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Despite his reputation, Captain James T. Kirk was not a cad but an honorable man, morally upright, and wholly committed to the Starship Enterprise. For all intents and purposes, he was married to the Enterprise, and wanted nothing more than to be faithful to her, but he had a beautiful Yeoman. She was too beautiful to ignore. Too much of a woman. The other men on the Enterprise were allowed to notice her, but he wasn’t. The Captain was not permitted, not while she was under his direct supervision on the ship. He had a disease–love! Flesh woman to touch, to hold. For years, he’d loved her, and he had to have her, or the pain would grow worse, the pain, the longing for her.
Captain Kirk was torn between his love for the ship and his Yeoman. He had been pretending for so long, but now he could no longer deny it, not even to himself. She had blonde hair and a shape even her uniform could not hide, and she was always hovering over him, unconsciously flaunting it in his face. When she was afraid she would come to his side, and he would automatically reach out and hold her in his arms. There was something between them, something electrical that crackled, and it was instinctive for both of them. He had, however, been fighting it as hard as he could–as valiantly as he would eventually fight the Gorn–and he would go on fighting it because it was the right thing to do. Captain Kirk was an honorable man. He could not take advantage of her, no matter how hard she tried to get him to look at her legs.
The Enterprise was orbiting a green planet.
“Anything from the landing party?” he asked Mr. Spock.
“They should be sending up a report momentarily, Captain.”
Kirk stretched and groaned. He had been sitting in his chair for so long that he had a backache. The demands of his job, combined with his frustrated desire for his Yeoman, had left him with a headache and a heartache. Back pain on top of it all was the last thing he needed.
“Something wrong?” asked Spock.
His First Officer and friend walked around his chair and stood behind him with a concerned look on his face.
“There’s a kink in my back,” Kirk responded with a grimace.
He leaned back into his chair, hissing in pain as he felt his lower back seize up.
Smooth, warm, and capable hands he assumed to be Spock’s soon found his lower back and started pressing into the muscles. This was good. This was very helpful. Kirk released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He could feel the pain slowly melting away. Spock was his best friend on the ship, and friends in the military often helped each other out when they were in pain.
“That’s it,” he said. “A little higher.”
The skilled hands moved to the muscles just above the small of his back, the pads of the fingers pinching and tugging them upward to stretch them out.
“Push. Push hard!” he urged him. “Dig it in there, Mr. Spock-”
Spock raised his eyebrows meaningfully and moved away so that Kirk could see that he was not the one massaging his back, and with a thrill of horror, Kirk realized that his masseuse was none other than the object of his desires. Janice Rand was standing behind him with a look of the utmost concern on her face. Kirk felt a shadow cross his own face, and he fell silent for a while. Her unwavering loyalty and devotion to him were as mystifying as her beauty, and given the way the darker, evil side of him had tried to ravish her on the fateful day when the transporter split his mind in two, he wasn’t even sure he was worthy of her love. He had expected her to shout at him, to scratch his face like she had his double’s and press charges. And it was all he deserved, but instead she told him she didn’t want him to get in trouble. In the penal colony of Tantalus V, she’d even saved his life at great risk to her own. She cut the facility’s power, turning off the mind-controlling device that had almost killed him and allowing Spock to come rescue them. He couldn’t understand it. She was an enigma to him, and the moment he realized it was she who was touching him and not Spock, the feel of her hands sent a jolt of electricity right to his trousers. Kirk sighed. She was driving him crazy. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, because if he looked at her directly, his self-control would snap, his evil side would be drawn out again, and this time it would win out over the good. Even now he could hear Doctor Adams’ voice, echoing in his ears.
You’re madly in love with Janice, Captain. You’d lie, cheat, and steal for her, sacrifice your career, your reputation.
“Janice, Janice, for years I’ve loved you. Janice!”
“He placed all that in your mind!” she’d insisted.
She’d only been trying to help, but she was wrong. This wasn’t just something Doctor Adams did to him. All Doctor Adams had done with that infernal device was make him realize how lonely he was without her. He wanted to whirl around in his chair and clasp her in his arms, to pull her into his lap and claim her mouth with hard, penetrating kisses. And from the look Spock was giving him, he could tell he wasn’t hiding it very well. His friend knew exactly how she had affected him, and from the arch of his eyebrows, he knew the Vulcan was internally laughing at him. Spock and Doctor McCoy had no regard for Starfleet rules and regulations; they were always teasing him about his interest in Janice, and trying to set them up. He knew they just wanted him–and Janice–to be happy, but that didn’t make his job any easier. She would make a very pleasant wife, but he could not ask her for that, not after the dastardly way his double had treated her.
“What’s the matter, Jim?” McCoy had asked with a knowing grin. “Don’t you trust yourself?”
No, Captain James T. Kirk did not trust himself. Not when it came to Janice Rand.
“Thank you, Yeoman, that's sufficient.”
“You need sleep, Captain,” she admonished him. “If it’s not out of line.”
He finally gave in to the urge to turn around and face her. How did she manage to look so sexy and innocent at the same time? He’d never seen perfection, but no woman could come closer to it. When Trelane–whom he now knew to be just a small boy given to mischievous pranks–danced with her, comparing her to a wood nymph and Helen of Troy, he’d wanted to deck him, but even then, he had to admit he was right. She was as pretty as a fairytale princess, and he dreamt of being a brave knight to protect and fight for her. He wanted to protect her from people like Charlie X, but he had a sinking feeling that the main person he needed to protect her from was himself. She was a faithful subordinate, honest and duty-bound, very efficient, always trying to get him to sleep more and eat more salad. A part of him was touched by the fact that she cared for his well-being, but didn’t she realize what she was doing to him? Didn’t she know that she was the reason he couldn’t sleep and his food had no savor, that she was making it very hard to keep his hands to himself, and that he was trying not to jump on her?
“I have enough of that from Doctor McCoy, Yeoman,” he said through gritted teeth. “Thank you.”
***
Spock ran his calculations several times and came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he wanted the Doctor for his own. He wished for the intimacy of a Vulcan mind-meld with him, to bond with him the way his Vulcan father and human mother had when they were married. He had been thinking a lot about Doctor McCoy recently, his lovely hair and beautiful blue eyes and torrential floods of illogic. His thoughts were distressingly base and sexual and they disturbed his peace of mind, even when he tried to meditate. If he were able to show emotion, Spock would admit to himself that he enjoyed needling the Doctor and riling him up, just to have his attention. Doctor McCoy was always so human, so emotional and passionate when they argued–especially when they argued–that he could not help wondering what it would be like if that passion were directed at him in bed. The part of his biology that lurked within him, the madness he concealed under a veneer of civilization and which came to the fore during pon farr, burned to claim the Doctor as his mate. Spock closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and immersed himself in the principles of Surak. He was well aware that the time of mating would soon be upon him, that his blood would burn and his heart and eyes would turn to flame. Spock wanted to fight someone for the Doctor and win him as a prize. He wanted the Doctor to be his and his alone. He wanted to see him yield to him, to debase himself before him, and grovel at his feet. He was sure it would be fascinating.
There were, however, several problems. He was not like the Captain, a dashing and charismatic man who was often the recipient of unwanted attention from many women, despite his well-known desire for the Yeoman. Spock wished he and Doctor McCoy could pursue what Yeoman Rand and the Captain so obviously wanted with each other, but somehow, he was not sure the Doctor would agree.
Spock had relatively less experience in the area of romance, he had been betrothed as a child to a woman when they were both but seven years of age, he had not seen her for quite some time, and had no idea how to woo and win the Doctor. Moreover, Doctor McCoy had given no indications that he would be amenable to any advances from him. There was such pain in him. He had been married before to a woman who had betrayed him and left him for another man, and for all that he was sentimental and soft, Spock noticed that he was remarkably jaded when it came to romance. Furthermore, Spock did not know whether he was attracted to men, and even if that were the case, given his incessant remarks about his Vulcan heritage and appearance, he was unsure as to whether he would ever consider him. The thought made him feel curiously vulnerable. He was reminded of the time when he was a child and came home to his mother, stiff-lipped and anguished, because the other boys tormented him by saying he wasn’t really Vulcan. Spock had long since learned to govern his passions, but he was unable to forget what it was like to be rejected for not being Vulcan enough. Now, he was afraid of being rejected for being too much of a Vulcan.
Spock was split in two halves, he always had been, and even to this day, they did not fully come together.
Being split in two halves is no theory with me, Doctor. I have a human half, you see, as well as an alien half, submerged, constantly at war with each other. Personal experience, Doctor. I survive it because my intelligence wins over both, makes them live together.
The Enterprise was currently in orbit of a planet called Cestus III, and at the moment, Doctor McCoy and the Captain were deep in conversation with each other.
“You’ll enjoy Commodore Travers,” the Captain was saying, “he sets a good table.”
“I wonder if he brought his personal chef along with him to Cestus III,” the Doctor replied.
“Probably,” the Captain said with a grin. “Rank hath its privileges.”
The Doctor chuckled. “How well we both know that!”
Spock stood behind them, watching and listening to their banter. He felt a slight twinge on the right side of his torso, between the ribs and pelvis where his heart was located. Spock supposed it was his human side acting up, and if he were fully human, he would say that he was feeling a bit left out. He wished fervently that he could converse with Doctor McCoy freely and make him laugh as easily as the Captain did. But Vulcans seldom laughed, and in any case, the Doctor rarely graced him with any of his smiles. He always insisted on antagonizing him, and Spock didn’t know of any way to sustain his attention, other than to antagonize him back.
Am I not good enough for you? He wanted to ask. What would it take for me to win your affection? Spock ran his calculations many times, yet could not come up with an answer. Why was the Doctor so reluctant to treat him with the kindness and respect he gave so generously to others on the ship?
Sometimes, it appeared as though Doctor McCoy had no respect for him at all. Spock, as his superior officer, was responsible for his welfare. He was more than willing to die for him on Taurus II, he specifically told him to leave him behind on the planet and escape with the others, but Doctor McCoy deliberately disobeyed his orders, endangering his own life in order to save his.
“Don’t be a fool, Mr. Spock,” he’d said in that emotional way of his. “We couldn’t leave you out there!”
Spock was, of course, glad to be alive and grateful for his actions, but he also wanted to chastise the Doctor for his insubordination, for putting himself in danger and making him worry for his safety. The Doctor, it seemed, had a martyr complex. Spock made note of that information and filed it away for future reference. He wanted to subdue Doctor McCoy with a Vulcan neck pinch and keep him safe in his room so he would never risk his life again. He wanted to strip him naked and bind him for his personal entertainment, to play his body like a Vulcan harp until his disdain for him turned to lust and he could no longer ignore him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the intercom whistling. Spock, Doctor McCoy, and the Captain assembled and prepared to visit the planet.
“Scotty, Kirk here!” the Captain called out.
“Travers, Jim. We’re waiting.”
“Good, Commodore,” the Captain said politely. “We’re on our way.”
“Be sure to bring along your tactical people,” the Commodore said. “I’ve got an interesting problem for them.”
“We’ll beam down immediately, Commodore,” the Captain assured him. “Kirk out.”
Spock frowned. There was something that did not add up about the Commodore’s request, something illogical that roused his suspicions, but he lacked the intuition to place it.
“Captain,” he said aloud, “I wonder why he’s so insistent that our tactical aides come down.”
The Captain smiled and shrugged.
“This colony is isolated, exposed, out on the edge of nowhere. He probably wants additional advice.”
“Perhaps, Captain, but nevertheless-”
“Spock,” Doctor McCoy said with a good-natured smile, “isn’t it enough that the Commodore is famous for his hospitality? I, for one, could use a good non-reconstituted meal!”
His laughter was a very pleasant sound.
Spock raised his eyebrows. He observed for the 32,121st time that the Doctor’s beauty was a full 180 degrees above the norm for virtually all known humanoid species in their galaxy, especially when he laughed or smiled.
“Doctor,” he said in a slightly strained voice, “you are a sensualist.”
Doctor McCoy’s smile only grew more sensual at that, his eyebrows arching slightly and his gaze flickering over Spock’s body in a way that had an immediate and very embarrassing effect on him. “You bet your pointed ears I am.”
Spock’s eyes widened. He felt himself flush green from the roots of his hair to the tips of his ears, and he turned his face away from the Doctor to look at Captain Kirk. The Captain laughed out loud, there was a definite twinkle in his eye, and Spock realized to his chagrin that Jim knew perfectly well how he felt about the Doctor. They were, as he’d realize later, t’hy’la. The Captain was the closest thing he’d had to a brother since he became estranged from his half-brother Sybok, and they understood each other, perhaps better than anyone else on the ship. Spock silently cursed in Vulcan. This was payback for his part in exacerbating Jim’s own struggles with temptation where Yeoman Rand was concerned.
Doctor McCoy was a worldly man, he had to be aware that the definition of a sensualist was a person devoted to physical, and especially sexual pleasure. Thinking of all the ways Doctor McCoy must have pursued such pleasure over the years made him flustered and hot all over. The Doctor would have been an appealing sight, flushed and pink with arousal and splayed open to be used and defiled by anyone who would have him. From now on, Spock wanted to be the only one to see him like that. He had a wild urge to mark the Doctor and make him his, to erase all memories of anyone else from his skin and replace them with himself.
Doctor McCoy was none the wiser, it seemed. He grinned in triumph at having gotten the last word for once and turned back to the Captain.
“Ready when you are, Captain,” he said cheerfully.
“Energize,” ordered Captain Kirk.
They beamed down to Cestus III, and thus began their adventure with the Metrons and the Gorns. Spock, fortunately for him, lacked the human failing of hope. He was inclined to believe Doctor McCoy was merely toying with him, and that he did not return his feelings. However, when the two of them and the rest of their crew watched with bated breath as their Captain fought for his life against the Captain of the Gorn ship and won the battle through sheer ingenuity, he noted with some surprise that the Doctor came to him for comfort, placing his arm around him and touching him several times. Spock had no illusions that Doctor McCoy’s behavior meant anything beyond the simple friendship one co-worker felt for another. He understood the pressure of the situation was affecting him as it was all of them, but he would take what he could get, and for the time being, he allowed himself to lean into the physical contact and enjoy the feeling of being embraced by the man he loved.