Star Trek: The Original Series -- Life Is But A Dream
Title: Life Is But a Dream
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Pairing: Spock x McCoy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Major spoilers for Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. Takes place directly after, when Kirk, Spock, and McCoy have resumed their shore leave in Yosemite.
~Row, row, row, your boat~
The memory of the Vulcan’s low rumble of a singing voice serenaded Leonard McCoy in his mind’s ear, even now in the middle of the night-when the only sounds were the chirping of insects, leaves crunching under the feet of nocturnal beasts, Kirk snoring faintly in the next tent, and the noises he and Spock were currently muffling in a heated kiss.
“I love shore leave,” McCoy chuckled quietly when their mouths parted, running his hands up the expanse of bare chest that hovered over him.
“It does have its benefits,” Spock murmured in agreement, turning his attention to the doctor’s belt buckle.
“You bet your pointy Vulcan ears it does.” McCoy gave out a hoarse gasp as Spock palmed at his erection through the restraining fabric of his pants. “Spock-”
“Doctor,” Spock interjected in a whisper, “seeing as how Jim is in such a close proximity, I believe it would be wise to keep your vocalizing to a minimum volume.”
McCoy shot him a disparaging look and hissed, “You think? Then quit your damn teasing and get on with it!” He earned an eyebrow raise in response and would have thrown up his hands in exasperation, but changed his mind when Spock leaned down to capture his lips and to obligingly tug down the doctor’s trousers and undergarments. McCoy’s head fell back when the Vulcan settled himself between McCoy’s legs, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping him when they shifted, grinding their groins together. His eyes closed and he bit his lower lip when he felt Spock’s slick fingers ease their way inside.
~Gently down the stream~
McCoy was grateful for this; he needed this. He was pretty sure that Spock needed it, too. The painful memory that Sybok had dug up was still haunting him somewhere in the back of his mind-he was still slightly shaken by the whole ordeal.
And Spock-Spock had been not only been reminded of a sore spot in his past, but had lost his half-brother in the end, as well. He knew Spock didn’t show his emotions, but there was no way his stoic, green-blooded paramour could take so much and be all right.
He wouldn’t even bother to ask Spock if he wanted to talk about it; he could just see the way the Vulcan would look at him and say, “Doctor, I don’t believe I have anything in particular to discuss”. No, McCoy wouldn’t waste his time on that. Not when he could do this instead, offer his comfort in another form that he knew Spock would accept-and gain some comfort of his own in return.
~Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily~
McCoy’s finger lazily teased the skin of his companion’s pointy ear-a very erogenous zone he’d discovered, and an object of his fascination-and Spock jerked away, pulling his shirt back on. McCoy, lying on his side in post-coital bliss, held his chin in his hand and eyed the Vulcan.
“Leaving so soon? What’s your rush?”
Spock quirked an eyebrow at him.
“I had assumed that we were finished for the evening, as it is getting quite late.”
“Boy.” McCoy rolled his eyes and turned over onto his back. “You sure know how to make a man feel special.”
“Would you prefer I stay?”
“No, no.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t hang around on my account.”
“Very well.” Spock nodded and turned to leave the tent.
“Now wait a minute!” McCoy sat up and grabbed a hold of Spock’s shirt. “Can’t you tell yet when I’m being sarcastic?”
It took a little haggling and a little arguing, but McCoy finally got the Vulcan to simply lie down beside him, arms around each other, legs entangled. They didn’t speak, just enjoyed each other’s warmth and company, and listened to the sounds outside their tent-crickets chirping, raccoons wandering through the campsite, and Jim’s faint snoring. And then, a low rumble of a voice started to quietly sing, “Row, row, row, your boat, gently down the stream…”
McCoy smiled into the skin of Spock’s neck and joined him, “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…”
~Life is but a dream~
Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series
Pairing: Spock x McCoy
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Major spoilers for Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. Takes place directly after, when Kirk, Spock, and McCoy have resumed their shore leave in Yosemite.
~Row, row, row, your boat~
The memory of the Vulcan’s low rumble of a singing voice serenaded Leonard McCoy in his mind’s ear, even now in the middle of the night-when the only sounds were the chirping of insects, leaves crunching under the feet of nocturnal beasts, Kirk snoring faintly in the next tent, and the noises he and Spock were currently muffling in a heated kiss.
“I love shore leave,” McCoy chuckled quietly when their mouths parted, running his hands up the expanse of bare chest that hovered over him.
“It does have its benefits,” Spock murmured in agreement, turning his attention to the doctor’s belt buckle.
“You bet your pointy Vulcan ears it does.” McCoy gave out a hoarse gasp as Spock palmed at his erection through the restraining fabric of his pants. “Spock-”
“Doctor,” Spock interjected in a whisper, “seeing as how Jim is in such a close proximity, I believe it would be wise to keep your vocalizing to a minimum volume.”
McCoy shot him a disparaging look and hissed, “You think? Then quit your damn teasing and get on with it!” He earned an eyebrow raise in response and would have thrown up his hands in exasperation, but changed his mind when Spock leaned down to capture his lips and to obligingly tug down the doctor’s trousers and undergarments. McCoy’s head fell back when the Vulcan settled himself between McCoy’s legs, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping him when they shifted, grinding their groins together. His eyes closed and he bit his lower lip when he felt Spock’s slick fingers ease their way inside.
~Gently down the stream~
McCoy was grateful for this; he needed this. He was pretty sure that Spock needed it, too. The painful memory that Sybok had dug up was still haunting him somewhere in the back of his mind-he was still slightly shaken by the whole ordeal.
And Spock-Spock had been not only been reminded of a sore spot in his past, but had lost his half-brother in the end, as well. He knew Spock didn’t show his emotions, but there was no way his stoic, green-blooded paramour could take so much and be all right.
He wouldn’t even bother to ask Spock if he wanted to talk about it; he could just see the way the Vulcan would look at him and say, “Doctor, I don’t believe I have anything in particular to discuss”. No, McCoy wouldn’t waste his time on that. Not when he could do this instead, offer his comfort in another form that he knew Spock would accept-and gain some comfort of his own in return.
~Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily~
McCoy’s finger lazily teased the skin of his companion’s pointy ear-a very erogenous zone he’d discovered, and an object of his fascination-and Spock jerked away, pulling his shirt back on. McCoy, lying on his side in post-coital bliss, held his chin in his hand and eyed the Vulcan.
“Leaving so soon? What’s your rush?”
Spock quirked an eyebrow at him.
“I had assumed that we were finished for the evening, as it is getting quite late.”
“Boy.” McCoy rolled his eyes and turned over onto his back. “You sure know how to make a man feel special.”
“Would you prefer I stay?”
“No, no.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t hang around on my account.”
“Very well.” Spock nodded and turned to leave the tent.
“Now wait a minute!” McCoy sat up and grabbed a hold of Spock’s shirt. “Can’t you tell yet when I’m being sarcastic?”
It took a little haggling and a little arguing, but McCoy finally got the Vulcan to simply lie down beside him, arms around each other, legs entangled. They didn’t speak, just enjoyed each other’s warmth and company, and listened to the sounds outside their tent-crickets chirping, raccoons wandering through the campsite, and Jim’s faint snoring. And then, a low rumble of a voice started to quietly sing, “Row, row, row, your boat, gently down the stream…”
McCoy smiled into the skin of Spock’s neck and joined him, “Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…”
~Life is but a dream~