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Love-Blindness

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Sipping his fresh cup of coffee, Spock stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.  His husband didn’t even realize he was standing there, he was so quiet.  But instead of alerting the man to his presence, he leaned against the wall as he’d seen his Human do countless times before and simply observed.

James Kirk was doing that strange thing with his old-fashioned hardback book again.  Ever since they’d docked after the V’Ger mission and reestablished themselves in their San Francisco apartment while the ship underwent repairs, the admiral had been in the habit of surreptitiously stretching his arms out while he held something he was reading.  Or he would slowly sit back in his chair, craning his neck in awkward ways.  Or he would incline his head and squint, then smile as if everything was fine when he felt Spock’s gaze on him.

From his usual vantage point in the adjacent chair, Spock hadn’t considered it seriously enough to put two and two together.  But now, as he watched his lover’s more exaggerated movements from the doorway, knowing that Kirk was unaware he was being watched, he was finally able to interpret the odd behavior.

Once the thought occurred to him, it seemed almost painfully obvious and he wondered why he hadn’t figured it out days ago.

“Darling,” he said, still experimenting with various Standard terms of endearment to determine which he liked best.  It drew the startled Kirk’s attention as he approached.

Almost as if he was hiding something, Kirk dropped the book into his lap and turned his face up to his spouse, wearing the expression that their beloved doctor said made him look like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Spock passed behind his own empty chair, causing Kirk to furrow his brow.  Depositing the admiral’s refilled cup of Vulcan spice tea on the small table between their seats, he circled around his partner, all but ignoring his usual thanks, hon.  When he paused to look him in the eye again, he saw a familiar glint of amorousness there over the lip of his cup; as soon as the drink was back on the end table, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Kirk’s tea-flavored lips.

The warm, lazy smile he was met with as he pulled away made him feel weak in the legs.  It was convenient, then, that he had already been planning to kneel on the floor before his mate.  His abruptly unstable knees and feet folded elegantly beneath him, hopefully not giving away too much of the dizzying power Kirk held over his body.  He took a long draught of his coffee to hide the grin breaking out across his lips.

Knowing the Human would take his meaning, Spock extended his mug toward him with one hand and smoothed out the heavy fabric—denim, it was called—covering his own thigh with the other.  Kirk took the cup from him and set it next to his tea while Spock fidgeted with his jeans and with the way his nearly skin-tight ribbed sweater was lying on his torso.

“You are devastatingly handsome in that outfit.  You know that, right?” Kirk said, all in one breath.  Leaning forward, he tossed his book in the direction of the datapadd on Spock’s chair and settled his elbows on his knees.

Spock looked up, sensing his cheeks changing color.  The affectionate tilt of Kirk’s head and the sincerity of that voice he loved so dearly made the state of his clothes seem completely inconsequential.

“I’ve always had a weakness for tall, gorgeous Vulcans in bell-bottoms and black turtlenecks,” Kirk added.  His voice was lower, the glint in his eyes having turned into an all-over aura of seduction.  “Every time I see one, I could just take them straight to bed and ravish them for hours.”

“I find it difficult to believe that any Vulcan besides myself has ever worn this particular assortment of Earth fashions before,” Spock said dubiously.

“Mmhm,” Kirk hummed, arching an eyebrow and batting his enchantingly long lashes.  His charming “captain’s smirk,” as they’d taken to calling it years before, was just as beguiling as ever.

Spock looked down at the hemlines of Kirk’s own flared pants as the implication of that hum struck him.  He was suddenly very glad he’d let his husband talk him into trying on and purchasing the clothes in question when they had gone shopping the other day.

“I feel similarly toward muscular Humans in…”  Spock glanced up for a quick moment to verify Kirk’s attire, despite the man’s hunched posture.  “Form-fitting tunics and flowing trousers.”

Kirk laughed and grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing under the high piped collar of the luxurious wrap-style silk shirt Spock had ordered for him.  “Somehow I get the feeling that I might be the only Human besides your mother who’s ever worn hot-off-the-runway Vulcan haute couture… ashal-veh.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, trying to disregard the flutter in his side at the sound of his bondmate’s voice using pet names in his native language.  “Incidentally, cerulean is… a most flattering color on you.”

With a sweet pink blush, Kirk said, “Thanks.  I actually happen to like these built-in half glove things.”  Indicating the thumb holes and covered index and middle fingers characteristic of contemporary Vulcan fashion, he ran one hand over the other in a manner which he no doubt found completely innocuous but which caused his spouse’s jaw to clench.  “And I was concerned the style might make me look fat like my old green uniforms, but there’s more drape to the front than I thought.”

Truth be told, Spock had stopped listening.  His eyes were hungrily tracking all over Kirk’s body as those large golden hands swept down the straightened chest and stomach in question.

“I wanted to ask you…” Spock began.  The thought he’d intended to express this whole time kept flitting in and out of his mind as his eyes moved with the motions of Kirk’s hands like a cat instinctively drawn to the erratic movements of a fly.

Leaning forward again, Kirk reached a hand out to stroke Spock’s hair.  His intense stare was mesmerizing, working like an aphrodisiac on his Vulcan.

“Yes?” he prompted when Spock still hesitated and let his eyes shut at the erotic drag of Kirk’s fingers along his sensitive scalp.

Spock could tell that his husband’s impassioned mood had slipped through their direct skin contact and was making him giddy.  Clearing his throat, he refocused his attention.  “Would you like me to ask Dr. McCoy to examine your vision when we return to the Enterprise?”

Kirk dropped his hand.  “What?” he said, backing away, his forehead creased in surprise, confusion, and disappointment.

“I have noticed you struggling to find a comfortable visual range when reading,” Spock said, opening his eyes and meeting Kirk’s.  “Perhaps he would be able to prescribe some form of medication that would correct your vision, or at least prevent it from deteriorating any further.”

The admiral simply stared at him, looking half bewildered, half aggravated.

“There is no need,” Spock said, “to feel distressed or self-conscious about any of this.  Human eyesight typically begins to decline even earlier than—”

“My eyes are fine!” Kirk said, his face reddening further, but for a far different reason, Spock guessed, than it had a few moments ago.  “Besides, I’m allergic to most of the prescriptions out there for that sort of thing anyway.  Retinax and Opticure and…”

“I know,” Spock said, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Yet you have learned the medication names, he thought to his lover, who lowered his gaze to his lap.  Why would you have paid them any attention if you yourself were not also concerned about this?

The Human sighed and shook his head slightly.

Spock scooted closer and placed his hands on Kirk’s knees in what he hoped would be a comforting gesture.  “Your health is one of my top priorities, Jim.  And I am certain that Dr. McCoy would be able to offer suggestions for addressing the issue so that you wouldn’t have to spend so much time bringing your work into focus.”

Taking Spock’s hands in his own, Kirk rested his elbows on his legs again and peppered little absent-minded kisses to those cool, slender knuckles.  “What more could he do?” he wondered morosely, staring unseeing at the carpet.

“Although it seems impossible for you to be any more beautiful than you already are, I have often imagined that you might be even more handsome if…”

It was out of Spock’s mouth before he realized it—such was the effect of his bondmate’s intoxicating presence—and now it was too late to pretend he hadn’t said it.  How could he bear to admit to having such a fantasy?  He swallowed heavily when his partner rubbed his hot cheek against the backs of Spock’s fingers.

“If what?” Kirk said, genuinely curious.

Spock’s hands twitched and tingled under Kirk’s only partially intentional teasing.  “As you know, there have been precious few individuals other than yourself whom I have ever found to be of even minimal aesthetic appeal.  But they have all had one thing in common.”  Clearing his throat unnecessarily, he clung to the futile hope that an exit strategy from this abruptly embarrassing line of discussion would manifest itself.

Embarrassed?  Now you know how I feel! Kirk thought with no small degree of smugness.  Come on, honey.  Out with it.

“I find myself inexplicably attracted to the appearance of corrective lenses,” Spock said, too quickly to pass as unaffected by self-imposed humiliation, illogical though that may have been.

Ironically, Spock was blindsided when a powerful microburst of intrigue and arousal from Kirk’s side of their marital bond almost knocked him backward.

Oh my Gorn, he heard Kirk whisper mentally to himself.  My Vulcan husband has a glasses kink and he never told me?!  I could have been indulging him all this time…

Losing track of Kirk’s disorderly thoughts, Spock focused on the acceleration of his heart rate at the unexpected influx of emotional impulses he was receiving, both from his Human and from his own body.

“You know,” Kirk said, lifting Spock’s chin until their eyes met, “I really should be taking my optic health more seriously.  Maybe I’ll ask Bones for an eye exam when we all get back to the ship.”  He grinned suggestively at his lover.

Surprised but gratified by Kirk’s sudden reversal of opinion, Spock felt his whole body start to tremble with the love and desire he harbored for his mate.  “I am pleased to hear that, sweetheart,” he said, unconsciously rising toward the plush, irresistible lips leaning closer to him and inviting him in.

“Now, about that Vulcan I promised to ravish,” Kirk said, brushing their mouths together and pulling his spouse up by the wrist.  His free hand wound its way into the hair at the back of Spock’s neck.

“That Vulcan is more than willing,” Spock managed to say as he possessively wrapped his arms around Kirk’s midsection.

“I might be going blind,” Kirk said, “but I can still see that much.”

The couple kissed around a shared chuckle at Kirk’s terrible joke, breaths and tongues intermingling until the Human reminded his victim that he had also promised a bed would be involved.  Abandoning their drinks and their reading materials, they began undressing one another on their way to the bedroom.

“You should know I’m married,” Kirk said, walking backward while pulling the shirtless Vulcan along by the button closure of his jeans.

“I am familiar with the Human custom of wedding rings,” Spock teased in return, kissing said ring with his fingers and his lips.

Kirk’s gentle laughter was muffled when Spock reclaimed his mouth and lowered him to their bed.  Neither of them even heard the door swish shut behind them.