Spock looked back down at his hand again. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at it, to stop stroking over his palm with his other thumb and consider what it had felt like to shake Kirk’s hand. He’d touched other people, familiar pats with Pike and Ortegas’ arm around his shoulders and Chapel’s hands at his face, but no one had grabbed his hand like that except T’Pring.
Maybe that was why Uhura kept watching him. He had behaved abnormally and she was trying to figure out why. Perhaps she knew the significance of the gesture for Vulcans and was shocked by the display.
But Kirk had held a hand out like he expected it. He had looked at Spock like it was a challenge. And Spock, newly experimenting with what it meant to feel, had decided to rise to it.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji sat at one of the low tables, Lan Wangji staring at Wei Wuxian with his normal blank expression, and Wei Wuxian chattering away cheerily. They both glanced up at the interruption.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian said, waving. “What are you doing here?”
For a moment Jiang Cheng just stood there, staring blankly. He looked around the room, expecting to see someone else — but no, it was just the two of them; Wei Wuxian grinning widely, and Lan Wangji looking like he was made of stone. Nothing strange there.
And then Wei Wuxian fluttered his eyelashes teasingly at Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji —
Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Zhan is the same Lan Zhan as before, but also so, so different. This Lan Zhan is soft for him. This Lan Zhan has a set jaw and a steely look in his eye, ready to fight anyone who gets in Wei Wuxian’s way. This Lan Zhan puts up no fronts – it almost hurts to look at him, he’s so open.
Wei Wuxian looks at this Lan Zhan, and he wonders.
Sam Carter strode through the corridors of the SGC with single minded purpose. This was it. The moment had arrived. She’d promised herself, that if a chance like this came, she would take it. Their job was too perilous, and their lives potentially too short, to do otherwise. So this was the moment. Right now. Or at least, in seven minutes. She reached her destination, took a breath, and knocked on the door.
It doesn’t hit Wei Ying until the third time it happens. In his defense, he’s not running on all cylinders, and definitely only on four hours of sleep. This is the last time he hooks up with someone on a Wednesday. It’s six in the morning and he has to get home, shower, throw some coffee down his gullet, sit and stare at the wall for half an hour, and then run to work. So if all he’s noticed about the guy sharing the elevator with him for the third time in two weeks is his hotness, who can really blame him?
But now that he’s looking a bit more closely, as the guy stares resolutely at the number display ticking up, he sees the telltale signs: slightly rumpled collar on an otherwise pristine outfit, bags under his eyes—not so noticeable that they are instantly apparent, but there if you look closely enough—kiss-bitten lips, and (the most damning evidence of all) a hickey blooming just under his ear.