Star Trek xi: Good, Rational People
"Soon shore leave is going to be synonymous with 'Captain Kirk's shitfaced advetures," McCoy told the aforementioned shitfaced adventurer, whom he was herding down the hall towards the sickbay.
"Let's play Kings," Kirk said. “Bones. Let’s play Kings.”
"I'm not a college co-ed, Jim," McCoy snapped. "Shut the fuck up and use your legs."
"How about, never have I ever?"
He had a suspicious look about him, like he was tying to be crafty but was failing because you can't be cunning and also slumped against a bulkhead, sliding slowly to the floor.
"Whoa, there, nelly," McCoy said, and hauled him up by his elbows, staggering a little so they both careened towards the wall. The captain was heavy, and McCoy told him so.
"It's the weight of authority," Jim said, and McCoy considered knocking him unconscious and dragging him by his ankles.
"So," Jim sing-songed, continuing his conversation as they stumbled down the hall, periodically drifting into doorframes and sharp corners, "Never have I ever."
Bones rolled his eyes, a subtlety completely wasted on the captain. He added
"No. That's fucking stupid. If I have to take care of your drunken ass, at least let me do it in peace."
"NEVER HAVE I EVER," Jim belted, shoving five fingers into McCoy's face, "KISSED A VULCAN."
"I don't think you know how to play this game," McCoy said, slapping his hand away. "You're not supposed to lie."
The jab made a whistling noise as it sailed over Kirk's head.
"YOUR TURN," Jim yelled, having lost the volume control for his voice several steps ago. McCoy wished Spock was there; he could do that neck clamp thing and help him carry Kirk to the sickbay. The man had a knack for turning up like a player in a bad sitcom, turning corners and appearing from behind doors as soon as his name was mentioned. McCoy paused a moment at the turn before Corridor B became Corridor A, which was empty enough to deserve its own tumbleweed.
"Goddamn that elfish prick," he said to the empty hall. Jim giggled.
"WHAT ARE YOU DO-ING?" he asked, hanging on McCoy's neck and breathing into his ear like a big, sloppy golden retriever; friendly and overly affectionate.
"What a frigid, green blooded bitch?" McCoy tried for good measure. No one appeared.
"ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT SPOCK," Jim stage-whispered, lips close enough to graze the curve of his ear. Then in a series of sloppy fumbles he fell against Bones, pinning him to the wall, and shoved a hand into Bone's uniform pants and grabbed awkwardly at the line of his hip, fingers trailing a hard path down his leg, curving inward. McCoy moved away or thought about it, he should say something but all he could think was not here and that sent a certain message he was not ready to commit to; so he just loosely grabbed Jim’s other wrist to prevent a full-on assault and Jim leaned forward, open lips hovering dangerously near where he though McCoy's mouth was (his nose) and of course just then Spock rounded the corner.
Vulcan's aren’t supposed to feel embarrassment or joy but McCoy was certain Spock got a lot of the latter from seeing the former in his fellow officers, no matter how placid his face remained when he saw the two of them clinging together.
"Good evening, Doctor," he said.
"HE'S HERE, ISN'T HE," Jim said, in a moment of mis-placed clarity. His hand withdrew to rest on McCoy’s stomach, and he almost looked sheepish.
"Good evening, Captain," Spock said, "I suppose you two would like to be left alone. I apologize for any interruption, but I also suggest you continue your interaction in a more private setting with dampened acoustics. Unless, of course, you derive pleasure from licentious encounters in public places, in which case I hear the third level observation deck is favored."
“Spock, sometimes you’re a twat,” McCoy said, because Spock’s presence was heightening the sharp discomfort that was sobriety at this point in time.
“I take it you are inebriated, Doctor McCoy.”
God, I wish, he thought, but merely said “Help me get this-“ and there he couldn’t think of an appropriate insult or title for the warm lump hanging around his neck- “this asshole to the sickbay, would you?”
“But you seem to have been successful so far,” Spock said, establishing himself as either totally blind or a catty bitch on levels Bones had never dreamed of.
And he had the perfect comeback, but his Vulcan assassinating humor had evaporated as soon as James Kirk had made a play for his dick and really, that shouldn’t be happening, not to him, and the- the irony, kind of, if you looked at it one way and considered all the drunken hookups Kirk had and all the ones he was angling for this would almost seem like something out of a foggy sexy dream of his and soon Spock was going to offer to assist them with a quirky eyebrow lift and they’d all be naked and -
Maybe he was a little drunk, just enough to justify a heated, borderline homoerotic inner monologue.
Jim half turned to greet Spock, momentarily excusing himself from whatever boozy mentality he had been absorbed with for the past few minutes.
“SPOCK,” he said, then “Spock,” softer and with that clever tilt of his head again, this time a little more balanced and intelligent, mostly because he was balanced by McCoy.
“If you ask him to play ‘never have I ever’ I’m through,” McCoy said.
“Yes, Captain?” Spock said, as though McCoy hadn’t spoken.
Jim untangled himself from McCoy and swayed towards Spock, steadying himself with two hands placed carefully on the other man’s shoulders.
“Do you know how to play never have I ever?” he asked, attempting sultry and failing spectacularly.
“That’s it, he’s your problem now,” McCoy said. “Just watch him- he gets handsy after extended periods of verbal abuse.”
“I am familiar with the rules, but I fail to see the point of listing past experiences in comparison with others,” Spock said, regarding Kirk warily.
“I fail to see the point of you failing to see the point,” Jim said, grinning.
“You do not make any grammatical or argumentative sense, which is expected in your current condition. I think-“
“Never have I EVER,” Jim interrupted, “had a cross-species threesome, and that is something I think needs to change. Right. Now.”
There was a silence that Kirk seemed to find suggestive; he kept raising his eyebrows at Spock and sashaying.
“I think he’s joking,” McCoy said, “He’s got that slack-jawed grin we all know and love.”
“Sexual harassment is usually perceived negatively by the Starfleet review board,” Spock commented, but he didn't say anything else. Jim hooked his fingers at Spock’s collar and pulled him forward, grinning all the while. Spock stepped evenly with him, until Jim was close enough to McCoy that he could lean backwards and bump into his shoulder. Spock gave McCoy a look, one he couldn’t quite read, as the minutiae of his expressions escaped him when he was otherwise occupied with the captain of the enterprise, whose fingers of his free hand had slipped down to his waist again.
Drunken fumbling was something McCoy could deal with, even plan for, but not to this extent. You could hypothetically wonder about how warm vulcan skin would be, sweat-stuck to your own, whether or not they made noises- but it was another thing entirely to act upon it at three am in a hallway with your closest friend. Besides, Spock always looked at them like a science experiment gone frustratingly awry and that stare in the morning, even if he was as disheveled and damp as the rest of them, would not be reassuring or condemning or an explanation of anything that had transpired, and the not-knowing would kill McCoy more than flat out rejection, more than just another drunken (or not so) mistake.
“You need to go to bed,” he said raggedly, and even though he knew what he did not want, it was difficult to muster any enthusiasm to follow his own advice.
Spock remained as impassive as ever, but his hands had closed around where Jim had him at the collar as if he had thought about removing them but was still thinking about it. Jim moved his fingers farther under the waistband of McCoy’s underwear and for a moment McCoy thought it might seem unfair that he was on the cusp of a handjob while the other participant was only being led about like a puppy, but it was a fleeting concern that was evaporated completely when Jim leaned in to kiss Spock.
McCoy felt an odd mixture of fascination and despair, like hearing your best friend had been murdered, but by a sewing machine.
Spock’s hand traveled down Jim’s arm to reach his shoulder, and Jim pulled away, smiled lazily, and ruined the heavy sexual tension by passing out face-first into Spock’s chest.
They considered his still form for a few seconds, and then Spock turned him so that he could lift him under his arms. McCoy picked him up at his ankles, and when Spock opened his mouth to speak, he interrupted him.
“If you say anything right now I might kill you,”
Spock said “Fascinating,” and dragged Kirk over to the turbolift, where they would have left him to sleep all night if they had not been such good friends, and good people in general.