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"You've got to be fucking kidding me." McCoy snapped as he stepped out of his office.
The two cups of coffee he'd had today suddenly seemed entirely insufficient.
His sickbay was completely overrun.
Injured security personnel sprawled out on the bio-beds.
Bleeding ensigns all over the place, and science officers looking at their own wounds in utter bewilderment (blue shirts weren't used to this shit).
Everyone coated in a thin sheen of slime; and Kirk, sitting in the middle of the damn room with about as sheepish a grin as he could muster through a split lip.
McCoy almost turned right back around.
But then Chapel came bustling out of the supply room, slapped a pair of gloves and a fistful of hypos into his hands and effectively blocked his exit.
"Surprise, surprise Doctor; the away team fell into some trouble planet side." She smirked at him, the sadistic heifer.
"You'd best get a move on if you want to leave here and still have time to shower before next shift." She singsonged, shoving him off into the fray.
As obnoxious as she was, McCoy reflected, this was most certainly why the world needed nurses.
Leonard took a few deep, calming breaths, counted to ten in his head, and pulled his gloves on. He would remain calm and professional. He really really would. Just get the job done, Len, you can do this.
He made eye contact with Kirk.
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?!"
Everyone in the near vicinity flinched. Kirk fell right off the biobed.
"Bones-Bones!! It wasn't my fault, I swear!" He pleaded from where he was peering over the edge, waving his hand in surrender.
“How was I supposed to know the planet would have sentient plant life??"
"Sentient-" McCoy blinked.
That gave him pause for a second, before he shook his head and started to circle Jim's biobed.
"Don't you have scanners for that kind of shit, Jim?” Kirk started to inch around the bed in the other direction.
"Yea, but they only scanned as weird alien plants! We don't have scanners for psychotic cabbage, Bones!"
McCoy's hand shot out for Jim over the biobed and managed to snag his wrist. He hauled him up from his crouched position and half dragged him over the bed. Jim yelped, kicking his feet indignantly.
"Jim, if you were battling plants, then what are these burns from!?"
Jim blinked at the shiny red welts on his wrist.
"Oh, those. There was this one type of plant, Bones, with like, scary, bulging, orange fruit. And it would fucking fling the fruit at us, and it was filled with these corrosive, acidic juices. Freaky as hell, right?" McCoy stared.
Jim continued on, looking up at him from his half sprawled position.
"And Bones, there were these other plants with spindly vine-y things, except they were all spiked, and the plant could swing its spikey-vine arms around like clubs - or tentacles maybe - and wrap them around things. That's where most of these cuts came from, by the way.”
“Then this one that looked like the mother of all Venus fly traps -
do you remember when I made you watch that retro 20th century movie, Little Shop of Horrors, Bones? I kept expecting this thing to say Feeeeed me Seymour, FEED meee.
-
and anyway, it nearly freaking ATE me, right before Scotty beamed us all back up. But then Spock shot it with his phaser at the last second, right in this weird bulb-sack thing at it's base; Sulu thinks that's where it stored all it's nutrition/nutrient storing organs or whatever, but I'm pretty damn sure that's where it's half digested victims went..although I guess that's kind of the same thing, but anyway--
And the whole planet was covered in these evil tulips that sprayed slime!
Bones, it was basically a planet of weaponized plant life, isn't that incredible, Bones?"
Jim's enthused babbling finally broke off enough for Leonard’s eyes to unglaze and his brain to sputter back to life.
He looked down into Jim's guileless blue eyes, alight with the excitement of new discovery and face flushed with the dregs of adrenaline,
"Fascinating, Jim."
and jabbed him in the neck with a hypo.
"AAaaUuUUggGghhHh"
Jim writhed in his grip, free hand flying up to his neck, gaping at McCoy in betrayal.
Leonard huffed, "Oh, man up, wouldya? You know hypos don't even hurt."
He grumbled, finally releasing Jim's wrist. Kirk glared up at him, pouting fiercely.
"They do when they're delivered so viciously." He mumbled.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "I've gotta flush out your system for any infection or foreign pathogens. Now get back on this bed so that I can treat yer fool ass and move on. I've got a room of mutated poison ivy just waitin' to break out."
With that, McCoy pulled out a tricorder and dermal-regenerator and set to work.
———
Seven hours later, McCoy's head was threatening to roll off his neck. Chapel was collapsed at a desk, head precariously propped in a hand that was slowly sliding further and further towards the desktop.
McCoy was pretty sure M'Benga had passed out in one of the examination rooms, because he hadn't seem him in over half an hour.
With a jaw cracking yawn, McCoy looked around to see if anyone was left. There was only one biobed occupied now, and the shiny black head and pointed ears were hard to mistake, no matter how tired McCoy was.
He sighed, stifled another yawn, and made his way over to the hobgoblin.
"Mr. Spock." He greeted.
Spock inclined his head, "Doctor."
McCoy's lips quirked in response as he ran the tricorder over Spock's form. The greeting might've seemed cold to an outside perspective, but McCoy fancies the two of them knew there was no genuine bad blood between them. Even their spats were often just good natured, occasionally heated ribbing between colleagues, or dare he think, friends.
McCoy tried not to sigh outwardly at the word 'friends'.
The Vulcan had severely bruised ribs, lacerations up his left arm (presumably from a spiked vine), a nasty contusion on his temple, and three broken toes. Additionally, McCoy could see several scrapes on Spock's face, and a nasty little scratch on his right ear.
He clucked his tongue in dissatisfaction, "Spock, were you even in here earlier?"
"Negative Doctor. Seeing as my injuries are relatively minor, I elected to wait until the rest of the crew had been seen to."
McCoy gave Spock a flat look. "Spock. You've got bruised ribs, broken toes, and punctures all up your arm. Just because you're not on deaths door for once doesn't mean your injuries don't need tending."
His usual bark was somewhat lacking due to drowsiness, but he could still tell Spock off for being an idiot.
Spock reclined back onto the biobed, leaning on his hands, stretching out his abdomen.
It was sort of a strange pose for the normally rigid Vulcan to put himself in, and McCoy's already muzzy brain got caught on it for a moment, looking away from the tricorder's screen to examine the play of muscles under smooth, form fitting fabric. So distracted was he, that he almost missed Spock's actual words.
"Acknowledged, Doctor. However, such injuries were still not in need of immediate attentions. It was the most sensical choice to sit out the time I would have waited here, until other more serious afflictions had been treated, in my quarters instead.
If my afflictions had been more serious, I would have entered a healing sleep. But, seeing as these are relatively minor, I decided it would be simpler to have a doctor treat them. Thus, why I am here now, at your questionable medical mercy."
McCoy took a slow blink, and tried to mentally shake himself more awake. As much as he knew he should be pissed at the patronizing tone and obvious barb Spock had sent his way, something about the green devil's even timbered cadence was not helping him stay awake right now.
Letting out a sigh, he relented that he was really too tired to be having a verbal sparring match with Spock tonight; so instead he simply reached out and flicked Spock lightly in the uninjured ear (to the Vulcan's subtle displeasure and bewilderment) and told him to take his smock off.
Spock actually seemed surprised for a moment by McCoy's lack of a verbal lashing, but took his shirt off all the same.
Damn, if Spock was complying without argument, Leonard reflected, he really must look like sleep deprived shit.
McCoy got to work setting Spock to rights, feeling about half his brain turn off with the monotony of it all.
He still made sure to touch Spock's bare skin as little as possible, gloves or not.
Once he'd hypo'd a cleansing agent and an immune booster into his blood stream, fixed the cracks, contusions, lacerations, and broken toes, McCoy pulled out a pack of good old fashioned alcohol wipes to clean up a couple of the little scrapes on Spock's face. One of Spock's eyebrows went up towards his hairline, but he didn't say anything.
While he was wiping off the little bits of blood and cleaning the scrapes (before using the regenerator to heal them over), his sleepy brain meandered off into a memory of another time he'd been cleaning up small time boo-boo's on someone's face.
-
He remembered the first time his little Jo-Jo had put on her roller skates.
A little 4 year old ball of energy on wheels, she'd gotten the hang of 'em right quick and darted around the house for the rest of the day, taking the corners like a pro, in Leonard's opinion, and much to the terror of Jocelyn's poor fat calico.
The next day though, Joanna had decided to take her lightning skills outside. Almost the second her little skates hit pavement instead of hard wood flooring, she'd taken a tumble off into the grass.
Thankfully she hadn't bumped anything up too bad. Just a bruise or two, a scuff on her cheek, and little tiny scrapes on her knees.
But when she'd looked up at Leonard with those big brimming eyes and her little lip quivered, it’d nearly sent him into hysterics.
He'd plucked her right off the ground and held her close to his chest, cooing that it'd all be ok.
Before she could so much as sniffle hard, he'd pulled out his first aid kit and patched up all her hurts, making sure her favorite stuffed rabbit was within easy snuggling reach.
Although he'd regenerated all of her cuts beyond visibility, she'd still insisted that he kiss all her boo-boos better, and kiss them he did; knees, fingers, and cheeks until she was a giggling mess 'cause his stubble tickled'.
-
Later, McCoy would very firmly blame the fact that he was nearly dead on his feet with exhaustion, and that his tired brain had chosen this particular train of thought to wander off into, for what was about to happen next.
Much later, he might be swayed to admit that there could possibly have been other variables in the mix.
After all the scrapes had been tended to on Spock's face, McCoy remembered the one on his ear. Naturally, he set to work cleaning it up and making sure it was healed as well as possible. Vulcan ears are very sensitive after all.
Just as naturally, his fuzzy brain insisted, after the little boo-boo was all patched up, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to the tip.
To make it better.
McCoy straightened up and blinked rapidly.
Something strange had just happened. He was sure of it.
He looked down at the ear he'd just kissed.
Pointed and.....rapidly turning a deeper shade of green. Oh, right.
McCoy felt his own face start to heat up in embarrassment, but quickly smothered as much of it down as he could. Maybe if he completely pretended nothing had happened, neither of them would have to bring it up. Hell, Spock was beat up enough, maybe he hadn’t noticed.
Hope was important.
McCoy stepped back slowly, trying to affect casualness. He took a deep breath, ready to shoo Spock off and tell him to quit taking up space, get a real nights sleep for once, and completely ignore what had just happened, when he finally looked at Spock's face.
Huh.
Spreading across the Vulcan's cheek bones was an emerald green flush to match his ears. His lips were slightly parted in what mostly looked like shock, but Spock's eyes were shuttered.
Vulcan ears are very sensitive, after all
Ah, sweet Jesus.
McCoy felt nearly his whole body twitch with nervous energy and Spock blinked rapidly as he came out of his mild stupor, gaze zeroing in on Leonard. The look in Spock's eyes was one he hadn't ever seen before, couldn't tell if it was accusation, or distress, or something entirely different. But he suddenly didn't really want to know, and so manfully hid behind his tricorder.
There was literally nothing for him to be using it for at this point, he knew it, Spock knew it, but shit if he wasn't going to use it like a shield anyway.
"Alright Mr. Spock,"
Damn his voice for being two octaves higher than it should be,
"you're all patched up and-and free to go. Get some rest, doctor's orders and all that, and I'll see ya-" not any time in the near future, cause Leonard could see some serious ninja level avoidance tactics in his future, but whatever.
He pivoted sharply on his heel and practically took off at a sprint towards his office. He was too tired for this shit. He needed a good slug of bourbon and as much sleep as he could manage on the cot he had in there, and to forget this entire day.
He'd made it nearly halfway across the sickbay floor when he heard the rustle behind him.
'Don't look. Don't look, it's nothing, he's getting up to leave, doooon' look Lenny.'
Fuck, were those footsteps coming towards him??
Very carefully, out of his peripheral, he looked behind himself and-fuckshit, it definitely looked like Spock was heading in his direction. Possibly getting faster, shit, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck —
Now, the rational thing to do at this point would be to stop, turn, and see what the Vulcan egghead wanted like a mature, functioning, doctor-adult person. But Leonard Horatio McCoy was fucking exhausted and already about half way into panic mode, so instead of doing any of those other things, he started walking faster.
'Maybe he'll just let it go if he sees that I very plainly do NOT want to talk about it he thought, rather desperately. Except the footsteps behind him picked up speed and, ok, now he was literally sprinting, and his heart rate was possibly sky rocketing into completely irrational panic because 'it’s just the damn hobgoblin’ , but Leonard has never really been known for his rational paranoias, and so he’s making a mad dash for his office door. Unfortunately Vulcans are not only stronger than humans, but faster , so it very much feels like the presence behind him is gaining.
He makes it to his office, the door takes literally two fucking seconds to open, but it feels like goddamn forever. As he makes it past the doorway and whirls around to either fend Spock off or hopefully lock the door, but the Vulcan is already literally right in front of him , in the door way, and suddenly he's got hands on both of Leonard's forearms and he's pushing him further into the office.
A purely indignant noise bursts out of him as he's manhandled into his own office where he was going anyway , and at the same time he catches that really weird look in Spock's eyes again, except this time it's accompanied by the smallest fucking smirk , like Spock is seriously enjoying scaring the living daylights out of Leonard. He swallows hard and tries to scowl instead of looking panicked, opens his mouth to give a scathing lecture on the risks of pissing off your local doctor, and suddenly his ass makes contact with his own desk and-- that's a fucking tongue in his mouth.
This is possibly more terrifying than being chased was.
His brain can't even catch up, there’s an actual lapse like a faulty connection. It's just repeating words at him and sending out question marks all over the place -
'Spock? Boo-boo's, heal, mend? panic?? Spock, chase, ANger, kISS???'
- He thinks this must be what a mental break feels like.
Spock's tongue is sliding rather obscenely against his own, in his own mouth, and he's being physically pressed into and against his own desk while simultaneously held up by the two hands fisted into his shirt. Spock makes a little impatient noise into his mouth, probably because Len's not kissing back, except then the devil grinds his hips down into Leonard's own, and if that's not a primally recognized call to action, nothing is - and suddenly he's giving as good as he gets.
Spock hums pleasantly and makes a breathless noise into the kiss, somehow pulls Leonard even tighter against him, and at some point Len's hands have found their way into black silky hair, because he's running fingers through it, mussing it beyond all respectability.
He manages to regain just a sliver of enough brain control to remember what it was that started this, and calculatedly runs a calloused thumb down the length of one pointed ear.
Spock shivers whole bodily, sucks a gasp through his teeth, and has to break the kiss just to breathe, resting his forehead against Leonard's and breathing the same air, hips jerking in little motions against Len's leg.
It's very nearly Too Much to handle, McCoy thinks, dazedly.
He’s not wholly sure he isn’t dreaming, passed out at his desk like Christine, havin’ one helluva wet dream.
Except he’s almost never this creative, and his dreams almost always have some grounding in reality. And Leonard wouldn’t have considered this a possible reality in a thousand years.
Spock surges back up to continue the kiss, but now Leonard's aching to try something else, so he turns his head to the side, denying his mouth.
Spock pulls back and looks at him with the most unamused, impatient look he's ever received in his life, and tries again for his lips, but Len just turns his head again, an impish grin curling on his face.
Spock huffs like he's the most ridiculous creature in the universe, but Len ignores him and reaches out to gently turn Spock's head to the side so they're resting cheek to cheek.
Leaning forward, he carefully traces the tip of his tongue along the inward curl of an ear, and Spock honest to god mewls , nudging up as far as he can between Len's legs, turning his head even more to grant easier access.
McCoy feels a growl rumble in his own chest at the friction and tries not to let his eyes roll back into his head.
With that obvious encouragement, Leonard sets to work lavishing this ear for all he's worth.
He’s got Spock's chin in his hand now so that he can't turn his head, and Spock’s making these stifled little breathy noises, squirming up against him, rocking into his hips, and jesus fuck , why didn't Leonard ever look into just how sensitive Vulcan's ears were before now?
Spock abruptly decides they're apparently not close enough, despite the fact that Spock's about as tight against his body as he could possibly be at this angle, so he pushes Leonard's hips further up the desk, follows him up, and sits in his lap. Leonard blinks up at him in a daze, eyes glazed, lips parsed, traces the pale column of Spock's neck with his gaze and thinks of nothing but licking it. Spock's upper body reclines back enough from his lap to look him in the eye and Len decides Spock looks distinctly amused beneath the fire that’s blazing there.
Leonard’s got one hand tucked up, sliding under Spock’s shirt along his ribs, one hand repeatedly smoothing over the arch of a pointed ear, and exactly one extra tongue in his mouth when the comm on his desk chirps.
Len’s brain is still stuttering through a half formed plot for how he’s going to relocate Spock as quickly as possible to his quarters - or at the very least, how he’s going to get him over to that damned lumpy futon in the corner of his office - so the comm doesn’t quite manage to permeate the fog that’s so firmly settled between his ears.
Spock mumbles something against his lips, but neither of them manage to pull away enough for any actual speaking to happen.
The comm chirrups again, somehow sounding more insistent, but when neither man does a thing to answer the call, a voice crackles to life anyway.
McCoy startles badly, knowing that the only person who could’ve remotely turned on his comm would be the captain. Spock, merely stilling in his actions, sits patiently in his perch atop Leonard’s lap, listening attentively.
“Bones!!” Kirk’s voice sounds aggravated and much too loud in the suddenly still space.
“Wake up! I know you’re in there, we already checked your quarters. I swear to god Bones, if you don’t quit passing out in your office like an old drunkard, I’m gonna order you into an AA group onboard, just to piss you off, see if I don’t.”
Leonard scowls down at the comm. He didn’t even sleep in his office that often. Usually just on...days ending in y...
“I know you were busy terrorizing personnel all day, but there’s been a surge of crazed activity amongst the crew who went planetside, and Sulu needs your help fixing things.”
Leonard looked up at Spock, brow furrowed, but Spock looked back at him as stoically nonplussed as he could manage with his hair stuck up in well ravaged tufts, so Len figured that meant he didn’t know anything about it either.
“Bones!! Answer! Shit, I’ll just come down there-“
The threat of Jim busting in on McCoy and Spock in their current predicament is finally enough to galvanize Leonard into movement.
Holding Spock around the waist so he doesn’t fly off, he lurches forward and slaps the answer button on top of the comm.
“What, Jim, wait, I’m awake, what’s happening, what do you need?” He hopes his rushed babbling sounds more like drowsy slurring.
There’s a bitchy sigh from the other end of the line.
Spock’s eyebrow twitches.
“Finally! Bones, the away team has been behaving erratically all day. There’s been fights in rec rooms, streakers in the hallways; I’ve had three red shirts tell me they quit, one ensign try to step out of an airlock, and I think there’s been at least four marriage proposals today. Not to mention...” Kirk trailed off in uncharacteristic embarrassment. “Well, there’s been more than a few..amorous altercations in public spaces throughout the ship..”
Spock’s hand twitched where it rested on his bicep and Leonard felt some of the blood drain from his face. “Amorous altercations..”
Jim coughed on the other line, seeming to misinterpret McCoy’s quiet horror. “Yea, I...I probably would’ve been more on top of this problem earlier on, but well, I sort of had an...altercation of my own with-with, ok, with a few people-“
Leonard is trying to process a lot of information at once, so all he can manage is a strangled, “Jim-“
“ANYWAY,”
Spock has entirely frozen on top of McCoy, and Len can’t seem to look up at him.
“Sulu and some science officers who didn’t go on the mission have been analyzing the plant matter we brought back, and they seem to have isolated the cause for all the zany behavior. The juices of the Phlengenon Cibumducoflos Bulb plant.”
Jim says the name with the careful pronunciation of someone who’s reciting something he doesn’t understand.
“Ya know, one of those demon tulips that sprayed us, remember me telling you about those, Bones? Right, so, what they’ve said is that the plant’s juices lessen inhibitions in potential prey. Which would make little critters that were fascinated with the plant’s pretty colors more likely to dive right in, and you know, make plant food of themselves.”
It’s on the tip of McCoy’s tongue to argue that he’d checked the bio readings from every crew member who went planetside. That everything had been within normal ranges, even accounting for the adrenaline spikes they had all experienced.
But Len’s been through enough of these wacky space encounters to know that so much of this alien shit is too strange and undocumented for their scanners to recognize. Damned Homicidal Space Plants.
Spock still hasn’t move off of Leonard’s lap, and he can’t decide what that means, because this has been a total moodkiller. But regardless, the dawning realization he’s been trying to fight off long enough to finish the call is already sending ice running down his spine, and there’s a faint ringing in his ears.
Kirk continues on, oblivious to McCoy’s building hysteria.
“It seems like it’s done something similar in the away team, and everyone’s just operating on an almost complete lack of impulse control. Some seem to have gotten a heavier dose than others, pretty sure those were the streakers, or maybe the proposers, I’m not sure which takes more courage-“
McCoy’s thoughts are nothing but a chant, gaining in strength and accusation, ‘Spock’s been drugged. Spock, who hates having his space violated, hates touching, probably hates McCoy , was compromised and he took advantage of him -‘.
“So we need you to come help Sulu out in the lab, Bones, to synthesize an antidote and get this ship back in order. Honestly, we’re not sure if the pathogen can be transmitted or not, but if it can be, it definitely has been, so we need to make enough antidote to administer to the whole ship. I need you to get up here ASAP, alright, Bones? Bones?
Oh! I almost- have you seen Spock anywhere recently? No one can seem to find him, and he was definitely exposed. If he’s no too badly affected though, he could probably help out with the antidote.”
Leonard can feel Spock’s gaze on the side of his face. He can also feel Spock’s weight in his lap, but it’s his gaze that’s burning through him. He doesn’t feel like he can breathe, much less respond to Jim, explain what it is that he’s done, god-
“Bones?? Are you there? Is everything-“
“Everything is fine, captain, the doctor and I will be there shortly.” Spock’s crisp voice breeches through the miasma of guilt caught in Leonard’s lungs.
“Oh, Spock! Wait...Spock? What’re you - is everything ok -??”
“We will be with you momentarily, Captain” and Spock leaned over and switched off the comm.
The room was quiet again.
Leonard’s heart beat was so loud in his ears, he couldn’t think passed it.
“Doctor.”
Spock said his title tentatively.
McCoy’s lungs ached from holding his breath. Actually, everything in his chest hurt, and his ears were still ringing, but he knew he had to push through and try to fix this.
“Spock,” his voice croaked. “Spock, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you were under the influence of anything, but I should’ve been more thorough before I engaged with you in activities that- ya know - I should’ve realized you were acting out of character, and I should’ve tested you instead of just, just, taking advantage,” he can feel how red his face is, and all he can manage are darting glances up at Spock, eye contact totally beyond him.
“I’m so sorry Spock. I hope you can - well, if you wanna press charges or anything, I’d understand-“
Spock’s hand pressed across his mouth, halting him mid ramble. He finally managed to look up at Spock, eyes wide and apologetic.
“Doctor, I,”
Spock stops himself, grimaces, and starts over,
“Leonard, before you continue to castigate yourself, I would like you to recall certain factors:
The pathogen only lessens inhibitions, which means it cannot cause one to want things that one did not already want.”
Spock slid his hand away from covering Len’s mouth in preference for pressing his thumb along Leonard’s lower lip instead.
“I am the one who pursued you into your office, and pressed you against your desk.
I am the one who first engaged in our physically intimate activities-“
“Well actually,” McCoy cuts in sheepishly, “I sort of kissed your ear first.”
There went Spock’s eyebrow again.
“Be that as it may, I am also the one who, though I have heard the data, has not felt the need to remove myself from your person, as I am fully certain of not only my present willingness to participate in such activities with you, but the similar willingness I have felt at many times in the past.”
“I have no desire, Leonard,” and this he says with a certain amount of suppressed severity, “to press charges against you for engaging in actions I wanted you to engage in with me.”
“Not to mention,’ Spock added, sounding almost mulish, “that it is highly likely that you yourself have been exposed to a certain amount of the pathogen at this point, and that your own inhibitions have been lessened.”
The taughtness in Leonard’s chest started to unwind enough that he could begin to breathe again.
“Well,” he mumbled, still uncertain, “I guess we’ll just have to see if you still feel so forgiving after this plant shit has all worn off.”
Spock blinked slowly at him in what Leonard was fairly sure was the Vulcan equivalent of an eye roll.
“My point, Doctor, is that there is nothing to forgive.”
McCoy’s heart did a little squirmy tap dance in his chest, keeping time with the fluttering things in his belly, and he finds it to be a vastly preferable feeling than the cloying pressure guilt had been.
“Thanks, Spock.”
Spock peers down at him with something similar to his usual subdued amusement, but with a little more warmth lingering in his eyes and around the softened corners of his mouth.
“It would be advisable for us to go now to assist Lt. Sulu with the antidote, before the Captain takes it upon himself to find us.”
“Oh right.” Leonard blinks, having almost completely forgotten about the rest of the crew, and the world at large.
Leonard reluctantly pulls his hands away from Spock’s waist and leans back to give him more space. Spock slides down from his lap, though Len likes to think he looked a little unwilling to do so. If only a little.
They stand side by side for a moment, trying to smooth themselves back into some semblance of order. When finished, they look each other over appraisingly.
Spock reaches out and brushes some black hair from McCoy’s shoulder.
“You know, Leonard, truthfully, you’d done very little to have even warranted a court order.”
Warily, Leonard stretches up to smooth a few arrant strands of Spock’s hair back into place. “What do you mean by that exactly, Mr. Spock?”
Both men start to meander towards the door, still eyeing each other.
“All I mean to imply, of course, is that in terms of my defilement, I was still adorned in almost all of my clothes, and the most indecent touching that had occurred was to my ears.”
Leonard’s turning pink all over again, a blush stretching up his neck. “Well I-what’re you-“ he began to stutter.
Spock leaned suddenly further into his space, looking at him with both eyebrows raised innocently.
“That is to say, perhaps in future, Doctor, it might do to move a little more expediently.” And with that, Spock reached over and brusquely smoothed the bunched up front of Leonard’s shirt back down into his uniform slacks, running his knuckles more than a little suggestively along Len’s - everything.
Then he turned on his toes and marched straight out the door.
Leonard stood in the doorway for a long moment, willing himself to think of things like frogs, and baseball, feeling his exhaustion from earlier weigh back into him like sand as he considered how long he’d be working on this antidote stuff, and cursed, “Damned conniving hobgoblin.”
Then he too turned, and hustled to catch up with the long slender figure disappearing around the corner.