Chapter Text
How much could a man change in fifteen years?
Probably a great deal, McCoy thought. After all, it had only taken him a year on Vulcan to learn how to fall in love--and then get kicked out of it. When he had returned to Earth the blue sphere had no longer been home. Not really. He’d felt the parable of Walking Boy first hand in the way his heart clenched, confused by what had once been familiar.
That didn’t matter as much to him now as it had then. Back then his return to Earth had left him shaken and upset for nearly a year. The sky was the wrong color, the smells were unfamiliar, and the people were too damned friendly. Earth had become a place he could no longer call home. But time had tempered his sorrow. Space was infinite, terrifying, but tooling around with his new family made it home. Home was a silver ship filled with Jim Kirk’s foolhardiness, Scotty’s miracle work, Uhura’s sparkling laugh, Sulu’s eclectic hobbies, Chekov’s brilliance, Chapel’s indelible kindness. Home was also the empty space--that wound of mind and soul, the space beside him when he went to bed each night, his unfilled palm. Home was what he didn’t have, too.
Nine years ago Spock had gotten married to a childhood friend. McCoy had sent him his congratulations and told himself he wasn’t upset. After all, six years should have been plenty of time to get over someone. Unfortunately, he never seemed to be able to follow his own advice. Three years later, divorce. Spock had called him with a look of drawn resignation and McCoy had talked him through it. He knew a thing or two about surviving divorce.
That had been the last time he’d seen Spock’s face. After that it was written communication, a handful of letters, and then slowly they had drifted apart. McCoy told himself it was the hectic life of running a Sickbay that kept him from writing. He wondered what Spock told himself. Sometimes, laying awake at night and staring at the dim ceiling, he thought he knew. He thought that Spock didn’t have any excuse except heartbreak like a wound reopening each time they spoke. And, well, he understood that. He didn’t begrudge Spock at all.
He had been shocked when Jim told him that their latest assignment would be shuttling the son of a high-falutin’ ambassador and his band to play at the conference at Babel. They would be shuttling Spock.
Now, he stood at the outskirts of the shuttle bay rocking back and forth on his toes, hands clasped behind his back, trying to keep his face impassive. The security guard pretended to ignore his palpable anxiety as they waited for the ship from Trill. After a moment Jim came strolling down the hall wearing a smile for the two of them.
“Gentlemen.”
“Captain,” the guard said, and went back to studiously ignoring McCoy.
“Jim, what’s the damned point of these uniforms?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “They look nice, Bones. Don’t you think we should look nice for the people who are going to play at the most important diplomatic conference of the century?”
“They aren’t even diplomats,” McCoy muttered. “We could be shuttling ambassadors right now.”
Jim waved the statement away. “Let the Ahwahnee handle that.” He suddenly looked chagrined and tugged McCoy’s sleeve, pulling him a step away. “Bones, is this okay? I thought you would— if you don’t want to meet them I can comm Robbins to come be part of the procession.”
McCoy nearly booked it right then. Instead, he took a deep breath. “It’s...fine. I’m just not sure how to interact with him anymore.”
Jim nodded soberly. “Well, did you get him flowers? A man should always bring flowers when he visits an old flame.”
“Shut up.” He smacked Jim lightly. “Vulcans don’t do that.”
Jim grinned at him. “You’ll be fine, Bones. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
Happy? McCoy wasn’t sure about that. Still, when the boatswain's whistle sounded he stepped back into line and watched the shuttle glide into the bay. He twitched nervously as the door opened. Out stepped a young woman, a Betazoid, followed by a Trill man with unusual blue spots. Both carried instrument cases on their back: one was long and awkwardly shaped, the other looked like it could have held a guitar. They paused and looked back at the shuttle door.
McCoy looked as well, breath catching in his throat.
Spock emerged looking immaculate, perfect. He’d let his hair grow out in long waves that stopped just above his waist. He wore a striking grey robe with silver stitches that glittered even at this distance, his lyre case strapped to his back, and he seemed utterly at ease. And his face, his face… He had not changed a bit. He was exactly as McCoy remembered him--and of course he was. He was Vulcan, who aged hardly at all. He paused in the arch of the shuttle door, one hand on the frame, eyes scanning the area. He stood tall and proud, as if he had been made to stand there. His look was smooth, impassive, and then his brown gaze lighted upon McCoy.
His mouth bent in at the corner.
McCoy was shaking slightly as the band approached. Spock nodded to them, his gaze dragging over McCoy before he flickered back to Jim.
“I am Spock,” he said, although of course Jim already knew him. “My bandmates, Raifi Ludai and Amina Genestra.” He raised his hand in the Vulcan salute.
Jim merely nodded politely, but McCoy saw his chance and took it. He raised his own hand, fingers falling automatically into place to salute in return. Spock’s eyebrow arched, intrigued.
Jim spent a moment introducing them but McCoy didn’t hear him. He only had eyes for Spock, who seemed to be having the same thought. He watched Spock watch him, drowning under the heat of his gaze, and then he realized Jim was elbowing him in the side.
“--you got that, Bones?”
McCoy turned to him, blinking in shock. “Uh, what?”
“Ensign Pryor is going to escort Raifi, and I’ve got Amin. You’ll take Mr. Spock to his quarters?”
He gulped. Looked back at Spock in silent question. Across the space between them he felt a strange yearning, as though his whole soul were reaching out desperately to grab him and pull him close. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I’ve got him, Jim.”
Spock’s bandmates exchanged knowing looks and McCoy flushed with embarrassment. How much had Spock told them about him? Anything? Maybe it was just that as a Betazoid Amina could sense the electricity building between them. Or maybe it was just that it was obvious to anyone, Betazoid or not.
They waited a moment for the shuttlebay to empty and then they were alone. The feeling magnified and--God, it had been so long. Too long. Could he touch Spock now, here? Spock’s cheek looks smooth, regal. He wanted to hold Spock’s face in his hands and gaze into his eyes, but he didn’t know if it would be appropriate.
“...Your skill at producing the ta’al has greatly improved, Leonard,” Spock said after a moment.
McCoy relaxed at Spock’s words. He felt simultaneously like crying and laughing. “I’ve had a few years to practice.”
“Indeed.” Spock’s gaze turned introspective.
“Your hair… you’ve let it grow.”
Spock ran his hand through the long, black locks. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” McCoy said instantly, surprised. He thought of the way Spock’s hair had always gotten into a disarray. So easily mussed. “Not at all. I… I like it. It suits you, Spock.” He cleared his throat and glanced askance. “Shall I show you to your quarters?”
Spock inclined his head, and away they went.
His dress uniform still felt too tight, practically choking him as he escorted Spock to his quarters. They were spartan, dotted with generic furnishings. Spock rested his lyre case on the desk and surveyed the room.
McCoy stood near the door, tugging at his neckline. “It’s small, but hopefully it suits your needs.”
“I have experienced far smaller quarters,” Spock said, looking at him.
Indeed he had, as had McCoy. The room felt palatial in comparison to the tiny space he had shared with M’Benga back on Vulcan. The memory felt distant, faded at the edges, and McCoy sighed. “You’ll have access to the ship’s computer, except for restricted files, of course. Anything you need just ask and we’ll see what we can do.”
Spock nodded. His face was blank, but McCoy still knew him. Spock was nervous, practically vibrating with it. “Thank you,” he said formally in Standard. He hesitated, eyes falling to the ground, and then whispered in plain English, “Leonard, will you stay with me?”
He shivered. He knew instantly what Spock was asking, and he wanted it more than anything. His fingers itched to hold Spock, to feel his warm skin, the silky softness of his hair. When he spoke it was English as well, the words tasting sweet as honey in his mouth. “I want to,” he said honestly. “But I’m still on duty for another hour.”
“You must return to the Sickbay?”
He shook his head. He took a step forward without realizing it and had to force himself to remain still. “No, it’s just I can’t be...indisposed, if I get a call.”
Spock’s mouth bent in again, and McCoy shivered at the sight of his beautiful smile. “Might you show me the rest of the ship? We could...reminisce about old times.”
“I’d like that,” he said softly.
What was another hour after fifteen years apart? An eternity. They stepped back into the busy corridor and ambled in no direction in particular, feet dragging. McCoy spoke fondly of the ship as Spock listened with rapt attention. With so many of the crew about McCoy walked close to Spock, voice pitched low in a private conversation.
He showed Spock the cafeteria, the recreation room, and engineering. They stuck their heads into Sickbay and said hello to Christine, who teased him about still wearing his dress uniform. Spock looked him up and down, gaze hot and practically physical, and commented that McCoy had not had a chance to undress.
After, they went to the observation deck. The room was mostly taken up with a large, round window that stretched across the far wall. Although it would soon be flooded with people getting off shift, for now they were alone.
Spock stepped towards the window and rested his fingers on the transparent aluminum. Beyond the veil stars streaked by. “Breathtaking.”
McCoy, gazing at Spock’s narrow shoulders, the swoop of the robe clinging to his frame, agreed. He stepped forward and Spock turned to look at him over his shoulder, eyes warm and pleased.
“What are you thinking, Leonard?”
He stood beside Spock and watched the stars with him. “I’ve seen a lot of different stars in my time,” he said quietly. “These are some of the most beautiful.”
“Yes,” Spock agreed. “Do you...miss the stars of Earth?”
McCoy considered. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But also sometimes I miss the stars of Vulcan. That was my home, too, for a while and when I returned to Earth…” He paused and turned to look at Spock, who was watching him closely, mouth soft. “It wasn’t the same,” he said finally. “I guess you can’t always go back to what you once had. Things change too much.”
Spock made a noise. He moved like he was about to reach out, and the space between them crackled with energy. But Spock didn’t touch him. His hand stayed by his side, palm open and empty. “If things change are they no longer good?”
“They still are,” McCoy whispered. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and balled his hands into fists, desperate. “Spock, I...What will we be?”
“Together,” Spock said, instantly.
“Yeah?” It sounded too good to be true. “For four days to Babel?”
“Yes.” Spock was so close that McCoy could feel his breath. If he took one more step they would be touching. But he didn’t move. “Four days.”
“I still want that,” McCoy said, trying to keep the shame from creeping into his voice.
Judging by the look on Spock’s face he hadn’t been entirely successful. Spock took another step and they were so close Spock’s robe touched him, fluttered over him, and Spock lifted his hand, fingers questioning. “Leonard, I—”
The door swished open and a gaggle of ensigns came tumbling in, laughing and chatting. They went straight for the games table without seeming to notice the two men standing in the corner, but McCoy still bit his lip and stepped back from Spock.
“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
They walked side-by-side as McCoy considered the situation from all angles. After a moment, he said, “Our first officer here, Commander Robbins--she’s a good woman, I think you’d like her. She’s logical like a Vulcan.”
Spock arched his brow. “Indeed?”
“She was telling me the other day about the theory of infinite universes. Do you know the theory?”
“It is currently the most plausible explanation for the number of dimensions known to us.”
McCoy smiled at him. “We’d gotten ourselves caught up in some sort of endlessly fracturing barrier between universes and she was trying to explain what was going on. But it stuck with me--infinite universes, and here’s where I wound up.”
They had reached Spock’s quarters and they stopped before the door. “You are not pleased with the arrangement?”
“I’m...lucky,” McCoy said. “Lucky to have such a fine ship to call home and a wonderful crew to take care of. But I can’t help but think, why this? Why did I meet you, why did I fall in love, in the universe where we can’t be together?”
Spock was silent. After a moment he keyed open the door but instead of going inside he merely held it open. Slowly, he raised his hand, two fingers outstretched.
McCoy took in a shuddering breath. His hands were burning, abraded. His fingers fell automatically to a kiss like they’d done this every day for the past fifteen years: ring and pinky bending towards his palm, forefingers straight, and he lifted up to brush, featherlight, against Spock’s skin.
He gasped, eyes welling with emotion, as Spock opened for him. Some spot inside of him that had remained bare and empty so long he had grown used to it filled suddenly, and it was like that first drink of water after a lifetime of wandering the desert. When they touched Spock was more than the calluses on his skin, more than the distance that had separated them. They kissed as the bond between them flared with excitement, thrumming with energy and joy.
Spock took a step back into his room and McCoy followed after, never once breaking the kiss. His eyes were trained on Spock’s gentle, heated gaze as the door shushed closed behind them.
He swallowed once, twice, throat sore with emotion. “Spock, I...haven’t been able to stop loving you.”
“Nor I, you, Ashayam.”
He ran his fingers over the back of Spock’s hand just to see him jump with pleasure. “...Did you love her?”
To his credit, Spock didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I suppose, although not, I think, in the way you mean to imply. For T’Pring our marriage was of necessity, and when the moment passed so too did any affection we held for one another.”
“That’s horrible!”
Spock inclined his head, neither agreement nor contestation of McCoy’s outburst. He looked to their joined hands with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Your desire to protect me is admirable, Leonard.”
“Maybe if you’d spend more time protecting yourself I wouldn’t have to,” he groused.
“I love you,” Spock said, and McCoy flushed with embarrassment.
“How can you say that? It’s been years, Spock.”
“True,” Spock agreed, contemplative. “But the feelings I have for you I have never experienced with anyone else.”
“That’s just the bond talking.”
“In part, perhaps. But there is also this feeling—” He punctuated the words by resting the pad of his thumb against McCoy’s lower lip, gentle, and McCoy jumped in surprise. “This feeling for which I have no name but love, although it is also...more. Different. I believe it is only my human half which allows me to feel it.”
McCoy opened his mouth to respond but before he could do so Spock was flooding his senses, lips replacing thumb, decidedly less gentle and hesitant.
He gasped at the first light brush of affection and Spock took advantage of the situation expertly. He’d forgotten what it was like--or not forgotten, exactly, but misremembered. He remembered the actions of it but not the sensation, so sharp and immediate. Not the way they fit together like puzzle pieces, the way Spock was slightly inexperienced but also eager, the way his heart swelled with affection and fondness. He wondered if Spock had kissed anyone like this since the day they had parted.
As if hearing his thoughts, Spock pulled back. His eyes were glazed and his lips were pressed green, flushed. “It has been too long. Are you aware, Leonard, that I wrote a song about our first kiss?”
McCoy heated with embarrassment. He was aware, but he didn’t want to admit it. “I play your music sometimes,” he said, dodging the question.
“When I learned we were to meet again I was driven to distraction. I wrote a new song for you.”
McCoy brushed his fingers over the high neck of Spock’s robe, wishing it were off already. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Now?” Spock asked, starting to take a step back. “I could of course play—”
“Absolutely not.” McCoy took him by the ear and pulled him in for another kiss. “Let’s put those fingers to better use.”
He could taste Spock’s smile.
Spock cupped the back of his neck and tugged him closer, and McCoy practically sobbed at the feeling. He had forgotten--how could he have forgotten?--how Spock used to hold him like that, fingers splayed over the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. He fumbled one-handed with Spock’s robe, peeling it open at the shoulder so he could slide his hand in and touch Spock’s body. There were still more clothes in the way and McCoy grumbled in annoyance.
“Patience, Ashayam.” Spock pulled away with a parting kiss to both lips and fingers. He shrugged off his robe and revealed his bright blue turtleneck sweater tucked into black high waisted trousers.
The color was so familiar that McCoy knew Spock had chose to wear that shirt on purpose. He touched the fabric with curious fingers. “This is...”
“It is illogical to harbor a particular fondness for one color over another,” Spock said, tugging the hem of the shirt out of the waist of his trousers. “Nevertheless, I cannot stop loving the blue of your eyes.”
McCoy gulped and then went to work helping Spock out of the shirt. Spock was wearing a hair tie on one wrist, just a strip of black elastic, and McCoy picked up his hand and kissed him just below it, where he could feel the beat of Spock’s pulse point. He unfastened Spock’s trousers but then got distracted before he could push them down. He kissed Spock as he explored his body, marveling at how familiar it was. His stomach was still soft and smooth, and Spock still arched into his hands as he lifted them to his chest to play with his olive nipples.
Spock looked and felt just the same as he had those years ago. It was as if he hadn’t aged a day. The only difference was how pale he had gotten. The kind of paleness that resulted from a life lived traveling from one distant outpost to another. McCoy thought of Spock’s shoulders, freckled by the sun, as they had swam together in Spock’s oasis. He kissed the space beneath Spock’s elegant ear, the side of his neck, his shoulder, then his collar bone. Spock sighed pleasantly and slipped one hand to the back of McCoy’s neck again, but this time with a particular goal in mind.
Spock worked down the zipper of his dress uniform as they stood together in the studiously practical living room, and McCoy thought of how different he looked now. Embarrassed, McCoy pulled away before Spock could work his shirt off.
“I’m not--It may be a surprise to you how old I’ve gotten.”
Spock frowned. “You are forty, Leonard. Hardly old.”
“For a Vulcan, maybe. But I’m not the young man you—” He cut himself off and crossed his arms over his chest, mentally cursing himself. This was a hell of a time to start getting melancholy.
“We will always be changing, Leonard.”
He screwed his eyes shut. He felt Spock behind him and then a warm palm on his back. Spock replaced his hand with his soft lips, fingers trailing up to McCoy’s shoulders to slowly push away the fabric. McCoy let his arms fall, sighing in delight despite himself.
Gently, easily, as if they had all the time in the universe, Spock slipped the dress uniform off. He let it fall to the side where it would surely get wrinkled, but McCoy didn’t care because Spock kissed his neck again and ran his hands, hot as stones, along his spine.
“There is tension, here, Leonard. When we have finished making love you will have to let me relieve it with neuropressure.”
McCoy shuddered. “Say that again?”
Those hot hands snuck around, trailing over McCoy’s ribs to the front of his body. Spock kissed his neck and slid up, breathy against the shell of his ear. “First, Ashayam, we will make love.”
McCoy gasped, shuddering as Spock’s hands began to slide over his chest and stomach.
“Then, I will put my hands on you again. I will touch you until you have never felt such relaxation, until you are pliable as silk beneath me. And then we will make love again.”
“Please,” he begged. He arched up into Spock’s hands. “Spock.”
“I have missed you. It has been too long.”
“Fifteen years,” he murmured.
“Far too long. Leonard, it astonishes me.”
“Hmm?” He gasped, parting his legs as Spock’s hand down over his stomach and lower. “What does?”
“You have managed to grow even more beautiful in the time we have been apart.”
He grumbled but it faded to a sharp exhalation as Spock cupped him through his uniform. “Are you trying to sweet talk me?”
“Is it working?” Spock asked innocently, kissing his ear.
McCoy pulled away just enough to turn around and take Spock’s face into his hands. “You don’t have to try, Spock. You’ve already got me. You…You’ve always had me.”
“For that I am grateful.”
They kissed as Spock toed off his shoes, leaving them haphazardly piled next to their clothes. They stumbled back and came to rest at the partition between the living room and bedroom, McCoy crowded against the metal, Spock’s body flushed and hot against his own, and McCoy finally found the brain power to push Spock’s trousers off. They pooled at his feet and he kicked them away, and McCoy slid his hands over all the lovely new skin that had been exposed. He roamed over Spock’s lower back, his ass, the soft skin beneath the swell of muscle. Spock gasped as he did it and McCoy slipped into the hot expanse of his mouth and thought of Vulcan’s burning sun, cayenne pepper, forged metal.
Spock was pressed fully against him as if they might somehow be able to climb inside of one another. And there was an idea. McCoy pulled back and kissed Spock’s cheek, licked his ear. “Spock, what are your thoughts on penetration?”
“Positive,” Spock told him. He was shaking slightly as McCoy massaged his bottom.
“Okay, let’s—” He looked around the room. Spock probably hadn’t brought anything, so he kissed Spock’s cheek. “Go lie down. I’ll try to find something.”
He awkwardly stumbled around the spartan quarters searching for anything that they could safely use as lubricant. The bathroom was a bust and he made an angry mental note to tell Jim to start stocking guest quarters with the things necessary for safe sex. The makeup stand was better, though, and yielded a small bottle of hand lotion. It was unscented and slick. It would do. He hastened back to Spock.
“We can try—” He came up short, nearly dropping the bottle as he caught sight of Spock.
Spock had turned down the covers and splayed himself out on the sheets. His hair fanned out around his head, curling soft and smooth around his ears. One hand rested on his stomach and the other between his legs, wet fingers sliding between the blushing green slit of his sheathe, nothing but a hair tie between him and the universe.
“Leonard?” Spock asked, raising his eyebrow as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “Is there a problem?”
McCoy struggled to unzip both boots and kick of his pants at the same time whilst juggling the lotion bottle. He tried to be suave but his excitement got the better of him. “Spock, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”
“Thankfully, you know better.”
“Shut up.” McCoy kicked the last of his clothes away and tumbled into bed beside Spock. He grabbed Spock’s face and yanked him in for a harsh kiss, nipping at his lips. “I was gonna say that would be damned foolish of you, since I already told you I belong to you.”
“It pleases me to remind you that I belong to you.”
Spock arched towards him, mouth sweet with ecstasy. McCoy was feverish as he thumbed open the lotion and poured the slick into his hand. He insinuated himself between Spock’s legs and Spock helpfully lifted one knee, bending it to the side. With one hand McCoy trailed his fingers into Spock’s weeping slit, kissing Spock’s slick-wet fingers, and with the other he pressed the pad of his forefinger against Spock’s opening, massaging just long enough for Spock to grow relaxed and wet, and then he pushed inside.
He swallowed Spock’s moan of pleasure as he fingered him and, oh, it was like they had never parted. He knew Spock’s body intimately, and Spock was so sweet and open beneath him. He curled his fingers inside Spock and gently coaxed his cock out into the open air. He remembered how it had felt to hold Spock for the first time like this, how alien, how different-yet-familiar. Spock arched up, pumping into McCoy’s hand and then down onto his fingers as he slid a second one home.
Spock’s slick hand came to wrap around McCoy’s own neglected erection, pumping slow and steady, just enough to get him hot and bothered and to keep him hard. Spock’s other hand kissed the back of his neck, pleading for more, please, and faster.
McCoy thought how slowly they had gone their first few times--well, with one notable exception. This felt like that exception. It was also sloppy and fast and wonderful and McCoy felt like he was losing snatches of time to the sensation of Spock under him, touching him, being with him as though they had never been apart. But they had been, for so long they had been kept from one another by time and space and duty, and that made it all the sweeter to be with him again now. Four days? McCoy would take it. It could have been four minutes and McCoy would have gladly seized the chance to be with Spock again.
Somehow he was sliding three fingers out of Spock’s slick, needy hole and he took his cock in his hand. Spock lifted his legs and McCoy lined up, and he wanted to tell Spock how good it was, he wanted to whisper in Spock’s ear, but Spock kept tugging him in for more sweet kisses as he pressed the head of his cock at the ring of muscle and—
Spock’s hand came to rest at his temple, the arch of his cheek bone, and after a second McCoy nodded and—
They were flooding into one another, and McCoy thrust inside Spock as Spock slipped into his mind, flowed over him like the cool water of Spock’s—of their—oasis and he filled Spock up and Spock took it, took it all, felt so tight and good around him and he just wanted to lie like this forever and hold and be held and—
God! He had thought the bond was complete, but it wasn’t like this, like a dam bursting, every inch of him overflowing with Spock as their bond reverberated with their twin energies, and together they felt things that could not have been felt separately, and—
Spock was on fire and he was fire, a forge, melted glass from a sea of desert sand, pressing back, a white-hot flash of desire and love and--oh!—protect him, save him, but this was the love that they had, that they shared, too much and too physical and too emotional and everything that they needed and—
He wanted more, God he wanted more, needed it like he needed breath and Spock gave it to him, unfurled and his throat was raw and Spock was good, and Spock loved him, missed him, desired him, wanted him and—
He gasped, and—
Fell, and—
Awoke.
Sweaty and exhausted. He curled over Spock shaking, shuddering, and Spock smoothed back his hair and murmured Vulcan sweet nothings in his ear.
McCoy came down slow and gentle from the high of Spock. There was wetness between them and McCoy marveled at the fact that Spock had come on him, emission after all this time. He listened to Spock’s low, murmuring voice. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“...You really adore me?”
Spock paused. “You understand Vulcan now?”
“Mmm...I’ve picked up a few things.”
Spock hummed and McCoy could feel his pleasure—really feel it, and he was shocked. It had to be the bond that made him feel this so differently from the way he had felt it in the past. It wasn’t a vague shape or an interpretation of Spock’s subtle facial expressions. He felt Spock’s amusement and pleasure as if it were his own.
He cuddled against Spock and sighed, pleased. Later, he thought, he could worry about missing Spock. Later he could lament that their time together was so short. Now, he held Spock and Spock held him back.
“...I’m happy you’re here,” he whispered.
Spock kissed him on the temple. “I am hopeful that we will be able to see more of each other soon.”
“How?”
“I have just completed my studies at Starfleet Academy and will soon become a commissioned officer.”
McCoy sat up, shocked. “Wha--How? You’re in a band!”
Spock’s mouth bent in, his eyes smiling as well. “Indeed. It took more time to finish my studies as a result of my intense tour schedule. Thankfully, several of the credits I earned at the Tenaran Music Academy were transferrable.”
“They were?” McCoy asked, gobsmacked.
“Yes.” Spock’s hair had gotten tangled in the back and Spock frowned as he tried to push it out of his eyes.
McCoy smiled at him and began to help, carefully straightening each strand. “What made you decide to try out for Starfleet?”
Spock looked at him as if he were being foolish--which he was. “Forgive me, Leonard, for not informing you sooner. It had been so long since we talked and I...did not wish to presume that you would truly like to see me again.”
McCoy felt like his heart was breaking. He ran his fingers through Spock’s silky hair. “Spock, of course I want to see you, dummy. I always have. But, there’s no guarantee that we’ll be posted on the same ship.”
“I will not ask you to give up your position here. Truly, a posting on Starfleet’s most prestigious ship is the only one worthy of your skills and intelligence.” Spock went on before McCoy could protest, even half-heartedly. “Therefore I will strive to make myself worthy of serving beside you. That is my guarantee.”
McCoy stretched out beside Spock again and took his face in his hands, kissing him soundly. “You’re so worthy, Spock. You’re worthy of every bit of love I can give you and more.”
Spock hummed in delight. “Leonard, I believe you promised a session of neuropressure?”
McCoy laughed. “I think you promised that. But anyway, yes. We should. But not here; let’s go back to my quarters.” He sat up and started hunting around for his boots.
Spock sat up as well, looking surprised. “The amenities are more suitable there?”
“The amenities are the same.” McCoy paused, just looking at him. Spock looked so delightfully rumpled. Despite McCoy’s efforts his hair was still askew, his lips were tender from kisses, and there was a rising hicky on his neck that McCoy didn’t even remember planting on him. He grinned at Spock and offered his two fingers. “It’s just that I have bowl of fruit waiting for you there.”
Spock looked up at him, eyes bright, and met his kiss with a smile.