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“James, I do not see the point in doing this.” Spock raised an eyebrow at his human partner.
“It’s St. Patrick’s day, and if you don’t wear green, you’ll get pinched!” Jim replied, wearing a loose, dark green tank top, black shorts, a black snap-back with a green clover on the top, and green converse hightops.
“I believe you are wearing enough green for the both of us.” Jim huffed softly, and gave him a look that Spock could only rarely resist. Blue eyes, wide and begging, chin wobbling slightly and tilted down a little, a pout falling over his lips, and Spock suppressed a sigh. “Come.” Jim followed Spock to their bathroom, and handed Jim his eyeshadow palette. “There are several shades of green. You may choose one for me to apply.” His lover’s expression lit up, and he opened the palette carefully, knowing that Vulcan cosmetics were incredibly expensive and hard to ship to Earth.
Jim loved it when Spock wore makeup. He did the basics everyday, but sometimes he wore this periwinkle that made him seem softer, or this baby blue that matched his science blues. He looked absolutely stunning. Jim picked a forest green that would not be overly attention-grabbing, but visible enough if applied lightly.
“This one,” He said, pointing it out to him. Spock nodded and took it from Jim, grasping an eyeshadow brush, and beginning to apply it over his already primed eyelids. Jim was mesmerized as Spock went through it routine, taking an angled brush and brushing brow gel against his eyebrows, defining them. Then brushing contour under his already defined cheekbones and jaw, then going over his green-tinted lips with a nude matte lipstick, and spraying a setting mist over it all. “You’re so beautiful, Spock.” The Vulcan looked at his human, raising an eyebrow.
“You are blushing.”
“It tends to happen when I’m around you.” Spock smiled faintly, meeting Jim’s fingers in a Vulcan kiss.
“We will be late if we do not leave now, Ashayam.”
“Mm.” Jim kissed his knuckles, not wanting to mess up the makeup that Spock had just applied, then hooked their fingers together and led him out of their apartment, toward their car.
They arrived in Scotty’s bar twenty minutes later, where a large St. Patrick’s day party was going on.
“Jimmy, my lad! It’s good tae see ye!” Scotty clapped a hand on Jim’s shoulder. His cheeks were already flush, whiskey on his breath.
“Good to be here, Scotty. Bones here yet?”
“No, he’s with his wee lass and Christine. They’re at her school, said she’s got this party for St. Patrick’s day. He’s gonnae take her home and then the wicked witch is gonnae take her back tae Georgia for the long weekend.” Jim nodded.
“When he gets here, have something strong waiting for him.” Scotty chuckled.
“Aye. I know the drill, Mister Kirk.”
“Speaking of something strong, I could use a whiskey.”
“Comin’ right up. You want anything, Mister Spock?” He asked, but Jim spoke before Spock could.
“He’ll take a hot chocolate.” A glimmer of amusement twinkled in Scotty’s eye, and he nodded.
“Aye. They’ll be out in a moment.” As Scotty turned to the bar to get to work, Spock raised an eyebrow at his bondmate.
“Chocolate will inebriate me, James.”
“We’ll have the hovercar on autopilot to take us home. Have some fun tonight, Spock, it won’t kill you.” Spock squinted his eyes, not quite daring to respond with an ‘it might’, but Scotty set the drinks down before them, and Jim handed the drink to Spock. “To good health,” He toasted, clinking their drinks together and swallowing down the whiskey with one, burning gulp.
Spock was more hesitant, gently lifting it to his lips, and taking a timid sip. The shock of sugar caught him off guard, but it wasn’t completely unpleasant. He took a longer drink, the warmth filling him up. He set it down after that, a pleasant buzz already falling over him.
“Well?” Jim asked, lifting the second glass of whiskey to his lips.
“I find it… agreeable.” Jim chuckled softly and sipped his drink.
Somewhere around the third or fourth whiskey was when McCoy and Christine walked into the bar. Scotty slid the Georgian a small glass of Romulan ale, and he took it graciously. Christine got herself a coffee, not really one for drinking, but not minding the party (Leonard was actually very sweet when he was drunk; at least to her).
Nyota and Scotty were flirting across the bar, Sulu and his husband were playing blackjack with Chekov and Janice Rand, Chekov’s girlfriend. Jim and Spock were in the back of the room, fingers laced together under the table, Spock rather obviously drunk. Jim was getting there, though he was tempted to stop, just so he could make good observations of Spock. So far, he could tell that Spock much more affectionate.
The Vulcan’s free hand was at the back of Jim’s neck, tangled against the curls there as they made gentle conversation. The human felt a sudden swell of irritation as someone walked over. Looking over, he saw Gary Mitchell, Jim’s ex-boyfriend, an un-expecting freshman boy on his arm.
“Hey, Jimmy, it’s good to see you,” He said, eyes dragging up and down Jim’s body, as if he still knew every detail about it. Jim had told Spock of all his previous romantic interests, and Mitchell was his most recent.
“Gross, why?” Jim replied without thinking, and he could feel Spock’s amusement as Gary’s eyes narrowed, then his expression turned back into something grotesquely sweet, like a man with something to hide.
“I was just wondering if you’ve met William before?” He asked, and Jim’s eyes fell onto a man, tall and clean-shaven, with almost neon blue eyes and brown hair. “He’s studying to be in command, just like you. He said he was a fan, and I told him that I knew… all about you.” That particular phrase was far too implicative for Spock’s taste.
“You know nothing of importance about James,” Spock said, and Gary’s eyes snapped over to Spock.
“You must be the new boy toy. Leave it to Jimmy to seduce a Vulcan.”
“And what is that supposed to mean, Mister Mitchell?”
“Jim sleeps with anything that has a pulse, you apathetic dumbass.” Spock went to stand, but Jim put a hand on his chest.
“Don’t. He’s not worth it,” Jim muttered. Spock’s eyes turned to Jim.
“No, he most certainly is not. But you are.”
“How cute. Way to tame that pointy-eared bastard.” Jim turned his eyes to Gary, anger in his eyes.
“Fuck did you just say?” He asked, and Gary paused for a moment.
“…You heard me, Kirk. Your boy is nothing but a good-for-nothing Vulcan reject.” Jim stood up calmly, William stepping back a few steps. He stepped into Gary’s personal space, eyes narrowed yet unreadable, and suddenly he lifted his fist and slammed it into Mitchell’s jaw. The man fell to the ground with a loud crash, and Jim was on top of him, one hand fisted into the collar of Gary Mitchell’s collar, the other curled into itself, and shoved it back down, hitting Gary’s nose, then across the face, and then hands were pulling them apart. Bones and Scotty were hauling Jim off of him, Chekov and Sulu helping Mitchell up, but restraining his arms when they two began to charge at each other.
“Fucking say it again, Gary, I dare you!” Kirk yelled, struggling against the Georgian and the Scotsman. “Fucking say it and I’ll crush you!”
“Dammit Jim, calm down!” Bones hissed.
“He implied that Jim was promiscuous in an incredibly derogatory way,” Spock said, standing beside Jim, eyes glaring at Mitchell. Bones’s eyes snapped to Mitchell.
“You called Jim a whore?” He asked, and suddenly all eyes were on Mitchell, who was just now realizing how outnumbered he was.
“…No.”
“Oh, so you’re a fucking liar, too?” Jim hissed. Bones and Scotty looked to each other and nodded, releasing Jim to grab Mitchell. Scotty took Mitchell’s arms, Bones took his legs, and promptly carried him out of the bar, quite literally throwing him out. Spock grasped Jim, looking him over worriedly.
“You should not have done that. Your hand is injured.”
“A small price to pay.” Spock looked into Jim’s eyes, and sighed.
“You are too selfless for your own good.” He pulled Jim close and pressed a very human kiss to his lips, then held Jim to his chest.
“We should go home,” Jim murmured, wrapping his arms around Spock’s middle.
“Indeed.” The two pulled apart, their hands lacing together. Jim led Spock out, waving goodbye to Scotty, and made their way home.
When Jim woke that following morning, his hand was very cold, and he felt two fingers petting Vulcan kisses into his jaw. His eyes opened, and he saw the icepack on his hand, and Spock laying beside him, eyes loving.
“Good morning, James.”
“Morning, Spock,” He hummed, turning his head to press a kiss to his fingertips.
“Your hand is bruised.”
“Mm. Worth it.” Spock kissed his forehead.
“I cherish thee.”
“I love you too.” Jim kissed the corner of his mouth. “Hey, Spock?”
“Yes?”
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” Spock smiled faintly.
“Indeed.”