfleet had made him sign a lengthy document stating that he understood regulations against initiating fraternization with any subordinate, which effectively sentenced him to a five-year relationship with his right hand). That left him standing shoulder to shoulder with the Vulcan object of his affection and no outlet for his frustration.
But it was better than standing there without him.
Jim's master plan for the night had been to get Spock to nurse a really, really spiked glass of eggnog in the hopes that it would melt away some of the Vulcan stoicism. Maybe he'd flirt a little. Maybe Spock would respond. Maybe Spock would fall for the "whoops, we're under the mistletoe" routine. (Was the replicator even programmed for mistletoe? Maybe Sulu was growing some down in botany.) Jim would settle for the long glances Spock gave him on the bridge sometimes. So he prepared said glass, with Scotty's assistance (because if anyone on the ship knew how to drink, it was the Lieutenant Commander) and presented it to Spock, who regarded it with a raised eyebrow.
"It's Christmas, Spock! We're off duty," Jim said. "C'mon, indulge me."
To his surprise, Spock agreed, staying close to Jim's side and accepting the drink, which he wrapped in a cloth napkin (there were tablecloths too—Jim really had gone all out) and sipped quietly. Jim smiled at him over a hot buttered rum and crossed mental fingers. What resulted was a whirlwind of Vulcan sass from the only slightly tipsy first officer. The sass triggered a headache, so Jim excused himself to the food table and was assembling a generous selection of cookies when Chekov approached with a cup of light brown liquid and a straw.
"It is chocolate milk," he said in a helpful tone. "It will produce the desired effect, yes?"
"Huh?"
"Chocolate. For Vulcans, it is psychoactive. Much more effective than your whiskey."
"No kidding," Jim said and accepted the glass. Chekov smiled and winked and muttered something to himself in Russian before sidling up to a young lieutenant from Engineering, draping an arm around her shoulder. Jim shoved a green cookie in his mouth (it was almond flavored and shaped like a holly leaf with cinnamon candy berries, just like his mom used to bake) and ambled back to where Spock stood watch over the room.
"Chocolate milk?" he said, offering the cup to Spock.
"You wish me to become inebriated," Spock observed. "I can only speculate as to your motivation."
Jim shrugged. "It's a party. You're allowed to kick back."
"I see no reason to kick anything, Captain."
"Funny," Jim said. "If it makes you feel better, I'm on my second drink too."
Spock took the cup from him, and their fingers connected briefly. Jim flinched at the sensation that shot through his arm. Spock didn't react but held his cup aloft.
"As I believe my mother would have said, cheers."
With widened eyes, Jim clinked his glass against Spock's and watched as Spock's lips closed around the straw. Twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds later (he knew this because Spock leaned over to whisper the count wetly in Jim's ear), the chocolate milk had kicked in and Spock held a second cup of it.
"My uniform is the color of your eyes," Spock drawled in a conspiratorial tone.
"Uh...yeah," Jim said, raising said eyes to look at Spock directly. A faint green blush had bloomed across his sharp cheekbones and the tips of his ears. Spock tilted his head and his mouth quirked into a faint smile. Jim's stomach flopped, and his heart did that stupid thing where it beat a little faster.
"I never observed eyes such as yours on Vulcan. They are most pleasing."
"I'm glad you like them."
"You are an aesthetically pleasing human."
"You're not so bad yourself, you know." Jim grinned and punched Spock lightly on the shoulder.
"I am reasonably attractive by Vulcan standards," Spock agreed.
"Modest, too."
"There is no harm in acknowledging fact."
"Didn't say there was." Jim pointed to the microphone. "You want to grab a seat? I think they're gonna start singing pretty soon."
"Ah," Spock said, straightening. "I must retrieve my lute from my quarters."
"No," Jim laughed. "I mean...they're going to sing karaoke. Christmas songs. Do you know any?"
Spock's face screwed up in thought.
"My mother was fond of several," he said. "She taught them to me as a child."
"Scotty claims to do a mean Jingle Bells."
"I am unfamiliar with that song."
"That's okay. You can sing something else."
"Jim," Spock said and shifted uncharacteristically, shuffling his weight between his feet. "I wish to confess something to you."
"Shoot," Jim said.
"I do not have my phaser."
"God, you're even literal when you're drinking," Jim muttered, shaking his head. "I meant, go ahead. Confess."
"Ah." Spock again leaned closer so he could speak into Jim's ear. "Perhaps you will think me absurd."
"I doubt it."
"I—" Spock began. He curled a hand around Jim's upper arm, and Jim shivered as he stepped closer. "I would not leave your side while you were in the hospital."
Which was in no way what Jim expected to come out of his mouth.
"I was glad you were there when I woke up," he said.
"I watched you die," Spock went on, and his voice dropped to a whisper as his grip tightened. "I did not understand what you meant to me until I watched you die."
"You mean a lot to me, too."
"You are my friend." He spoke the word with reverence. Spock's voice was so sweet it made Jim's heart ache. "I hope to always be yours."
"Yeah," Jim said, nudging him with a shoulder. "Yeah, me too."
"Good evening, Enterprise," Scotty's voice (loud by nature) boomed across the mess speakers. Jim started and realized his cheeks had flushed red from Spock breathing in his ear. He took a sip of his drink and turned to face Scotty, folding his arms over his chest. "Time to get this party started."
"If it is your desire," Spock hiccuped and swayed on his feet, "I shall sing for you."
"No!" Jim laughed, setting down his drink and grabbing Spock by the shoulders. "No, Spock, that's okay."
"I wish to make you happy," Spock said imploringly and looked at Jim through too-big eyes. Jim's heart most certainly did not leap at that declaration, no way. He allowed himself a moment to savor the way Spock looked at him, as if he were something rare and wonderful. Jim noticed a few (okay, more than a few—half of the room) crewmembers were suddenly looking in their direction. Spock was drunk. The crew shouldn't see him like this.
"Let's get you to your quarters, okay?"
He took Spock by the arm and steered him out of the mess toward the turbolift, smiling nonchalantly on his way out. Spock actually waved goodbye to Keenser, and Jim did a facepalm to hide his laughter.
"C Deck," he ordered and leaned against the wall of the lift. It began to move, and Spock stumbled slightly. Jim steadied him with a hand on his arm.
"My balance is compromised," Spock said.
"I'm sorry," Jim said, scrubbing a hand over his neck. "I probably shouldn't have given you that chocolate. I'll call Bones and see if he has something to counter it."
"Do not trouble Dr. McCoy. I was aware of its effects," Spock said. "I consumed it of my own will."
"You wouldn't have without me harping on you about having a good time tonight."
"I am grateful that you offered it to me. I would never speak of these things to you otherwise."
"See, that's why this is a problem," Jim said, slumping. "You wouldn't speak about these things if you weren't wasted."
"I do not speak of them," Spock said quietly, "because I fear your rejection."
"My rejection? What makes you think I would reject you?" Jim asked as the turbolift doors slid open. He held out an arm, but Spock shook his head.
"I have witnessed patterns in those with whom you choose to couple," Spock replied. The corridor was empty, so they walked slowly. "My own characteristics do not fit the pattern."
"I have a pattern?"
"However, you exhibit signs of arousal in my presence," Spock continued. "Your pupils dilate; you experience an increase in respiration and heart rate."
"Spock—"
"Since our mission began, you have engaged in six romantic interludes while we were on a starbase."
Jim glanced at him sideways. "Why do you know that?"
"It is my responsibility to know your whereabouts at all times."
"I bet you know their names, too."
"No, only their ranks and physical characteristics. Five female, one male. Three human, one Andorian, one Orion. With the exception of the Orion, the specimens had light coloring and eyes. All held low-level positions in Engineering and Communications, apart from the Andorian, who was a trader and not a member of Starfleet. You have never selected a scientist."
Jim gaped at him. "Are you keeping a log on this?"
"I...my memory is eidetic," Spock said lamely and his ears were bright green.
"You're jealous," Jim accused. Spock hung his head, and Jim raked a hand through his hair. "Just like you were jealous when Carol got assigned to the ship. That was jealousy, wasn't it."
"You evoke emotions in me I did not believe possible," Spock said. Jim didn't know what to say. They had reached Spock's quarters, and the door automatically slid open as the biometric scanner recognized him. Spock didn't enter, and Jim didn't enter. The heat of the room rolled into the corridor, and Jim could smell the incense that sometimes seeped into his room through their shared bath.
"We should probably go inside," Jim said. "Don't need the crew overhearing."
"A wise suggestion," Spock agreed and passed into the reddish dark.
Jim stopped just inside the door and backed up against it when it swooshed shut behind him. Spock ordered the lights to twenty percent, but Jim's eyes took a minute to adjust. Sweat already dotted his forehead and back from the heat. He heard the rustle of fabric and wondered if Spock was changing or getting into bed. He considered removing his own shirt but shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was still the captain of a starship, and this man—Vulcan—was his first officer. He couldn't afford a misunderstanding, especially one involving mind-altering substances.
"Okay," he called. "You want a confession?"
"If you wish to confess something to me," Spock said, coming toward Jim from the shadows. He had removed his blue tunic and pants, and wore only shorts and a dark undershirt that hugged his arms and chest. "As your friend, I wish to listen."
"I intentionally pick people who look and sound nothing like you."
"Why?" Spock asked, and the look on his face was confused. Jim raised a hand to touch the crease between his eyebrows but held it back, balling it into a fist and tucking the arm behind his back.
"Because I'm so hopelessly in lo—" he blurted. Even with alcohol lubricating his inhibitions, he couldn't say it. He rubbed his eyes. "It's just easier that way," he finished.
"Jim," Spock said, and when Jim glanced at him, he was actually smiling (which, if Jim hadn't been drinking, might have actually been terrifying). "I also feel for you most ardently."
Jim couldn't do anything but laugh.
"So we've been secretly pining over one another," he said. "And here I thought it was just me."
"As we are confessing," Spock said, "I confess that I kissed you in the hospital without your consent."
"You did?"
"I held your hand like this," he said, reaching out to take Jim's. "I touched you like this." He ran two fingers along the veins on Jim's hand. Jim shuddered.
"That's..." Jim said. "That's actually really hot."
"I wish to have you in my bed," Spock said and stepped backward toward his sleeping alcove, drawing Jim with him.
"This is the chocolate talking."
"The chocolate has allowed me to speak without shame," Spock said. "The desire is mine."
"You're drunk," Jim said as Spock's legs connected with the mattress, and he sat on the edge. Jim came to stand at his knees. Their hands were still entwined. "And I'm kind of drunk. Let's see how you feel in the morning and reevaluate. Okay?"
"Are you returning to the party?"
"I was going to."
"I wish you to stay with me," Spock said and squeezed Jim's hand tightly.
"If I stay," Jim said, "it's just to sleep."
"We are required to inform Starfleet if we wish to pursue a sexual relationship," Spock said. "We have not yet done so."
"Yeah, they're not hot on relationships in command teams," Jim muttered. "You should have seen the paperwork I had to sign."
"There are no regulations against us sharing a bed without pre-approval."
He pulled the shirt over his head, and Jim caught a glimpse of his pale skin before he disappeared beneath the sea of blankets on his bed. Spock lazily patted the pillow and blinked up at Jim through half-lidded eyes. Jim stripped off his uniform and stretched out beside him on top of the covers. Tomorrow morning would be awkward as hell, but for now, Spock was pressing his face into Jim's neck and breathing in deeply against his skin. Spock smelled like spice and musk and chocolate. Jim threw an arm over his waist and felt Spock's heart beat against his wrist.
"I will contact Starfleet in the morning," Spock whispered.
Chekov was getting a commendation for Christmas.