HELLO LIVEJOURNAL I HAVE MISSED YOU
I want to wax lyrical about everything that's been going on and why it's been so long -- but really, today is the longest slowest day that was ever a day. I've been rereading my old fic and now what I REALLY want is for anyone reading this to give me a prompt for a comment box fic because HI I MISSED YOU AND I AM GLAD TO BE BACK FOR A LITTLE WHILE.
Spock has never been one to stoop to profanity, regardless of the situation. It's so common. But the sound of the doctor's creative cursing is surprisingly pleasing, despite the slurs liberally sprinkled throughout McCoy's vocalizations. Spock disregards the threats; McCoy knows the rules of their personal contest and Spock has captured him well within the limits that they so tensely negotiated, each on the end of the other's blade.
It's with almost meditative pleasure that Spock withdraws his touch, leaves the human spread before him on the edge of physical release.
When Spock is bored with the game, he will allow McCoy to find his way into the chasm of a long-delayed orgasm. But it is not McCoy's pleasure that Spock craves -- it is the ache of the unwilling bond they share, the oversensitive throb of the strained connection that will persist as McCoy rests his body and sharpens his own trap for Spock. McCoy is at his very best when he is denied.
Spock is doing him a favor, really.
He bends his head and reaches out his hands again, relentless in his touch.
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