Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 21 Jan 2004 12:36:38 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: a.q@gmx.de (acidqueen) 
 

*****

Title: Pas de Deux (Andante - piu mosso)

Author: Acidqueen  a.q @ gmx.de

Pairing: Spock/McCoy

Rating: R

Summary: With the retirement from Starfleet, Spock and McCoy reach a
Author's Note: For the fifth wave of the SpockMcCoyHaven; challenges
were "Write about retirement plans" or "Write about their second stay
on the Shoreleave planet." My muses decided to combine it. It is also
the sister piece to my Kirk/Sarek "Pas de Deux (Tardando - Coda)".

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek, I own my brain. No
infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

Archive: My own website at http://www.syredronning.de , SpockMcCoyDen,
ASC*, all others ask, please.

Acknowledgement: Thanks to Janet and Lyra for beta'ing! All remaining errors
are mine!

***

It rained, like it did every night. McCoy lay in his bed on his back,
listening to the splashing sounds of the water on the nearby trees.
Their hotel on the Shoreleave planet - it was named Malorci by now,
but he had never quite gotten used to that - was in the temperate
zone. Neither too hot nor too dry, the grass green and lush, the trees
alluringly brilliant. Must be near the spot where that knight took him
on in the past...god, how many years had gone by since then? And how
much had happened in them...

He shrugged inwardly. Illogical to ponder about it, Spock would say.
The artificial rain ceased, and only the droplets that fell down the
leaves onto the solid ground of the road produced small little popping
sounds. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to get up and walk over the
wet grass in the gray morning hours. Hastily donning his clothes and
some comfortable slippers, he went out of his room and down the broad
stairways (he had had turbolifts enough in his life to find them
utterly unappealing for now). Outside, the morning broke in soft,
earthlike colors. "Paradise on the edge of the galaxy", they wrote in
the ads. And it was still true.

He walked along the river and looked down on the clear water. Arms
folded behind his back, a habit from his decades of service in the
Fleet, he slowly set foot before foot in a meditative way. And only
when he got on a crossroad of two paths, did he really take in his
surroundings in again. Crossroad, indeed, he thought and gazed at the
two possibilities. One seemed to lead into a small forest, the other
farther along the river. River, he decided, and his psychological
education began to dissect what that might tell about himself - that
he wanted open space and freedom? That it was easier to pursue where
he had started? That he feared the unknown forest more than...

"Oh my," McCoy said aloud. "I guess Spock's been a worse influence on
me than I thought." But he knew that this analyzing was his own little
streak of the unemotional scientist, a part he had always tried to
keep suppressed because he found that medicine suffered from too
little involvement anyway. If it had done him good over the years, he
wasn't sure. It often would've hurt less if he had been able to keep a
professional distance from the pain of others. The memory of Scotty's
nephew dying on the white table in the overly white sickbay room
flashed up and eased again as he took a deep breath. Long gone, he
said to himself, look forward. Looking backwards was the habit of old
men.

But here he was, and he was an old man, no doubt about that. Retired,
at peace with himself...and melancholic, without a goal - wonderful,
just the right attitude to find an early grave. And it didn't surprise
him in the least when twenty meters down the path a gray stone stood
up against the bright green scenery, his name carved upon it. He
stopped before it, astonishingly unimpressed by the white letters on
the granite plate. Funny that even 150 years after the last real
gravestone was set up on Earth, this image remained in the collective
memory.

Something came near - someone, someone he knew well and didn't at the
same time. Distance and nearness carefully choreographed
subconsciously by their two minds and past experiences, they never had
reached the point where it got boring. That was probably more than
many long-term couples could say. But then, they weren't a couple
anyway, just two friends. He kept saying that to himself when Spock
turned up from behind the stone.

The Vulcan wordlessly walked around it, taking in the letters. Then he
looked at McCoy. "I thought they only materialize positive things
nowadays."

"Maybe," McCoy said. "Care to walk with me?"

Spock tilted his head and pivoted at McCoy's side. They walked in
silence until they came upon a bench with a wonderful view of the
scenery. The sun had risen above the horizon by now, and water and
plants were bathed in the clear light the cloud-free morning gave.

Firmly seated a secure, albeit small, distance apart, McCoy crossed
the left over the right leg and folded his hands in his lap. Spock
placed his own knees neatly side by side, hands closed in front of his
chest with his characteristic meditative hand position.

"I guess we should finally talk," McCoy said and gazed at Spock. The
Vulcan's profile was illuminated by the sun behind and McCoy blinked
against the sharp, brilliant rays that enfolded Spock like a halo. "I
agreed to come here with you for a vacation, and though the place is
really great, I wonder what you're up to. I mean, you didn't pay this
terribly expensive rate just to drink coffee with me, did you?"

"Indeed not, Doctor," Spock said. He turned his head, and the sun came
in fully, making McCoy lower his eyes away from the Vulcan and the
fiery ball likewise. The small river was cool against the heat he felt
from Spock, and he half knew what was to come.

"We never really analyzed the effect the fal-tor-pan had upon us."
Spock paused for a long moment, as if to give his companion a chance
for his usual caustic remark.

"I thought the scientists that checked us over the last years had done
that enough," McCoy said without much irony. They had checked and
double-checked their brains with every method life sciences had
nowadays; it was a wonder nobody ever asked for a dissection. But he
could faintly remember that his body would belong to the Vulcan
Science Academy too after his death; so he'd end up as a rare specimen
on an alien world anyway.

Spock tilted his fingers, the tips now pointing horizontally. "These
are only the hard facts."

McCoy shrugged. "Aren't hard facts everything?"

Spock ignored him, and McCoy felt himself falling into the comfortable
situation of implicit opposition. Devil's advocate had been his job
and his personal mission - emotional advocate, in Spock's case.

"Our brainwaves have been attuned ever since; in fact, they have
become more attuned over the last several years."

"I know. And?"

"They are as attuned as they are in a..." Spock hesitated, "...bonded
couple."

McCoy shrugged again. "Guess I knew that too. I mean, it was pretty
obvious when all the Vulcans gave us double-rooms and joined cabins
and stuff."

"Indeed," Spock said and changed his hands' position again, his
forefingers now lying lightly at his chin. "Since you never asked
about it, I surmise it does not...bother you?"

"No, not really," McCoy answered after a moment. "It didn't keep me
from anything; I didn't feel bad or good about; it just *was*, and I
thought you'd come to me and ask for another special treatment on
Vulcan if you wanted to get rid of it." He gazed at his companion. "I
admit, in a way I...found it comfortable. We quarreled enough in the
past for more than one lifetime - the easy rapport we've had in the
last years was less strenuous."

"I, too, enjoyed this change." Spock's forefingers lightly tapped on
his chin, while another pause expanded after his words.

"You wanna break it?" McCoy asked. "I can feel something's changing
within you...are you finally going into pon farr again?" Their
respective sex drives had been down to zero ever since the fal-tor-
pan, which made the unusual arrangement of unspoken nearness doubly
comfortable - but McCoy knew that he wouldn't want to be around for a
bout of blood fever. "It's probably for the best. I'm sure your father
could arrange a nice Vulcan girl for -"

"Leonard," Spock interrupted him, and put one long-fingered hand on
his knee. Its warmth burned through the thin fabric into his skin. "I
am not going into pon farr anytime soon, as far as I know. But you are
correct when you say that I am changing; my interest in a
more...physical relationship is awakening again. Alas, I am not
interested in an arranged marriage with someone I do not know."

McCoy looked down at the hand, so near his own. "So what are you going
to do about it?"

"I want us to explore our possibilities, Leonard."

"I don't think there are any, Spock," McCoy said slowly. "I'm not the
right one for you. It was pretty nice to have that connection while it
lasted, and it kinda grounded me, made me more balanced, but you
should go and find someone who truly captures your heart." He looked
up, eyes still slits against the burning sunlight that made him feel
disadvantaged against Spock's gaze that rested on him unwavering.

"Our...connection, as you call it, has had the same effects on me,"
the Vulcan replied. "While my heritages battled restlessly for a long
time, they evolved into a peaceful co-existence due to you."

McCoy sighed. "I think it was more the general contact with humans
and, of course, with Jim." The sunrays were too much; he averted his
gaze again and it fell onto Spock's fingers, still imprinting
themselves onto his thigh. "I always thought you were the perfect
match. What went wrong between him and you?"

Spock took the hand away, lacing it with the other one on his chest
again. "Interesting relationships are made by differences...I think we
were too alike in some ways."

"That's all?" McCoy asked lightly.

Now it was Spock's turn to take a deep breath. "I have come to know,
by our mental contact, that he had...intercourse with my father."

"Long time ago," McCoy said. "You can hardly hold that against him -
especially since it was always you he really wanted."

"It was not their only meeting of that kind, as I learned from my
mother not long ago. But you are wrong if you think this caused any
misunderstandings between Jim and me." Spock's hand touched McCoy's
cheek, softly turning his head around. The Vulcan's face was merely a
few inches away, shielding all sun from the human. There was no excuse
to not look into Spock's eyes.

"On the contrary, my complete lack of emotions on learning of their
ongoing, albeit rare meetings has proven to me what I long have
guessed - that it was not him I craved on the first hand."

McCoy took Spock's wrist and placed the hand neatly down on Spock's
legs. "That's bullshit, Spock. You've never been interested in me -
heck, you haven't been interested in any other men in the past. You
went for Chapel, for Zarabeth and some others I forgot the names of.
And I chased the girls, too. If it weren't for the fal-tor-pan, we'd
never be sitting here and having this talk."

"But the fal-tor-pan happened, Leonard," Spock insisted and reached
out once more, stroking away a streak of gray hair from McCoy's
forehead. "It is a part of us that we cannot make undone."

McCoy stood up, escaping the touch that was too much, too demanding.
"What are you up to, Spock? I can tell you that I've still no interest
in men, well, for sex, at all. It's just as if they have killed that
trigger with the fal-tor-pan, and I am off and out of the game." He
looked down at Spock. "I can't give you what you need. I am old
already and aging at twice your speed. Our next checkup is coming in a
month; let's go to a healer and get this connection fixed, and then
you can go on with your next career and I can do some gardening."

Spock frowned and opened his mouth, but McCoy wasn't done yet. "And
besides, Spock, I think you should've learned by now that most beings
don't react well to others going over their heads. If this vacation
was your setup for crawling into my bed, it was a damn bad idea,
because I don't want you there."

With these words he spun around and left. The path's ground crackled
under his feet, but it was only his own steps he could hear. Spock
didn't follow him, and that was fine. Perfect. There was no chance for
them ever, and Spock should understand that by now. It wasn't as if
the Vulcan was deaf or dumb. No, siree, Spock had still the finest
mind - and soul - on this side of the moon. And it was time someone
made good use of it.

The hotel still stood quiet, and when he asked to check out, the man
at the reception gave him an apologetic look. "The next possible
departure date is in three days. I'm sorry, Sir."

McCoy sighed and signed for the early departure before he retreated to
his room. It would be a long three days, he was sure.

*

"Is this seat free?"

McCoy didn't even raise his head from the padd he was reading, but
nodded. The glimpse of Spock's chest, clad in an unusually shiny,
dark-green robe, was slightly disturbing, but then he shielded himself
from the closeness.

"I apologize for the conversation this morning, Doctor," Spock's voice
waved over the table, calmly, one hundred percent controlled. It
seemed to resound in the wine glasses that were set up for dinner.

"Never mind," McCoy said crisply.

"An interesting article?" Spock asked.

"Hmmm, yes," McCoy murmured. "They've finally found a cure for
Tenosis. This is a break-through for all viruses of the ipQ-type."

"This does not sound like you are inclined to do any gardening soon."

McCoy looked up with a frown. "I can do some gardening and still not
be brain-dead."

"Indeed," Spock said emotionlessly. "You could also do some gardening
and fly into the Antares sector nevertheless."

"Hardly," McCoy said.

"Then why did you apply for the position of hospital ship coordinator
there?" Spock asked before he carefully disassembled the arranged
napkin and rebuilt it again.

"I didn't apply for it - they asked me," McCoy growled and took his
own napkin, crumpling it in his lap. "And I don't know if I'll accept
it."

He watched Spock's face and waited for an answer, but the Vulcan let
his advantage lapse as he bowed forward and entered the order into the
small key padd that lay on the table.

"When we are on Vulcan, I will apply for a diplomatic position," Spock
said as he leaned back again.

"Shouldn't be a problem," McCoy said, glad that the subject had
changed away from him. "The peace talks with the Klingons were partly
your achievement. They'll probably put you on a pedestal."

"Vulcans do not place anyone on pedestals, Doctor. I only did what was
within my potential. One does not thank -"

"- logic," McCoy completed.

"- the mere fulfillment of duty," Spock said.

McCoy took his glass of white wine. The liquid was dry and somewhat
edgy in his mouth, and he cleared his throat with water afterwards.

"Not recommendable?" Spock asked.

"No."

Silence expanded between them, in which McCoy pretended to read, while
Spock didn't even pretend to not look at him. The human could feel the
gaze that rested on his head, hair, chest, shoulders, hands -

"You can still drive me crazy from time to time, d'you know that?"
McCoy drawled, putting the padd away. It noisily came to rest on the
table.

"I am honored."  Spock bowed his head.

McCoy bit his tongue to not slip into the litany of green-blooded
computer brains. "Don't get me started," he said aloud and called for
another wine.

"What do you fear?" Spock said.

"That's the wrong question." McCoy leaned back and folded his arms
tightly in front of his chest, creating distance on purpose. "It
should be 'why are you pursuing such an illogical goal'?

"It is completely logical for me," Spock said.

"I still don't understand why it's not Jim," McCoy said.

Spock shrugged, a faint movement in his shoulders. "I cannot say.
Maybe we missed the right moment."

"Well, that's as good an explanation as any I've ever heard," McCoy
stated. "I've bet my money on you two, you know. It was all you, you,
you, no matter with who he hung around."

"Not even when he hung around with you?" Spock asked.

McCoy dropped his arms and began to tap on the edge of his empty dish
with his fingertips, small rhythmic sounds. "So you saw that too?
Guess you know more about me than I do. It's long over, ever since our
first mission. Got into a quarrel...well, y'know anyway. The
friendship lasted. And that's a good thing."

He looked up to meet Spock's gaze fully. "Yeah, I can see your mind
rotating. I admit, that's all the reason I could give. So I'll take
your explanation, for what it's worth. But Spock, I really wouldn't
want to see you settle down with second best. Move along, take a wife,
produce some worthy heirs to the house. I'd be happy to visit some
almost-grandchildren on Vulcan from time to time."

Spock straightened his back, folding his hands on the edge of the
table. "You are in error, Doctor. I am already settled down - with
you. By all Vulcan standards, we are married. There is no need for
vows or papers in my culture. What everyone perceives is that we
belong together, and that is my feeling too."

"A chimera, Spock. Take away the bond and we'll fall apart in a
second."

"Before we decide to take this step to prove your theory, I want to
test mine," Spock said calmly.

McCoy raised a brow. "Which is?"

"That your defense against body contact is rather caused by your
presumptions of how our relationship should or should not evolve than
by any lingering effects of the fal-tor-pan." Spock opened his hands
and leaned forward. "Give us this opportunity, Leonard, to find out
which possibilities we have. If your opinion remains unchanged, we
shall go to a healer during our next stay on Vulcan and let the
connection be dissolved."

McCoy looked down at the outstretched hands that claimed him across
the table. His firm conviction wavered for a moment, but then he shook
his head. "I can't. It doesn't fit, Spock. Besides, I already checked
in for the next possible transfer back to Earth, which is in three
days. Not enough for any tests."

Spock reached out further. "Three days, then. See it as an experiment,
Leonard."

An experiment with my heart, McCoy thought, and it would hurt in the
end, he was sure. But looking up into the Vulcan's insistent gaze, he
gave in. "Alright, Spock," he said and met one of the warm hands.
"Deal."

On Spock's face, one of the almost smiles lightened the stern features
and dissolved the tension that had taken hold of them. "Deal."

*

If McCoy had Spock expected to push, he expected wrong. Little changed
in Spock's behavior in comparison with the last years when they went
for a lengthy walk the next day, analyzing the biological system
(scientists just couldn't switch off their brains). Later they let the
past pass and span the bow to the future, analyzing the lasting
political impact some of the Enterprise's adventures had had. Maybe
Spock walked a little closer than he used to; maybe Spock touched him
a bit more than could be accounted for by pure chance. McCoy noted it,
thought over it and found it comfortable without encouraging it. A
deal was a deal, and Spock was allowed to play his cards.

In the evening, Spock spoke about Romulus over dinner. McCoy listened
with interest, if not knowledge, realizing that one day in the future
the Vulcans and the Federation would be very unhappy about their
Ambassador. The thought made him laugh, but he didn't answer Spock's
curious question. McCoy's own plans crystallized over their
discussion, too - the Antares project was logical to the pursuit of
his career, and he would accept it. Voicing this thought he expected
resistance, but Spock surprised him by agreeing with his plans.

So much for their future, McCoy thought, counting their argument
settled with him winning the pot.


The day after, they traveled into the mountain area with the same
routine, Spock cautiously close, but careful not to overstep the
unspoken boundaries of friendship - just the ones McCoy would've
thought the Vulcan wanted to tear down in the first place. Then McCoy
started to wonder just why he thought so much about those boundaries,
and finally he began to analyze in earnest once more if he wanted or
wanted not Spock to overstep them. Reason began to quarrel with
emotion, and he found himself caught in the antagonistic situation
that his mind declared reason to be more important than the feelings
that slowly evolved inside of him.

His shoulder muscles and Spock's helpfulness were the battle's victims
in the end when he rejected Spock's offer for a massage, ignoring the
aching pain in his back. Nothing a hot bath couldn't heal, he decided
on their long way back to the hotel.

But when they returned there, they found the whole area illuminated
and an orchestra playing in the garden.

"What's going on tonight?" McCoy asked the man at the reception.

"We are celebrating the Andorian New Year tonight," the man said.
McCoy and Spock exchanged an irritated gaze.

"Are you celebrating all New Years Eves' of all planets?" McCoy
wondered.

"Of course, Sir," the man said obliging, and pointed toward a large
calendar that hung at the side. "The Klingon Homeworld is due
tomorrow, and your Mars Colony in three days."

"I hope there'll be fireworks too," McCoy said caustically, but the
man just nodded. "Of course. We don't do things halfway here, Sir.
They start at eleven o'clock."

Spock lifted a brow in unspoken astonishment. McCoy chuckled. "That's
okay with me."

The dining room was already empty when they met again, each showered
and in fresh clothes, and so they enjoyed their meal in silence.
Afterwards they joined the other guests in the nearby park, where the
waters sparkled in the illuminated fountains and artists entertained
the visitors with juggling and other artistic feats.

It didn't take long until McCoy got caught up in the celebratory
feeling, heartily enjoying the atmosphere. "Wonderful," he said,
pointing toward an especially impressive contortionist.

"Indeed," Spock said with Vulcanly little enthusiasm.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Spock," McCoy grinned. "C'mon, the fireworks
are starting." All lights went out, and then the first rockets took
off, lighting the sky above them.

"Great, isn't it?" McCoy remarked in a short pause, and turned toward
the Vulcan - and was suddenly breathless when he found himself caught
in Spock's intense gaze. He cleared his throat. "Well...maybe not." He
rotated back to the view, ignoring the Vulcan's eyes that he felt
resting on him now. Shortly after the show was over.

"Let's call it a day," McCoy said and circled toward the hotel.

"A final drink in my room?" Spock asked.

McCoy hesitated, then nodded. They went upstairs by foot, climbing
away from the noises beyond them with every step. In his room, Spock
switched on the light, which was dimmed down to Vulcan preferences.

"Whisky or scotch?" Spock asked as he went to the bar.

"Whisky, please - scotch I only drink with Scotty," McCoy said. He
took the offered glass and waited for Spock. To his astonishment,
Spock poured himself a whisky too.

"Don't tell me you're going to become a drunkard in your old days," he
said caustically.

"I only ever drink with you, Leonard," Spock replied earnestly and
lifted his drink.

"To this vacation," McCoy toasted.

"To us," Spock corrected.

"If you say so." McCoy swallowed the whisky in one gulp, aware of the
tension in his chest. He put the glass aside and went to the window.
"Tomorrow my flight departs." He looked down at the path to the hotel,
which was still full of people dancing to the orchestra's music.

"And?" Spock said behind him.

McCoy laughed silently. "I'm a bit...disappointed," he replied. "And I
guess that's what you intended all along."

"Why should I?" Spock turned up behind him, putting his hands softly
on his shoulders.

"Because it teaches me a better lesson than anything else could?"
McCoy said. He closed his eyes and leaned back slightly. The hands
held him steadily, lowering his back onto the other one's chest. Lips
touched his ear, cautious, hot.

"You mean, you crave this..." a tongue glided along his ear and down
his neck... " and this..." the hands wandered deeper down his back and
closed around his hips. "And this..." McCoy was turned around and
pulled into a kiss of a kind he hadn't received for more than two
decades - hell, never ever. It was as if it was fed by fire itself,
burning his lips. He was melting against it, but he was also still
fighting. He pulled back and away.

"Damn, Spock. We've talked so much about the future...each one's own
future," he said sharply. "There is no place for an 'us' in our
plans."

"There are always possibilities, Leonard." Fingertips danced over
McCoy's lips, barely cooler than the Vulcan's kiss before.

"No platitudes," McCoy growled. Twisting out of the Vulcan's grip, he
retreated toward the bed. And only when he had sat down, he realized
it might've been not the best choice of location. "I still think it's
a bad idea, Spock. Okay, you showed me I can feel something again. But
what I feel for you is only there because of that connection. If we do
something now, we'll only regret it later."

"I will not regret it, ever," Spock said and came to the bed, kneeling
down in front of him. "We are one, Leonard. We are one ever since the
fal-tor-pan. We chose to ignore it, to live our lives independently
and yet, wherever one of us was, the other was not far away." He took
hold of the human's hands, covering them with a layer of heat. "Yes,
my pon farr might not be far away. Yes, I need to seek someone out.
But I do not want anyone else but you. Not Jim. Not any woman. I do
not care if we only got together by chance. We are what we are today;
our history is a part of us. And I felt more than mere friendship for
you long before the refusion."

McCoy tried to get away, but Spock held him. "Long before. When we met
the Vians, and you were willing to give your life for my sanity...when
I saw you die there, I could not help but feel regret."

"You would've felt that for any of the bridge crew," McCoy said.

"No, Leonard. It was more than the simple regret one might feel over
the meaningless death of a fellow officer. I felt regret about *our*
missed opportunities...to come closer, to see what we might be to each
other."

McCoy shook his head. "Spock -"

"What did you feel, Leonard? I saw it in your mind. I want to know if
you can lie to me - did you not regret it too? Did you not think that
dying might be a worthy price if I sat near you like this and held
your hand?"

"Spock -" McCoy said and swallowed hard.

"Would you lie to me, only to escape me?" Spock whispered, and that
was more than McCoy could withstand.

"No, Spock. Of course not," McCoy said quietly.

Spock let his hands go, and he reached out to touch the Vulcan's face.
"I can't lie to you... you, of all men..." Spock captured one hand
again and kissed the fingers. "It's still a bad idea, in my opinion,
but it's yours...so it has to be logical, in whatever weird way."
McCoy blinked some errant wetness in his eyes away as Spock pulled him
into another kiss.

They didn't get up from the bed that night.

*

"Do you still want to leave?" Spock said as the morning crept into the
room.

"Not if I can help it," McCoy replied sleepily. The sheets were
entangled between them, but the night was so warm that even Spock
didn't shiver without them.

"Then let me make arrangements," Spock said and stood up. The light of
the small screen in the corner of the room danced over the Vulcan's
face, and McCoy wallowed in the sight. Maybe this would be a bad idea
in the long run, but for the time being it was -

"I received a message from Starfleet," Spock said. "They will be
launching the new Enterprise, and are inviting the former crew to
attend the ceremony."

"Are they ordering us to be there?" McCoy asked.

"They cannot; we are retired," Spock replied.

"Do we have to go for any other reason?"

The Vulcan's lips twitched. "Logically, I cannot surmise any other."

McCoy stood up, freeing himself from the fabric that rolled around his
legs.

"Then I'd say we should write a very nice message back and tell them
that we unfortunately have other obligations."

"A lie?" Spock said, one arching brow rising inquiringly.

"The truth," McCoy murmured and put his hands around the Vulcan's
upper arms. He leaned down and placed a line of kisses along the
neatly shaved neck. "The - complete - truth." His teeth caught a piece
of flesh, and Spock hit the wrong key.

"Sorry," McCoy said.

"No need to stop," Spock replied roughly, hastily typing the last
words and sending the message off. Then he swung around in his chair.

"Glad to hear that." McCoy pressed between Spock's legs and his arms
reached around Spock's shoulders, while Spock's arms locked around his
waistline. Their lips met in a kiss, opening to each other at the
contact. A minute later they ended up on the bed again.

McCoy rolled on his back. "D'you know - it's a great feeling to say
'no' to the Fleet."

"Indeed." Spock put his hand onto the cool, slim chest he had wanted
to touch for a long time. "Welcome to our future, Leonard," he said,
and smiled.

*****

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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