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The first time it happened, Bones was too stunned to react and when it was over he chalked it up to something like a fluke in the fabric of space. Maybe this was some piss-poor Vulcan attempt at a prank. Or maybe Bones had accidentally poured something stronger in his coffee instead of syrup and imagined the whole thing. Spock hadn't even said a word before he got up, straightened his uniform, and left. That was a clear message received. Whatever happened, lapse in judgment or otherwise, clearly this was a one and done.
So when it happened again, he knew for sure that the smug bastard was doing it on purpose. Somehow— despite supposedly only needing a fraction of the sleep that humans do— Spock had fallen asleep with his head in Doctor McCoy's lap not once but twice. Really, did this guy have him bugged with some sort of sensor that beeps everytime he's about to take a break?
'Aw Bones, he likes you.' Jim had ribbed him throughly when the doctor came bitching and moaning to him after the first ordeal went down. 'But more importantly he trusts you. That's something I wouldn't take for granted.'
"Like a damn tabby-cat." Bones shook his head. A tabby-cat that he'd made the mistake of tolerating once and now it wouldn't leave him be. That arrogant ass— he was just assuming Bones didn't have anything better to do with his time than be his pillow? He was a doctor for Christ's sake— a surgeon!
Still… looking down at Spock with his jaw unclenched, lips parted instead of pursed and his brow relaxed, it was… sweet. It seemed almost a sin to bother him— almost, and Bones wouldn't have dreamed of it surely if it weren't for his damn Vulcan haircut. His flat, painfully straight bangs looked like patent leather shoes begging to scuffed. Who was he to resist? So, tentatively— tenderly but don't tell anyone— he brushed Spock's bangs back and forth a little to see what they felt like. And shit, his hair may have looked like plastic but if it wasn't the softest thing McCoy had ever touched.
"Rich bastard." Bones could only imagine the cost of the shampoo Spock used because clearly wasn't the Federation standard soap everyone else had. That line of thinking quickly devolved into imagining Spock in the shower and he tossed those thoughts away like a hot potato. Guess he'd never know the secrets of Vulcan haircare. That was probably for the best.
"Leonard?"
Fuck, he'd woken him up. Bones' hand jumped away from Spock's hair, freezing mid-air halfway in between them.
His first instinct was to shove Spock off his lap, call him something nasty, and run away. Though, if he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to rebuke him. Besides storming off like a moody teen wasn't a good look for a grown man with a medical degree.
His second instinct was to apologize. But what exactly was he sorry for? He was the one trapped there against his will! If Spock wanted to act like a cat than he should've expected to be pet like one. Fair was only fair.
His third instinct was to do something stupid like cup his cheek, smile at him, and tell him he's pretty. Somebody help him, Bones was losing his mind!
Spock infuriatingly— thankfully— seemed unconcerned. He was alert but his eyes seemed a bit sluggish as they moved between the doctor's hand, then his face and back again. Seemingly satisfied, he shuffled his shoulders a little, presumably to get cozy and closed his eyes once again.
"You may continue." Spock concluded.
Bones let out a noise that was somewhere in between an indignant huff and a sigh of relief. His mind was all screwy and his insides were fluffy, his heart was even fluttering. He needed a drink. He needed a drink alone in the comfort of his sickbay far, far away from this confusing—pretty— pretty confusing man. Yet, all he could seem to do was return his hand to his hair and just let him sleep.
"I like you too, you damned hobgoblin." He muttered, not exactly sure if he wanted to be heard."But you've got to get up soon or my legs will go numb."
If Spock heard him, which he probably did with those ears of his, then he chose not respond. Either way Bones was grateful for the silence. He leaned his head back on the curve of the lounge seat behind him, looked up at the ceiling and excepted his fate. He was in love again, that was for sure. But he decided it was Jim's fault, his flights of fancy were rubbing off on him.