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"Fine," growled Kirk, "I'm coming out. But if you laugh, I swear to the great bird you'll be on laundry duty for a week."
Synchronised in uncanny perfection, McCoy and Spock turned to each other with eyebrows raised, sharing one of those unintentional, patented comedy double-acts which had increased exponentially since the vulcan's recent return from Gol. Their old interplay was returning, aided in part by Spock's newfound relaxed attitude since the start of his intimate relationship with Jim. The two of them looked at one another for a pregnant moment, then turned their attention to the opening door at the sound of a swoosh.
The admiral's face was stormy, though one might be forgiven for passing that over. Stripped naked above the waist, his hulking muscles and broad, manly shoulders stood out in strong relief against the bright lights of the sickbay examining room, causing McCoy's eyes to widen in purely platonic admiration, as well as causing a series of physiological changes to begin inside Spock. Although he was now above forty, there was no doubt that Kirk was fit, healthy and devilishly handsome – his complexion was lustrous and creamy, and his chestnut curls (which were utterly bona fide, whatever the newscasts implied) were buoyant. This was still a man who could turn heads, no doubt about it.
However, the problem was a newly acquired feature. One which had sprung up overnight, in fact. Loath as he was to admit it, Kirk's good looks did require maintenance and one of his latest shore leave purchases had been a beauty lotion. Slathering it on his chest in the hope of achieving 'firm', 'sculpted' and any number of other complimentary adjectives, Kirk had not reckoned with the importance of one abiding feature of its maker's conception of male attractiveness: being piliferous. If you were not furry enough, this cream would make you so. Guaranteed. Whether you wanted it or not.
Jim's newly grown chest hair was lacking the richness and virility of its cranial counterpart; obviously one application was not enough to get the full effect. Limp and straggly, the wire-like strands grew in all directions but gave only a thin layer of coverage, and were almost pubic in their inadequacy. His nipples poked out from their new layer of down with a faint flush of embarrassed pinkness. The one redeeming feature was the lovetrail, which quested indefatigably down below his waistband and into new territory.
McCoy suppressed a snigger, mindful of Kirk's warning. His serious tone belying the jocularity which he felt, the doctor asked: "So what do you want me to do about it, Jim? My sickbay's wax stock is for pre-surgical use only."
"Bones, please!" the admiral whined, sounding uncharacteristically baleful, "you can make an exception just this once – I'll buy you a brandy!".
McCoy shook his head firmly. "S'against the rules, Jim." he replied.
Eyes widening in growing horror, Kirk insisted: "But you know I can't use the depilatory lotions – they make me itch! And if I shave I'll get stubble… ".
The chief medical officer threw up his hands in mock despair and sighed. "I'll see if there's something I can cook up, but don't count on it."
Kirk looked relieved.
"Now put your goddamn shirt back on and get the hell outta here!" he doctor snapped.
Kirk did as he was told, looking a whole lot happier.
Making ready to go himself, McCoy's attention was suddenly caught by Spock, who hadn't moved a muscle during the whole exchange. Or maybe he has… groaned McCoy inwardly as he accidently glanced down. The bulge in the front of the vulcan's jumpsuit was rather telltale, and certainly left little to the imagination.
Do those two never give it a rest? McCoy wondered to himself. He cleared his throat significantly. "He's gone, Spock" the doctor said. "Come back to the land of the living." He waved his hand in front of the vulcan's eyes.
With a start, Spock came back to himself. "Thank you, Doctor." he remarked crisply, with a hint of retribution. "I was quite aware of the admiral's departure."
"I'll bet you were," commented McCoy slyly, "you're pining over him like a lost tribble. Nothing worth looking at now he's left the room, huh?".
Blushing faintly, Spock simply said: "Indeed."
McCoy began to grin, knowing he'd trapped his prey. Spock buckled under the weight of his expectant look.
"I find the admiral's new… follicular profusion most agreeable." he admitted.
"Oh, so you like that?" grinned McCoy.
"I do." answered Spock. "How shall I put it… 'lightly furred' is just how I like him."
The doctor smacked his palms together in delight, and Spock raised a good-natured eyebrow.
"Just make sure you let him know, you crafty old hobgoblin – that Jimmy's a menace when it comes to prancing around like a smooth-chested Jaroolian exotic dancer. If he gave that up my requisitions for hypoallergenic medical wax would halve overnight! Fleet've been wondering where it all goes, well it's all being used up on our posturing figurehead here." McCoy grumbled.
"I'm sure I can persuade him." Spock promised, eyes twinkling in amusement.
"I bet you can." muttered McCoy under his breath as the vulcan strode purposefully out. "I need a drink."