in stars, in simplicitude

Somehow, the captain must have forgotten the posession of his left hand; after enough futile contortion with suddenly-distant ring and pinky, he brings his hand to Spock's, still and waiting, and slots it securely in there.

And then he folds the tips of his fingers over the back of Spock's hand, because he's garnered no objection to similar acts before and seems to think this one charming.

"Captain, the ta'al is not...was not made for this."

If Spock were a cursing man, he'd curse his vague, imprecise wording.

They are in relatively private quarters (observation deck is not "quarters" but is frequented by the pair of them enough to give the distinct feeling of joint familiarity, of being a place where they together belong). While Spock is never anything but serious when giving the ta'al, his mood just previously could be described as lighthearted - a joke.

However, Kirk impulsively grabbing his hand is not exactly one.

"Hm?"

Kirk looks up half innocently, half dashingly from where he'd been busy applying gentle kisses to each pair of Spock's reluctantly-bent knuckles.

"If you say so, Mr. Spock, but this does seem perfectly serviceable to me. I might even say...logical."

...indeed.