Calendar Days
Author's name: racheldeet
Written for: igrab
Pairing/characters: McCoy/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: TL;DR.
Disclaimer: I own nothing that even vaguely resembles any part of the Star Trek universe. No, this red shirt isn't mine, either.
Prompt: Amusing Bones bitching about Vulcans (but damnit no one ELSE is allowed to)
Author's Note: This is the fourth incarnation of this, and I'm still not happy with it. I sincerely apologize to igrab, and I'll gladly write something else if she wants.
It took exactly six months, two weeks, and four days for Spock and Leonard McCoy to have sexual intercourse. It was a positively illogical combination, but one which satisfied something that Spock had felt, but ignored, for many years, and still had no name for. They met in Doctor McCoy's quarters several nights a week, had sexual intercourse, and then Spock returned to his own quarters to sleep. And in that way, it was quite logical indeed -- the doctor could not stand the heat in Spock's quarters, while Spock could not sleep restfully in the coolness of the rest of the ship.
They did not talk about it, together or with anyone else. Although they both knew that Jim would not "pitch hell" over their relationship, they both knew that it was better for the collective sanity of the crew that Jim did not have the extra ammunition for his improper jokes. Despite Medical falling under his jurisdiction as Science Officer, Spock spent little time in Sickbay, feeling that Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel were competent in their ability to overcome the small outbreaks and even the more major injuries that occured on a starship the size of the Enterprise. His involvement in Medical was therefore limited to research, which he needed a logical and methodical hand lent to it, and his own physical well-being. In this way, he felt he was doing his duty in keeping their relationship a secret by not attracting attention to it.
However, there was only one logical place to go when he began to develop the symptoms of what one would initially qualify as a sickness, and so, Spock went.
He had no doubt of what was causing his distress, of course. The destruction of Vulcan had more side-effects than anyone could have predicted. Due to the massive loss of life, and therefore a great deal of broken mental bonds amongst the survivors, there was a huge upset in the way that Vulcan relationships typically played out. Spock had granted only a slight bit of acknowledgment to the breaking of his bond; enough to mourn properly, but not enough to be considered dwelling. He had consulted one of the few living Vulcan doctors after asking advice of his father, and had been told that his choices were limited, really, to only two: form a new bond, or wait while his mind closed around the scar.
Spock had chosen to wait. He still held out hope that Pon Farr would pass him by, and prove that he was, as he secretly suspected, unable to breed healthy children -- possibly unable to breed at all. More and more often, however, he had found himself unable to sleep properly. While he did not need as much sleep as a human, he found that he had reached a point that he was almost not sleeping at all. His stomach had become less tolerant of high-caloric foods, as well, causing additional weariness to seep through his frame through the long days on the bridge. Whether the weariness was entirely caused by his physical condition, he could not say, however. He was sure having to share the bridge with Jim contributed to his mental exhaustion a great deal, of course.
Something most definitely had to be done, however. After ending his shift one day, Spock chose to go to Sickbay rather than to his own quarters. He patiently let Nurse Chapel take his vitals, while ignoring the doleful looks she gave him. He could hear McCoy complaining from somewhere out of sight, loud and blustering. The man cared about the human condition, let it not be misunderstood, but he had no patience for carelessness, and it was if he tried to use his own attitude as punishment to convince others -- especially impressionable young ensigns -- to use more caution in the future. Spock would think it all a very fine acting job, if he was not so sure that McCoy behaved in such a manner all the time.
The doctor entered, and Spock wondered if he had perhaps chosen a poor time to broach the subject. He looked, as Spock had once heard it described, frazzled. He had a tricorder out and hovering over Spock a second later, apparently not interested in the readings Nurse Chapel had just completed in the slightest. "All right," he said, after a long moment. "What are you here for?"
Spock propped himself up on the bed in order to look McCoy in the eyes. "I have been experiencing an inability to sleep, as well as intestinal distress, which I believe has been caused by stress related to the destruction of Vulcan." He had already decided that mentioning T'Pring around McCoy, while relevant, would not be best for his relationship with the doctor.
McCoy blinked once, face slack, and then once more. It was an expression Spock had never seen before, and was unsure of how to interpret. "Doctor?" he asked.
"Hang on, I might need to sit down," McCoy said.
Spock did not understand. "You feel ill?" he asked.
McCoy snapped out of it, then, and wrinkled his nose. "Just shocked at you admitting that you might actually have had some sort of adverse affects due to what happened with Nero," he said, back to his usual bluff and bluster. Spock was idly reminded of how very few people wanted to refer to it as Vulcan's destruction. It was "what happened with Nero" or "the Vulcan incident", depending on whether the person had been on board when it had occurred.
McCoy grabbed a PADD and began making a few short notations, biting his lip all the while. "Is there some sort of underlying cause to this, or just stress?" he asked after a long moment.
"Stress, of a sort," Spock said. He did not want to bring the mental bond into this discussion, and hedging around it, he had learned, was not quite the same thing as lying.
McCoy hummed and nodded. "All right, I'm going to give you some low-dose hypos for the rest of the week, and see if that can get you back on track. If it doesn't, we might look into something long-term, but the stress of your body acting up added to the original stress is definitely not helping you get better, so this should help."
It was a few minutes before McCoy had put together a hypospray, but it only took a moment to administer, and then Spock was being shuffled out of Sickbay, toward the turbolift. "Go to bed early, we'll see each other tomorrow," McCoy said, very softly, just before he left.
Spock nodded. One, graceful move. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.
That night, Spock slept more heavily than he would have normally, but it was the fact that he was sleeping at all that was important. He made note, upon waking, to request a slightly smaller dose, in order to reduce the thick-headed feeling that did not seem easy to shake, but overall counted the experiment a success.
He visited McCoy's quarters that night, rather than Sickbay. McCoy had said they would see each other, after all, and there was no need to take up space and time in the Sickbay that could be better spent caring for someone much more in need. At least, that was his reasoning.
McCoy seemed to have thought the same thing. He was perched on the edge of his bed, one leg curled under him, with a hypospray in his hands, as natural as anything else Spock had ever seen. The door swooshed shut behind Spock, and they were completely alone.
For a few long moments, they simply looked at each other.
"How long were you not sleeping before you felt it was impairing your ability to function enough that you had to come see me?" McCoy asked, after a long moment. He dropped his eyes, gazing at the hypospray in his hands rather than at Spock. Spock recognized the change for what it was -- a sign that there was a rift between them, one that he had to cross before they could move further together.
Spock came and sat on the bed near to him, but not touching. "Sporadic, since the destruction of Vulcan," he said -- he liked using the more descriptive phrase. If his father had noticed, he would undoubtedly have blamed it on a need to show that he was stronger, more capable than everyone thought he was. Spock reasoned that there was no purpose in being vague. "It is only in the last two to three weeks that it has escalated, and while I am sure I could have maintained my post, I see no reason to suffer intentionally."
McCoy did not seem satisfied. He glanced sideways at Spock. "There's something you're leaving out, and I don't like it," he said.
Spock did not meet McCoy's eyes. He was being tested, he was sure of it. What was he to say? The truth would anger his lover, he felt. But he could not lie, not when he was being asked so directly what he was hiding, and there was nothing else simmering that he could use. He folded his hands in his lap, fingers tight, trying to funnel his frustration into them -- unseen, so that this weakness would not be made known.
"When Vulcans are young, we are mentally bonded to one of our own race, in order that when we reach an age of sexual maturity, the bond may be completed and their coupling completed in a way that will ensure a family structure suitable for raising children. The loss of life our species has suffered means that almost all of these bonds were severed, including he one I had with a Vulcan woman."
"You were engaged," McCoy said, as if to clarify.
"In short, yes," Spock said. "Something slightly more than an engagement, but not quite a marriage. The loss has caused much worse side-affects in other Vulcans, but as you so often enjoy pointing out, I am half-human. And so, my mind has not rejected the area where the bond was. Rather, it is trying to heal."
"You're a widow, and you didn't feel like that was something that needed to be shared?"
Spock suppressed a flush of annoyance. "Doctor, are you in the habit of making your relationship with your ex-wife common knowledge to more recent bed-mates?"
McCoy ignored the question. "Did Uhura know this?"
"I did not wish to burden Leutenant Uhura with --"
McCoy tossed the hypospray behind him and stood. "You see?" he cried. "I can't -- what the hell are we doing? You've been sharing my bed for weeks --"
"Two months," Spock corrected, voice very soft, unsure whether it was a good idea to interrupt this tirade.
"-- and you know everything about me, dammit. I'm divorced, I have a kid, I fuckin' hate the fact that I'm in this flying death trap --"
"Starships are carefully maintained in order to ensure that they are as safe as is statistically possible given the number of v--"
"And what do I have of you? A lot of statistics, some good sex, and one emotional outburst at Jim." He paused in the midst of pacing back and forth in front of the bed and glared at Spock. "I 'm glad you've admitted you were half-human, and not completely bound by the Vulcan hoo-hoorah," he added. "But you'll only admit it when it means that humans are stronger than Vulcans in something, not when it means admitting that, Lord forbid, you might actually have a damn weakness of your own. And, dammit, I can't handle sharing my bed with someone who's so fucking perfect." He spat the last word like it was the worst of curses, and knowing McCoy, it probably was.
Spock did not have a response for a long moment. He combed through what he knew of human relationships. They liked honesty, and for others to be up front with them about thsoe things that were not normally spoken of, even amongst friends. Sex was intimate, but not always as intimate as Spock was used to, coming from a society where it meant a melding of bodies and spirit.
Finally, he stood and stopped McCoy's restless movements with hands on his too-cool cheeks, forcing him to look Spock in the eye. "I am sorry," Spock sad, very carefully. "I did not understand that was what you wanted from our relationship." Honest, to a degree any Vulcan would have been very proud of.
"Is that the line you fed to Uhura, too?" McCoy asked.
"Mine and Uhura's relationship ended by mutual understanding, not because I 'fed her a line', as you so put it," Spock said. "Furthermore, you imply I am ending ours. I am not. I am giving you an honest explanation, which I believe is what you wanted when you made your query."
McCoy stared at him, silent for a long moment, searching his eyes as if an answer would be found there. "Be more honest with me, for god's sakes," he said finally.
"I will do my best," Spock said. He did not breathe out a sigh of relief, but he felt some of the tension seep from his shoulders.
McCoy lightly pressed on his shoulders, backing him up until he sat on the edge of the bed. McCoy was slightly shorter than Spock when they stood, but like this, it created a strange, new angle. So when he leaned down to kiss Spock, it was different and interesting. The fingers popping open the button on his slacks, however, were much more familiar.
"Doctor --"
He was going to follow it with a word on how unwise this could be, but McCoy cut him off. "I'm making sure you sleep well tonight," he said, working Spock's half-hard member out of his slacks. "Don't complain."
Spock bit down on the retort that immediately came to mind, focusing instead on the sudden rush of coolness around his member. Oral gratification had not held any appeal before he developed a sexual relationship with McCoy, but the contrast in body heat was intoxicating, along with McCoy's ability to wring tiny sounds from him as he found the most sensitive points.
All logical thought fled from him when McCoy grazed his teeth along his member. Brief, only a flash of sensation, almost an accident, but enough to send Spock to incoherency. A tongue followed, as if to soothe the spot, and Spock let himself lean back, balancing on his arms, spreading his legs.
McCoy's hands snaked up Spock's thighs, rubbing gentle circles that set off sparks, and finally reaching blindly for Spock's hands. Spock balanced himself on one, slowly reaching out with the other so that they could meet. Brighter sparks flew there from even the most gentle of touches, and Spock rode them, letting them bring him to a trembling point, just on the edge of coming apart.
The mouth was suddenly removed from his member, and Spock did not dare move. Eyes shut, he had closed himself off from anything other than the sensations still buzzing through his blood. Two hands cupped his one, and then a wet, cool tongue painted a stripe along his palm.
Spock saw sparks of light behind his eyelids. A second swipe of that tongue, and his orgasm ripped through him. He laid back on the bed, breathing carefully in its aftermath.
A prick in his neck and a soft hiss meant that McCoy had given him the medication. It would set in quickly, and Spock was not sure whether he wanted to move to his own quarters. He tipped his head to the side and opened his eyes.
McCoy smirked. "Either get the hell out of my bed, or get under a blanket before you freeze to death."
It only took eight months and two weeks for Spock and Leonard McCoy to sleep together.
Written for: igrab
Pairing/characters: McCoy/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: TL;DR.
Disclaimer: I own nothing that even vaguely resembles any part of the Star Trek universe. No, this red shirt isn't mine, either.
Prompt: Amusing Bones bitching about Vulcans (but damnit no one ELSE is allowed to)
Author's Note: This is the fourth incarnation of this, and I'm still not happy with it. I sincerely apologize to igrab, and I'll gladly write something else if she wants.
It took exactly six months, two weeks, and four days for Spock and Leonard McCoy to have sexual intercourse. It was a positively illogical combination, but one which satisfied something that Spock had felt, but ignored, for many years, and still had no name for. They met in Doctor McCoy's quarters several nights a week, had sexual intercourse, and then Spock returned to his own quarters to sleep. And in that way, it was quite logical indeed -- the doctor could not stand the heat in Spock's quarters, while Spock could not sleep restfully in the coolness of the rest of the ship.
They did not talk about it, together or with anyone else. Although they both knew that Jim would not "pitch hell" over their relationship, they both knew that it was better for the collective sanity of the crew that Jim did not have the extra ammunition for his improper jokes. Despite Medical falling under his jurisdiction as Science Officer, Spock spent little time in Sickbay, feeling that Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel were competent in their ability to overcome the small outbreaks and even the more major injuries that occured on a starship the size of the Enterprise. His involvement in Medical was therefore limited to research, which he needed a logical and methodical hand lent to it, and his own physical well-being. In this way, he felt he was doing his duty in keeping their relationship a secret by not attracting attention to it.
However, there was only one logical place to go when he began to develop the symptoms of what one would initially qualify as a sickness, and so, Spock went.
He had no doubt of what was causing his distress, of course. The destruction of Vulcan had more side-effects than anyone could have predicted. Due to the massive loss of life, and therefore a great deal of broken mental bonds amongst the survivors, there was a huge upset in the way that Vulcan relationships typically played out. Spock had granted only a slight bit of acknowledgment to the breaking of his bond; enough to mourn properly, but not enough to be considered dwelling. He had consulted one of the few living Vulcan doctors after asking advice of his father, and had been told that his choices were limited, really, to only two: form a new bond, or wait while his mind closed around the scar.
Spock had chosen to wait. He still held out hope that Pon Farr would pass him by, and prove that he was, as he secretly suspected, unable to breed healthy children -- possibly unable to breed at all. More and more often, however, he had found himself unable to sleep properly. While he did not need as much sleep as a human, he found that he had reached a point that he was almost not sleeping at all. His stomach had become less tolerant of high-caloric foods, as well, causing additional weariness to seep through his frame through the long days on the bridge. Whether the weariness was entirely caused by his physical condition, he could not say, however. He was sure having to share the bridge with Jim contributed to his mental exhaustion a great deal, of course.
Something most definitely had to be done, however. After ending his shift one day, Spock chose to go to Sickbay rather than to his own quarters. He patiently let Nurse Chapel take his vitals, while ignoring the doleful looks she gave him. He could hear McCoy complaining from somewhere out of sight, loud and blustering. The man cared about the human condition, let it not be misunderstood, but he had no patience for carelessness, and it was if he tried to use his own attitude as punishment to convince others -- especially impressionable young ensigns -- to use more caution in the future. Spock would think it all a very fine acting job, if he was not so sure that McCoy behaved in such a manner all the time.
The doctor entered, and Spock wondered if he had perhaps chosen a poor time to broach the subject. He looked, as Spock had once heard it described, frazzled. He had a tricorder out and hovering over Spock a second later, apparently not interested in the readings Nurse Chapel had just completed in the slightest. "All right," he said, after a long moment. "What are you here for?"
Spock propped himself up on the bed in order to look McCoy in the eyes. "I have been experiencing an inability to sleep, as well as intestinal distress, which I believe has been caused by stress related to the destruction of Vulcan." He had already decided that mentioning T'Pring around McCoy, while relevant, would not be best for his relationship with the doctor.
McCoy blinked once, face slack, and then once more. It was an expression Spock had never seen before, and was unsure of how to interpret. "Doctor?" he asked.
"Hang on, I might need to sit down," McCoy said.
Spock did not understand. "You feel ill?" he asked.
McCoy snapped out of it, then, and wrinkled his nose. "Just shocked at you admitting that you might actually have had some sort of adverse affects due to what happened with Nero," he said, back to his usual bluff and bluster. Spock was idly reminded of how very few people wanted to refer to it as Vulcan's destruction. It was "what happened with Nero" or "the Vulcan incident", depending on whether the person had been on board when it had occurred.
McCoy grabbed a PADD and began making a few short notations, biting his lip all the while. "Is there some sort of underlying cause to this, or just stress?" he asked after a long moment.
"Stress, of a sort," Spock said. He did not want to bring the mental bond into this discussion, and hedging around it, he had learned, was not quite the same thing as lying.
McCoy hummed and nodded. "All right, I'm going to give you some low-dose hypos for the rest of the week, and see if that can get you back on track. If it doesn't, we might look into something long-term, but the stress of your body acting up added to the original stress is definitely not helping you get better, so this should help."
It was a few minutes before McCoy had put together a hypospray, but it only took a moment to administer, and then Spock was being shuffled out of Sickbay, toward the turbolift. "Go to bed early, we'll see each other tomorrow," McCoy said, very softly, just before he left.
Spock nodded. One, graceful move. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.
That night, Spock slept more heavily than he would have normally, but it was the fact that he was sleeping at all that was important. He made note, upon waking, to request a slightly smaller dose, in order to reduce the thick-headed feeling that did not seem easy to shake, but overall counted the experiment a success.
He visited McCoy's quarters that night, rather than Sickbay. McCoy had said they would see each other, after all, and there was no need to take up space and time in the Sickbay that could be better spent caring for someone much more in need. At least, that was his reasoning.
McCoy seemed to have thought the same thing. He was perched on the edge of his bed, one leg curled under him, with a hypospray in his hands, as natural as anything else Spock had ever seen. The door swooshed shut behind Spock, and they were completely alone.
For a few long moments, they simply looked at each other.
"How long were you not sleeping before you felt it was impairing your ability to function enough that you had to come see me?" McCoy asked, after a long moment. He dropped his eyes, gazing at the hypospray in his hands rather than at Spock. Spock recognized the change for what it was -- a sign that there was a rift between them, one that he had to cross before they could move further together.
Spock came and sat on the bed near to him, but not touching. "Sporadic, since the destruction of Vulcan," he said -- he liked using the more descriptive phrase. If his father had noticed, he would undoubtedly have blamed it on a need to show that he was stronger, more capable than everyone thought he was. Spock reasoned that there was no purpose in being vague. "It is only in the last two to three weeks that it has escalated, and while I am sure I could have maintained my post, I see no reason to suffer intentionally."
McCoy did not seem satisfied. He glanced sideways at Spock. "There's something you're leaving out, and I don't like it," he said.
Spock did not meet McCoy's eyes. He was being tested, he was sure of it. What was he to say? The truth would anger his lover, he felt. But he could not lie, not when he was being asked so directly what he was hiding, and there was nothing else simmering that he could use. He folded his hands in his lap, fingers tight, trying to funnel his frustration into them -- unseen, so that this weakness would not be made known.
"When Vulcans are young, we are mentally bonded to one of our own race, in order that when we reach an age of sexual maturity, the bond may be completed and their coupling completed in a way that will ensure a family structure suitable for raising children. The loss of life our species has suffered means that almost all of these bonds were severed, including he one I had with a Vulcan woman."
"You were engaged," McCoy said, as if to clarify.
"In short, yes," Spock said. "Something slightly more than an engagement, but not quite a marriage. The loss has caused much worse side-affects in other Vulcans, but as you so often enjoy pointing out, I am half-human. And so, my mind has not rejected the area where the bond was. Rather, it is trying to heal."
"You're a widow, and you didn't feel like that was something that needed to be shared?"
Spock suppressed a flush of annoyance. "Doctor, are you in the habit of making your relationship with your ex-wife common knowledge to more recent bed-mates?"
McCoy ignored the question. "Did Uhura know this?"
"I did not wish to burden Leutenant Uhura with --"
McCoy tossed the hypospray behind him and stood. "You see?" he cried. "I can't -- what the hell are we doing? You've been sharing my bed for weeks --"
"Two months," Spock corrected, voice very soft, unsure whether it was a good idea to interrupt this tirade.
"-- and you know everything about me, dammit. I'm divorced, I have a kid, I fuckin' hate the fact that I'm in this flying death trap --"
"Starships are carefully maintained in order to ensure that they are as safe as is statistically possible given the number of v--"
"And what do I have of you? A lot of statistics, some good sex, and one emotional outburst at Jim." He paused in the midst of pacing back and forth in front of the bed and glared at Spock. "I 'm glad you've admitted you were half-human, and not completely bound by the Vulcan hoo-hoorah," he added. "But you'll only admit it when it means that humans are stronger than Vulcans in something, not when it means admitting that, Lord forbid, you might actually have a damn weakness of your own. And, dammit, I can't handle sharing my bed with someone who's so fucking perfect." He spat the last word like it was the worst of curses, and knowing McCoy, it probably was.
Spock did not have a response for a long moment. He combed through what he knew of human relationships. They liked honesty, and for others to be up front with them about thsoe things that were not normally spoken of, even amongst friends. Sex was intimate, but not always as intimate as Spock was used to, coming from a society where it meant a melding of bodies and spirit.
Finally, he stood and stopped McCoy's restless movements with hands on his too-cool cheeks, forcing him to look Spock in the eye. "I am sorry," Spock sad, very carefully. "I did not understand that was what you wanted from our relationship." Honest, to a degree any Vulcan would have been very proud of.
"Is that the line you fed to Uhura, too?" McCoy asked.
"Mine and Uhura's relationship ended by mutual understanding, not because I 'fed her a line', as you so put it," Spock said. "Furthermore, you imply I am ending ours. I am not. I am giving you an honest explanation, which I believe is what you wanted when you made your query."
McCoy stared at him, silent for a long moment, searching his eyes as if an answer would be found there. "Be more honest with me, for god's sakes," he said finally.
"I will do my best," Spock said. He did not breathe out a sigh of relief, but he felt some of the tension seep from his shoulders.
McCoy lightly pressed on his shoulders, backing him up until he sat on the edge of the bed. McCoy was slightly shorter than Spock when they stood, but like this, it created a strange, new angle. So when he leaned down to kiss Spock, it was different and interesting. The fingers popping open the button on his slacks, however, were much more familiar.
"Doctor --"
He was going to follow it with a word on how unwise this could be, but McCoy cut him off. "I'm making sure you sleep well tonight," he said, working Spock's half-hard member out of his slacks. "Don't complain."
Spock bit down on the retort that immediately came to mind, focusing instead on the sudden rush of coolness around his member. Oral gratification had not held any appeal before he developed a sexual relationship with McCoy, but the contrast in body heat was intoxicating, along with McCoy's ability to wring tiny sounds from him as he found the most sensitive points.
All logical thought fled from him when McCoy grazed his teeth along his member. Brief, only a flash of sensation, almost an accident, but enough to send Spock to incoherency. A tongue followed, as if to soothe the spot, and Spock let himself lean back, balancing on his arms, spreading his legs.
McCoy's hands snaked up Spock's thighs, rubbing gentle circles that set off sparks, and finally reaching blindly for Spock's hands. Spock balanced himself on one, slowly reaching out with the other so that they could meet. Brighter sparks flew there from even the most gentle of touches, and Spock rode them, letting them bring him to a trembling point, just on the edge of coming apart.
The mouth was suddenly removed from his member, and Spock did not dare move. Eyes shut, he had closed himself off from anything other than the sensations still buzzing through his blood. Two hands cupped his one, and then a wet, cool tongue painted a stripe along his palm.
Spock saw sparks of light behind his eyelids. A second swipe of that tongue, and his orgasm ripped through him. He laid back on the bed, breathing carefully in its aftermath.
A prick in his neck and a soft hiss meant that McCoy had given him the medication. It would set in quickly, and Spock was not sure whether he wanted to move to his own quarters. He tipped his head to the side and opened his eyes.
McCoy smirked. "Either get the hell out of my bed, or get under a blanket before you freeze to death."
It only took eight months and two weeks for Spock and Leonard McCoy to sleep together.