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Notes: Written for awesomepossome and the cuddles/hugs meme on tumblr.
Title: before daylight
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Prompt: 3. hurt/comfort
Words: 372 words
before daylight
Spock reached out and gently brushed the back of Jim’s hand with the tips of his fingers. Aside from the weighted presence in the back of his mind, Jim didn’t stir at all. Jim’s chest rose and fell in time with his breath, but he didn’t move; his eyes didn’t flicker and there was no hitch in his breathing.
Of course Jim wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, not with the sedatives and painkillers thudding through his veins. It was for the best, Spock knew, but that knowledge could not stop that illogical pang of worry from sparking deep inside of him.
For the past three-point-four hours, Spock had stood vigil at Jim’s bed side. He’d been there since Sulu had relieved him at the end of his shift and had barely moved since.
Jim’s hand was warm to the touch. He was a comforting – if heavily drugged – presence in Spock’s mind, but Spock missed the warmth of it, the fluctuations in it that signified Jim’s changing emotions. Spock was comforted only in the fact that it meant Jim was still there and with him, but that was lost to the fact that it didn’t quite feel right. The requisite calmness that came with sleep was absent.
The feeling was… disquieting. Spock would never get used to it.
He traced Jim’s fingers with his, enjoying the warmth, in the familiar pattern of a Vulcan kiss, but without the reciprocity. Spock pressed the tips of their fingers together, but still nothing. He knew better than to think that Jim could respond.
The minutes ticked passed. Spock kept careful track of time. He knew that it would be another four-point-five hours before Jim awoke, when the sedatives worked their way out of his system and he could start to push past the painkillers.
He just wanted to hear his voice, feel the familiar brush of Jim’s mind against his.
The emptiness. The silence. He would never grow used to that. But he knew that this would hardly be the last time. It was why he focused on the present, not so much the future.
But right in that moment, all he wanted was for Jim to wake up. He slipped his hand into Jim’s, held it in his, and waited.
FIN.
Title: before daylight
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Prompt: 3. hurt/comfort
Words: 372 words
Spock reached out and gently brushed the back of Jim’s hand with the tips of his fingers. Aside from the weighted presence in the back of his mind, Jim didn’t stir at all. Jim’s chest rose and fell in time with his breath, but he didn’t move; his eyes didn’t flicker and there was no hitch in his breathing.
Of course Jim wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, not with the sedatives and painkillers thudding through his veins. It was for the best, Spock knew, but that knowledge could not stop that illogical pang of worry from sparking deep inside of him.
For the past three-point-four hours, Spock had stood vigil at Jim’s bed side. He’d been there since Sulu had relieved him at the end of his shift and had barely moved since.
Jim’s hand was warm to the touch. He was a comforting – if heavily drugged – presence in Spock’s mind, but Spock missed the warmth of it, the fluctuations in it that signified Jim’s changing emotions. Spock was comforted only in the fact that it meant Jim was still there and with him, but that was lost to the fact that it didn’t quite feel right. The requisite calmness that came with sleep was absent.
The feeling was… disquieting. Spock would never get used to it.
He traced Jim’s fingers with his, enjoying the warmth, in the familiar pattern of a Vulcan kiss, but without the reciprocity. Spock pressed the tips of their fingers together, but still nothing. He knew better than to think that Jim could respond.
The minutes ticked passed. Spock kept careful track of time. He knew that it would be another four-point-five hours before Jim awoke, when the sedatives worked their way out of his system and he could start to push past the painkillers.
He just wanted to hear his voice, feel the familiar brush of Jim’s mind against his.
The emptiness. The silence. He would never grow used to that. But he knew that this would hardly be the last time. It was why he focused on the present, not so much the future.
But right in that moment, all he wanted was for Jim to wake up. He slipped his hand into Jim’s, held it in his, and waited.
FIN.