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Spock curls around Jim, half-asleep. His hand seeks Jim’s chest, even in unconsciousness, to eke out the steady murmur of his heartbeat. Mutant blood in all the veins and ventricles but he is alive. His mouth finds the warmth of his lover’s shoulder and he rests it there, lulled to dreams by the tide of Jim’s breathing. He loves and is loved in return. He is safe. The stars dance around them, stretching out ad infinitum—hundreds of thousands of worlds for them to explore. Spock can’t help but find equal fascination in the golden human who leads the ship.