A Temporary Madness: A1, P32
Title: A Temporary Madness
Summary: The story of two lives becoming one - which is easier said than done when one's divorced, the other's neurotic, and both suffer from the unfortunate malady of being friends with James T. Kirk.
Overall Rating: NC17.
Overall Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content, moderate violence.
Chapter Specifics:
- 2,000 words.
- Rated PG13.
- No warnings.
Arc One, Part Thirty-Two
On New Year's Eve, Joss took Jo up to Portland to celebrate with Joss's sister's family, and so McCoy was suddenly left surprisingly free. They normally tried to make nice for a few hours on New Year's Eve, to put up a united front for Jo again and work on keeping their fractured family civil for another year. And while he couldn't begrudge her the opportunity - Joss's sister was in the Navy, and often abroad, and Jo hadn't even met two of her cousins yet because it had been so long - he felt at a loose end in a strange, lonely way.
Oddly, it was Jim who invited him to the SynTech New Year party, not Spock - McCoy rather got the impression Spock was still trying to evade the combination of Jim and Chris Pike and not go at all - a few days before the event over a beer in Harry's and waiting for a pool table to free up.
"It's a good bash," Jim shrugged. "The first five drinks are free, and they usually chuck in an extra free glass of champagne if enough projects got patented. I think Spock mentioned they'd hit the threshold this year."
"Why are you going?" McCoy asked. "You left..."
"Yeah, but I stayed in touch," Jim shrugged. "They're nice people. It's," he flushed, "nice to talk to people who don't think I'm as dumb as I look occasionally. Plus," he recovered a little of the bounce, "Helen still works in the drug manufacturing lab, and she's hot. Hey," he raised his voice, and McCoy twisted to see Spock entering the bar, unzipping his leather jacket as he approached. "Spock, tell Bones how hot Helen at SynTech is."
"She is undoubtedly attractive," Spock allowed, and McCoy pinched his arm. "I see no point in lying, Leonard."
"Want a drink?" Jim waved his empty bottle. "First round's on me."
"Thank you."
McCoy barely waited until Jim had left the table before saying, "Where?"
Spock touched his jacket lightly as he folded it over the back of the closest chair and sat down. "What is going on?"
"He's trying to talk me into going to the SynTech New Year thing."
"He is trying to talk me into the same."
"We could, you know," McCoy suggested. "It'd keep your sponsor happy if you went, the free booze'll keep me happy, then we can get a cab back to my place and spend New Year in bed."
Spock eyed him and said, "Neil typically still attends the New Year party."
"How about if I promise not to punch Neil?" McCoy offered. "Plus, you know how I get when your ex is around."
"Aggressive?"
McCoy pinched his arm again. "Good."
"I must admit to that much," Spock agreed.
"C'mon," McCoy grinned, leaning closer. "Lose twenty dollars in the early hours of the New Year? Sounds like a good way to start to me."
Spock offered him an unreadable look, and tilted his head. "It does."
"Is that a yes?" McCoy asked as Jim returned and shot them a funny look.
"Very well."
"What?" Jim prodded, pushing Spock's Asahi toward him across the table. "What'd I miss?"
"We'll come and take some free booze from SynTech," McCoy shrugged, and Jim grinned.
"You totally used sex as a bribe."
The look Spock gave Jim was nothing short of murderous.
The SynTech New Year party was nothing like the dignified annual work party that Spock had conned him into attending the previous summer. For a start, the sedate chatter of scientists with potential sponsors was gone. For another, there was an actual bar in the rented clubhouse with a far better selection of booze, and the promised first-five-free that Jim had boasted about in Harry's. For yet another, it seemed to be scientists-only (and scientists' families, friends, drinking buddies, and old college classmates with less luck than them in the employment-and-free-booze department). And, for the last part, every single one of them was drunk.
It was definitely more McCoy's kind of party.
He was pleasantly surprised to discover that while Spock's tolerance for beers, ales and lagers was very good, his tolerance for wine was less so, and so McCoy kept plying him with large glasses of some cheap red stuff that tasted fizzy and sharp on the back of his mouth when he caught him in a dark corner by the toilets for ten minutes around ten o'clock. Spock's sponsor, Pike, had indeed shown up with a sharp-tongued, dark-haired woman who took one look at Jim and demanded to know why the company was still afloat if it had ever employed a hick like him. (McCoy liked her, whoever she was.) And Jim, far from being annoyed at the accusation, had bought her a healthily large bottle of imported beer, dared to kiss her on the cheek, and had darted off to flirt with the promised Helen from the drug manufacturing lab.
Spock was more sociable with a few glasses of the good stuff in him, and drifted apparently aimlessly from cluster to cluster to speak with various colleagues about various things, including golf at one memorable point, despite harbouring a deep-seated dislike of the 'completely pointless and athletically pathetic' game. (McCoy had thoroughly enjoyed that conversation.) Most of those colleagues were typical scientists and uninterested in the boyfriend that came and went; a couple were more gossipy, with one woman well into her own good stuff demanding to know whether they had ever tried bondage, and if not, why not. (He was later reliably informed that Amelia Epstein was like that whether she was drunk or not.) One woman told McCoy that he didn't look very gay, which, when relayed to Jim, nearly caused the confirmed hick to drown in his beer. But the prize had to go to the man who calmly added two and two to get four without a word, turned to the aforementioned Epstein, and said, "Told you he had a stick up his ass."
Drink and scientists wasn't a good mix, apparently, but it was a goddamn hilarious one.
McCoy had spent most of the party, when not stealing kisses from an increasingly tipsy Spock or bringing more wine to ensure that slightly tipsy stayed that way, talking to Pike. Pike had apparently been wounded in action during his time in the military (he wasn't specific, but McCoy guessed that that was the reason for the cane and the unusual interest in a medical field of which he had no professional interest or knowledge) and had a lot of derogatory things to say about the healthcare system in California, most of which McCoy had to agree with. Still, the debate had brewed in a satisfying manner over their drinks, even though Pike still carried an air of being the man in the charge and McCoy felt vaguely daring about arguing, like a kid talking back to Dad for the first time. It had been a satisfying couple of hours, and even without the hilarity of Spock's drunk colleagues or the opportunities to steal kisses from an unusually relaxed partner, McCoy would have found the party at least vaguely worthwhile for that minor argument alone.
And then the ginger had walked in.
At about quarter to midnight, McCoy first spotted the shock of red hair among the gathering, and had broken away from Pike without a word to hunt down Spock. He had eventually promised not to sock McKenna in the jaw if he did show up, but he had also decided without Spock's input that if McKenna were going to be in the vicinity, so was McCoy. And judging by the way McKenna slid from group to group with that wide, charming smile in place, the ginger was on the hunt again. McCoy had every intention of catching first.
He successfully caught Spock by the buffet table, and stole a samosa for himself before sliding a hand into the back pocket of Spock's jeans and grinning at the blurry, indignant look he received. He'd had enough to not actively wrench himself free and give McCoy a look that promised no sex for the imposition; he hadn't had enough to not care at all.
"You are manhandling me," Spock accused, and McCoy swallowed the food.
"No," he removed the paper plate and situated his other hand in the other back pocket. "This is manhandling."
"Ah," Spock said, resting his hands on McCoy's chest, most likely for convenience's sake. His pupils were wide with alcohol (and McCoy liked to think a little bit of lust) but not yet glassy. After a pause, he leaned in and kissed McCoy simply on the lips, a brief touch of wine and warmth.
"Mm," McCoy squeezed his ass warningly when Spock tried to wriggle free. "That's more like it. That's why I manhandle you; you like it."
"I said nothing about liking it. It is simply easier than fighting you at every turn."
"That's your excuse," McCoy kissed him again, investigating, and said, "Who bought you champagne?" He'd stolen Spock's wallet at the beginning of the party, insisting on it being a late Christmas present, and thus buying his coming and going ticket safely.
"Jim. He is..."
"Wasted?"
"Yes."
McCoy grinned. "We'll have to pile him in the cab with us later, then."
"I think Dr. Noel is piling him in her bed later," Spock confessed, and kissed him again, almost randomly. They were fairly short, chaste kisses, but it was still a very long way from what McCoy was usually allowed in crowds.
"I'll have a bit more o' that, if you don't mind. Countdown's startin' in a couple minutes."
"And that is important because?"
"Starts the new year off on the right foot," McCoy said, still refusing to let him go. "Sets the tone an' all that."
"Superstition."
"Yeah, but it involves manhandlin' you, so I'm all for it."
Spock struggled with that momentarily, and then seemed to see the logic in McCoy's position, for his long fingers were suddenly stroking at the back of his neck, and his teeth were tugging at McCoy's bottom lip.
Somewhere in the kissing, McCoy felt eyes on him, and peered through his eyelashes past Spock to the party that they had almost forgotten. The countdown was beginning on a screen, and the chanting was getting louder, and Pike was giving the sharp-tongued woman another tongue to play with by the bar - but watching them over a thin flute of champagne was McKenna, eyes narrowed.
With breaking the kissing, McCoy removed one hand from the back pocket of Spock's jeans, flipped McKenna off, and returned it to the small of Spock's back.
I win, he thought uncharitably, and figured that maybe he hadn't left those caveman ancestors very far behind.
"I felt that," Spock murmured into his mouth, and McCoy laughed, kissing the end of the last word away.
"Shut up and go with it," he said.
The new year broke; 2002 began, and McCoy was right where he wanted to be.
Next: Arc One, Part Thirty-Three
Summary: The story of two lives becoming one - which is easier said than done when one's divorced, the other's neurotic, and both suffer from the unfortunate malady of being friends with James T. Kirk.
Overall Rating: NC17.
Overall Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content, moderate violence.
Chapter Specifics:
- 2,000 words.
- Rated PG13.
- No warnings.
Arc One, Part Thirty-Two
On New Year's Eve, Joss took Jo up to Portland to celebrate with Joss's sister's family, and so McCoy was suddenly left surprisingly free. They normally tried to make nice for a few hours on New Year's Eve, to put up a united front for Jo again and work on keeping their fractured family civil for another year. And while he couldn't begrudge her the opportunity - Joss's sister was in the Navy, and often abroad, and Jo hadn't even met two of her cousins yet because it had been so long - he felt at a loose end in a strange, lonely way.
Oddly, it was Jim who invited him to the SynTech New Year party, not Spock - McCoy rather got the impression Spock was still trying to evade the combination of Jim and Chris Pike and not go at all - a few days before the event over a beer in Harry's and waiting for a pool table to free up.
"It's a good bash," Jim shrugged. "The first five drinks are free, and they usually chuck in an extra free glass of champagne if enough projects got patented. I think Spock mentioned they'd hit the threshold this year."
"Why are you going?" McCoy asked. "You left..."
"Yeah, but I stayed in touch," Jim shrugged. "They're nice people. It's," he flushed, "nice to talk to people who don't think I'm as dumb as I look occasionally. Plus," he recovered a little of the bounce, "Helen still works in the drug manufacturing lab, and she's hot. Hey," he raised his voice, and McCoy twisted to see Spock entering the bar, unzipping his leather jacket as he approached. "Spock, tell Bones how hot Helen at SynTech is."
"She is undoubtedly attractive," Spock allowed, and McCoy pinched his arm. "I see no point in lying, Leonard."
"Want a drink?" Jim waved his empty bottle. "First round's on me."
"Thank you."
McCoy barely waited until Jim had left the table before saying, "Where?"
Spock touched his jacket lightly as he folded it over the back of the closest chair and sat down. "What is going on?"
"He's trying to talk me into going to the SynTech New Year thing."
"He is trying to talk me into the same."
"We could, you know," McCoy suggested. "It'd keep your sponsor happy if you went, the free booze'll keep me happy, then we can get a cab back to my place and spend New Year in bed."
Spock eyed him and said, "Neil typically still attends the New Year party."
"How about if I promise not to punch Neil?" McCoy offered. "Plus, you know how I get when your ex is around."
"Aggressive?"
McCoy pinched his arm again. "Good."
"I must admit to that much," Spock agreed.
"C'mon," McCoy grinned, leaning closer. "Lose twenty dollars in the early hours of the New Year? Sounds like a good way to start to me."
Spock offered him an unreadable look, and tilted his head. "It does."
"Is that a yes?" McCoy asked as Jim returned and shot them a funny look.
"Very well."
"What?" Jim prodded, pushing Spock's Asahi toward him across the table. "What'd I miss?"
"We'll come and take some free booze from SynTech," McCoy shrugged, and Jim grinned.
"You totally used sex as a bribe."
The look Spock gave Jim was nothing short of murderous.
The SynTech New Year party was nothing like the dignified annual work party that Spock had conned him into attending the previous summer. For a start, the sedate chatter of scientists with potential sponsors was gone. For another, there was an actual bar in the rented clubhouse with a far better selection of booze, and the promised first-five-free that Jim had boasted about in Harry's. For yet another, it seemed to be scientists-only (and scientists' families, friends, drinking buddies, and old college classmates with less luck than them in the employment-and-free-booze department). And, for the last part, every single one of them was drunk.
It was definitely more McCoy's kind of party.
He was pleasantly surprised to discover that while Spock's tolerance for beers, ales and lagers was very good, his tolerance for wine was less so, and so McCoy kept plying him with large glasses of some cheap red stuff that tasted fizzy and sharp on the back of his mouth when he caught him in a dark corner by the toilets for ten minutes around ten o'clock. Spock's sponsor, Pike, had indeed shown up with a sharp-tongued, dark-haired woman who took one look at Jim and demanded to know why the company was still afloat if it had ever employed a hick like him. (McCoy liked her, whoever she was.) And Jim, far from being annoyed at the accusation, had bought her a healthily large bottle of imported beer, dared to kiss her on the cheek, and had darted off to flirt with the promised Helen from the drug manufacturing lab.
Spock was more sociable with a few glasses of the good stuff in him, and drifted apparently aimlessly from cluster to cluster to speak with various colleagues about various things, including golf at one memorable point, despite harbouring a deep-seated dislike of the 'completely pointless and athletically pathetic' game. (McCoy had thoroughly enjoyed that conversation.) Most of those colleagues were typical scientists and uninterested in the boyfriend that came and went; a couple were more gossipy, with one woman well into her own good stuff demanding to know whether they had ever tried bondage, and if not, why not. (He was later reliably informed that Amelia Epstein was like that whether she was drunk or not.) One woman told McCoy that he didn't look very gay, which, when relayed to Jim, nearly caused the confirmed hick to drown in his beer. But the prize had to go to the man who calmly added two and two to get four without a word, turned to the aforementioned Epstein, and said, "Told you he had a stick up his ass."
Drink and scientists wasn't a good mix, apparently, but it was a goddamn hilarious one.
McCoy had spent most of the party, when not stealing kisses from an increasingly tipsy Spock or bringing more wine to ensure that slightly tipsy stayed that way, talking to Pike. Pike had apparently been wounded in action during his time in the military (he wasn't specific, but McCoy guessed that that was the reason for the cane and the unusual interest in a medical field of which he had no professional interest or knowledge) and had a lot of derogatory things to say about the healthcare system in California, most of which McCoy had to agree with. Still, the debate had brewed in a satisfying manner over their drinks, even though Pike still carried an air of being the man in the charge and McCoy felt vaguely daring about arguing, like a kid talking back to Dad for the first time. It had been a satisfying couple of hours, and even without the hilarity of Spock's drunk colleagues or the opportunities to steal kisses from an unusually relaxed partner, McCoy would have found the party at least vaguely worthwhile for that minor argument alone.
And then the ginger had walked in.
At about quarter to midnight, McCoy first spotted the shock of red hair among the gathering, and had broken away from Pike without a word to hunt down Spock. He had eventually promised not to sock McKenna in the jaw if he did show up, but he had also decided without Spock's input that if McKenna were going to be in the vicinity, so was McCoy. And judging by the way McKenna slid from group to group with that wide, charming smile in place, the ginger was on the hunt again. McCoy had every intention of catching first.
He successfully caught Spock by the buffet table, and stole a samosa for himself before sliding a hand into the back pocket of Spock's jeans and grinning at the blurry, indignant look he received. He'd had enough to not actively wrench himself free and give McCoy a look that promised no sex for the imposition; he hadn't had enough to not care at all.
"You are manhandling me," Spock accused, and McCoy swallowed the food.
"No," he removed the paper plate and situated his other hand in the other back pocket. "This is manhandling."
"Ah," Spock said, resting his hands on McCoy's chest, most likely for convenience's sake. His pupils were wide with alcohol (and McCoy liked to think a little bit of lust) but not yet glassy. After a pause, he leaned in and kissed McCoy simply on the lips, a brief touch of wine and warmth.
"Mm," McCoy squeezed his ass warningly when Spock tried to wriggle free. "That's more like it. That's why I manhandle you; you like it."
"I said nothing about liking it. It is simply easier than fighting you at every turn."
"That's your excuse," McCoy kissed him again, investigating, and said, "Who bought you champagne?" He'd stolen Spock's wallet at the beginning of the party, insisting on it being a late Christmas present, and thus buying his coming and going ticket safely.
"Jim. He is..."
"Wasted?"
"Yes."
McCoy grinned. "We'll have to pile him in the cab with us later, then."
"I think Dr. Noel is piling him in her bed later," Spock confessed, and kissed him again, almost randomly. They were fairly short, chaste kisses, but it was still a very long way from what McCoy was usually allowed in crowds.
"I'll have a bit more o' that, if you don't mind. Countdown's startin' in a couple minutes."
"And that is important because?"
"Starts the new year off on the right foot," McCoy said, still refusing to let him go. "Sets the tone an' all that."
"Superstition."
"Yeah, but it involves manhandlin' you, so I'm all for it."
Spock struggled with that momentarily, and then seemed to see the logic in McCoy's position, for his long fingers were suddenly stroking at the back of his neck, and his teeth were tugging at McCoy's bottom lip.
Somewhere in the kissing, McCoy felt eyes on him, and peered through his eyelashes past Spock to the party that they had almost forgotten. The countdown was beginning on a screen, and the chanting was getting louder, and Pike was giving the sharp-tongued woman another tongue to play with by the bar - but watching them over a thin flute of champagne was McKenna, eyes narrowed.
With breaking the kissing, McCoy removed one hand from the back pocket of Spock's jeans, flipped McKenna off, and returned it to the small of Spock's back.
I win, he thought uncharitably, and figured that maybe he hadn't left those caveman ancestors very far behind.
"I felt that," Spock murmured into his mouth, and McCoy laughed, kissing the end of the last word away.
"Shut up and go with it," he said.
The new year broke; 2002 began, and McCoy was right where he wanted to be.
Next: Arc One, Part Thirty-Three