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McCoy stretches out on his mattress, PADD in hand, and it would be obvious to anyone who walked in that he wasn't really reading it.
He just had to appear busy, put together, by the time the vulcan arrived.
The doctor cannot recall exactly how it had begun, his and Spock's arrangement, but he knows it had something to do with-
“Mutual benefit, and better performance .” Or something along the lines of what the vulcan had said, and in the face of such a tempting offer-
How could McCoy say no?
He could blame his acceptance on profession, on the medical curiosity of vulcan intimacy, but deep down, somewhere along the rocky road of space, McCoy had grown a bit-
Fond ? Interested? Aroused by the only man aboard the enterprise who could hold a good, solid argument.
There's a knock at his door, one he pointedly ignores, and he flashes Spock a grin when the vulcan comes in anyway.
First officer override. It paid to have friends in high places.
“Busy, doctor?” Spock asks him, brow raised, and McCoy shrugs.
It was almost a game they seemed to be playing. An odd sort of push and pull -
They were friends of course, but they weren't lovers .
“Just finishing up.” Leonard lies, obvious, but Spock doesn't point it out and he sets the PADD on his nightstand. “Why? Something the matter?”
“You invited me.” Spock blinks, slowly moving to pull his uniform shirt over his head, “or have you forgotten doctor?”
“Must have slipped my mind.”
“I can come back another time.”
“ No ,” McCoy grins, the game just as fun as it had always been, “you might as well stay. You're here already.”
There's that slightly accented drawl to his words, the southern in him that space had never been able to completely shake, and he doesn't miss the way that Spock swallows before bending down to slip out of his shoes.
Spock seemed to like when he talked, liked to make him talk, or at least, McCoy could guess he did. If all their arguments could be counted as evidence at least.
McCoy's shucks off his black undershirt, before sitting up, and scooting over to the edge of his bed. He and Spock look at each other, both left in only their pants and regulation briefs, and there is a challenge that hangs unspoken between them.
More than friends, less than lovers, and Spock makes his way over to slot himself between Leonard's thighs and slide down onto his knees.
McCoy bites his lip, Spock's hands cool when they brush against the skin of his waist, and he lifts his hips when the man tugs down on his remaining clothing. The vulcan tosses them into some far corner of the room, and there's a surge of warmth the action leaves behind in the doctor's gut.
Spock had used to insist on folding their clothes, on storing them away neatly before their bedroom activities could proceed, and it seemed, by now, that he had become a little more McCoy in his intimate proceedings.
The breath between McCoy’s thighs is warm, and he shivers when Spock’s fingers dip down to wrap around him.
The vulcan was stupidly skilled with his hands, and by the look of the now slightly darker green that tinted his cheeks, it was evident that he had heard that tail end of McCoy’s thoughts.
“It's your fault for being nosy.” Leonard hums, sheepishly looking away when Spock presses the tip of his cock to his lips.
“My apologies then, doctor.”
The vulcan was good with his mouth too, tongue slightly rougher than the average humans, and he puts it to practiced use. His hands hold McCoy still at his hips, letting Spock decide on the pace, and the doctor runs his hands through the vulcan’s hair.
It was nice, whatever this was, and McCoy lets his head tip back with a groan.
“I prepared before coming over.” Spock murmurs when he pulls away, and McCoy blinks himself back to the present.
“I could have done it, you know I don’t mind.” The doctor stretches, and Spock shakes his head.
“It was more time efficient this way.”
“Sweetheart,” McCoy drawls, “time is all we have.” Spock flushes, turning away to strip out of his pants, and McCoy watches him with his head in his hand. “How do you want me?”
The question causes the vulcan to freeze, before he quickly finishes with his clothing and turns back to him, “On your back, if you would doctor.”
“You could call me by my name Spock, it's just us here.”
Spock stills for a minute, raising an eyebrow at the man sitting in front of him, before slowly making his way back over to the mattress and crawling on top of the doctor now laying, stretched out, atop it.
McCoy cannot stop himself from reaching out to pull him closer, to press their mouths together and lick the taste of himself off of Spock’s tongue. The vulcan, as always, indulges him, lets McCoy run his hands up his sides, lets him pull them flush together-
“ Leonard -” Spock mumbles the name against McCoy’s lips when the doctor grinds their hips together. The brush of McCoy’s cock against his sheath coxes his own length the rest of the way out, and there’s the growing wetness of his slick pooling between their stomachs.
“All this natural lubricant, all this length-” Leonard grins, grinding up against him in emphasis, “it’s a shame you’ll never get to use it.”
It’s a provocation they both enjoy, an echo of Spock’s explicit bedroom preference, and the vulcan hums his agreement against the doctor's lips-
Spock sits up, leaving McCoy to frown at his loss of total warmth, and he looks down at the doctor with a raised brow.
When McCoy reaches for his face, Spock dips his head just slightly to allow Leonards’s fingers to smooth over the crease between his brows. It sends a pleasant buzz through them both, a spark of emotional transference, and McCoy looks up at the vulcan in a way that he will later deny as being, ‘unmistakably fond .’
More than friends, less than lovers, and Spock rights himself all too soon. McCoy would complain, if not for the fact that the vulcan was currently adjusting himself above the doctor's painfully hard cock.
Human hands find their way to pale, alien hips, and McCoy helps lower him down, thumbing soothing circles on Spock's hips when the stretch makes him tense.
“Relax Darlin’.”
The nickname has Spock squinting down at him, and when he gets himself fully seated atop the doctor, Spock's own length weeps uselessly between them. Alien thighs tremble beneath Leonard's palms, and Spock runs a hand through his own hair.
He looked ethereal , godly, and McCoy found himself grinning stupid at the sight.
“You look pleased, doctor.”
McCoy imagines that if Spock could speak in anything other than vulcanian monotone, that his words would sound teasing. The corner of Spock's lips twitch, and McCoy knows that he's guessed right.
“Don't let it get to your head now.”
“Of course, doctor.”
More than friends.
Spock lifts himself up, leaving only the tip of McCoy's length inside him-
Less than lovers.
-And Leonard groans when he slams back down, his fingers digging into Spock's hips in an attempt to keep his own hips still.
“ Leonard , if you could-”
McCoy knows, knows, when his name falls off Spock's lips that he could never deny the vulcan anything. Knows again, from previous encounters, what Spock is asking for.
McCoy adjusts himself just slightly, lifting his legs up and bending his knees. It allows him to dig his heels more firmly into the mattress, to anchor himself in one more way, and Spock uses him now as leverage, digs his pretty nails into the doctor's knees, and makes Leonard see stars.
Vulcan stamina be damned, Spock was a monster.
“Spock.” McCoy swallows, holds him down by his hips and breathes, “If you want me to last, you're gonna have to slow down.”
Spock could move if he wanted to, could pull Leonard's hands off him and do as he pleased, but he listens, leans forward to press himself fully against the doctor again, and noses against his throat.
McCoy pets up his sides, groaning softly when Spock shifts to press back a little more onto his cock, and kisses the vulcan's cheek.
More than friends-
When Spock holds out a hand, two fingers pressed together and outstretched, McCoy doesn't think twice about meeting them.
Less than-
“Leonard.”
McCoy hums in response, twining their fingers together and relishing in the affectionate buzz of telepathic transference. It's domestic in a way McCoy hadn't experienced in a long time before starting this with Spock, almost loving in a way he hadn't realized how much he'd even really missed .
He hadn't seen himself getting with anyone after his divorce, but he hadn't thought twice about saying yes to Spock. McCoy stores that specific thought away for later, and uses his free hand to pull Spock into a human kiss.
There's something akin to permission on Spock's tongue, and so McCoy grinds his hips up into him, kisses again the gasp off his lips, and meets him when he sits up again to move.
It doesn't take long for McCoy to fall apart, for him to moan Spock's name when he comes undone, and the vulcan follows suit easily after him, painting McCoy's stomach in sticky ropes of white.
“You lasted longer this time.” Spock blinks, the ghost of a playful argument on his lips, and McCoy rolls his eyes.
“I don't want to hear that from the vulcan whose still on top of me.”
“We could go again.” There's definitely a lift at the edge of Spock's mouth now, and McCoy laughs.
“You'll have to give me a minute, some of us are only human.”
“Logical.” Spock nods, offering out his fingers once again, and humming contently when McCoy reaches out to meet them.
More than friends, and maybe, one day-
“Leonard,” Spock calls him, soft in his tone, and McCoy's eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “There is something I wish to discuss with you later, if you are amenable?”
“Of course, yeah .” McCoy swallows, “Yeah that sounds perfect.” And he meets the vulcan in the middle, giddy when he kisses the smile off Spock’s face.
More than friends, and easily lovers.