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Title: Broken
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Warnings: Torture/Violence, Sex
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for this prompt at the kink meme.
It had seemed logical at the time. The Enterprise had been tasked with making diplomatic advances to a planet that could have strategic benefit to the Federation. It had seemed routine. If the reports of the planet were reliable, they should have been able to make the first steps quickly, peacefully and with a minimum of effort.
That was why when the planet’s governing body had requested assistance with their ill leader, Spock had thought it prudent to advise the Captain to send Doctor McCoy down to the planet with Spock accompanying him to engage in the required diplomacy. Spock would never say it, but it should have been easy.
He and McCoy were beamed down, and greeted with a small amount of anxious ceremony, before the delegation that had met them rushed the doctor off to look at his patient.
Spock was chatting quietly with miscellaneous chancellors. He never knew what hit him.
When he woke up, he was chained to the floor in a dark room. He blinked groggily, trying to reorient himself. He was still in his uniform, although his captors had taken everything else he had been carrying. He looked around the room, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, when he heard a low moan coming from somewhere in front of him.
As his eyes slowly adjusted, he was able to make out the crumpled form of McCoy.
“Doctor McCoy,” he tried, keeping his voice even and his emotions in check.
He was greeted with another moan and the figure on the floor shifting.
“Spock,” the doctor’s hoarse voice asked.
“Doctor McCoy, do you understand what might have happened to put us in this situation,” Spock asked, his voice coming out a touch more accusing than not. He knew that he had certainly not caused any sort of incident, so it was logical to assume that the doctor had managed to cause insult somehow with his caustic manner.
“I was too late,” McCoy said quietly. “We were too late. The illness has progressed too far for me to do anything more than make their leader comfortable. He’s dying. I think they were hoping for better news,” he said wryly, gesturing at their surroundings.
Spock didn’t really understand the human need to make jokes during unpleasant situations, but he did allow himself to feel a twinge of relief. If the doctor was joking, he was probably not injured very badly, which would increase their odds of either escaping or reasoning their way out of this situation. Spock set himself to the task of figuring out a way to escape.
“Are you injured,” he asked.
“Just a hell of a bump on the head. And these chains are probably going to leave some chafing,” he added, gesturing to his legs. Spock could see now that the doctor had also been chained to the floor. Obviously their captors did not want them going anywhere.
He tested his bonds, pulling against them to see if there were any weaknesses that he could exploit, but they were solid and firmly attached to the stone floor. He scanned the room quickly, looking for anything that might be serviceable for picking the locks or cutting through the chain. The room was barren of anything, except his companion, who appeared to be checking himself over and gauging his injuries.
“Did they leave any of your equipment on your person,” Spock asked.
McCoy glared at him. “Yeah, they left that handy lock-picking gear that I keep in my boot at all times. I’m a doctor, not an escape artist,” he huffed.
“I do not understand your hostility to an assessment of our assets, so that I might better plan our escape.”
“I may not be a Vulcan brainbox like you, but don’t you think that if they’d left something useful, I would have mentioned it?”
“Since, as you said, you are a doctor and not an escape artist, you might not be aware of what could be useful,” Spock attempted to point out, although he did not expect his rational statement to appease the doctor.
“No,” McCoy growled, “they didn’t leave me anything but my uniform. You’re supposed to be strong. Can’t you just snap the chains off the wall?” He punctuated his question with a tug on his chains that made the links rattle.
“I am stronger than a human. I am not stronger than these chains,” Spock replied, annoyance tinting his voice, although it was probably only noticeable to himself.
“I would have to get locked up with a cold-blooded bastard like you,” McCoy grumbled.
“As I have explained to you before, the average Vulcan core temperature is significantly higher than a human’s. I am not cold-blooded.”
“Just shut up. Just because we’re stuck here, doesn’t mean we have to make conversation.”
Spock agreed with this assessment, and decided that ignoring the other man was a logical plan.
*
An hour and twenty three minutes forty eight seconds passed before someone entered their cell. He pulled McCoy up from the floor, shaking him harshly, and yelling into his face. Spock couldn’t understand all the nuances of what was being said, but he caught the gist. The leader had not been cured, and the people blamed McCoy for his continued illness. He caught something that seemed to translate to treason.
“I’m sorry,” McCoy said, trying to reason with the man. “It was already too late when we got here. It was too late before we even made contact. I would help if I could, but there’s nothing I can do. Damn it, I’m a doctor not a god. I can’t raise the dead!”
Spock held back an almost involuntary wince when their captor threw McCoy back against the wall hard enough that Spock could hear the sickening crack of the doctor’s skull against the stone of the wall. He jerked his chains, though they remained as strong as ever and held him fast. He chastised himself for engaging in an illogical and futile exercise.
McCoy was blinking groggily at his captor. The man pushed the doctor’s face to the wall harshly, and pulled an evil looking knout from his belt. He was growling at the doctor, something about punishment as he chained his prisoner wrists to the wall.
Spock took this as his cue to intervene, working his way past the momentary shock that things had gone so wrong. “It is illogical to punish him for something that cannot be prevented or changed. He is not responsible for your leader’s illness. Release us before this situation is made worse for you and your people. Attacking Starfleet officers on a diplomatic mission can be considered an act of war by the Federation.”
The man turned to Spock and sneered at him. “We are allowed to punish criminals to the fullest extent of the law,” he said, slowly and clearly, obviously wanting to make sure that Spock understood every word. “The punishment for treason is flogging.” He turned away from Spock and returned his attention to the doctor.
Spock’s protests were silenced when the whip cracked across McCoy’s back, its sharp barbs tearing through the doctor’s uniform and breaking skin. McCoy cried out, and Spock could feel the agony rolling from the doctor like an almost physical blow. “You must stop,” Spock insisted again. “We have done nothing wrong. He has done nothing to warrant this punishment.”
Their captor paid him no mind, and continued to bring the whip cracking down on McCoy’s back with vicious blows. Spock could only stare impassively and try to quell the horror that was nearly choking him. He was not used to seeing this sort of barbaric punishment and it was difficult to remain emotionless with the doctor’s cries echoing in his ears and seeing the blood trickling down his back.
By the time the blows stopped, McCoy was hanging from his bonds limply. He seemed only capable of whimpers, and was probably clinging to consciousness through sheer tenaciousness.
“Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet,” the captor growled, grabbing McCoy by the back of the neck. “If the king dies, that’s murder. The punishment for that is death. Eventually.” He laughed horribly as he undid the chains around the doctor’s wrists, allowing him to slump to the floor.
Spock almost felt grateful that the other man seemed to finally be unconscious.
*
Spock attempted to meditate, and regain the pure logic that served him well. He would need it to figure out some way for them to escape. The Enterprise would soon notice if they failed to make contact in a timely fashion.
The door opened and their captor returned. Spock could make out his face enough to see the expression of pleasure the crossed it when he looked at the man crumpled on the floor, still where he had been left three hours and eighteen minutes before. The man kicked McCoy in the ribs, causing him to yelp. His eyes were wild and unfocused, consciousness having been thrust upon him again.
The man pulled him up by the neck, to look him in the eyes. “The king has died,” he growled to his prisoner. “The date of your execution has been set, but in the meantime you’re mine to do as I’d like with. Well, as long as I keep you alive long enough to be killed.” He chuckled, and brought one of his heavy boots down on one of the doctor’s hands.
Spock could hear the fresh scream from McCoy’s throat, along with the agonizing crunch of delicate bones. His throat closed up and he looked away before their torturer broke the doctor’s other hand. Averting his eyes didn’t stop him from hearing the sounds again.
When their torturer finally left again, Spock looked over at the man he served with, although he would never have called him a friend. McCoy had curled in on himself, holding his hands close to his chest and was weeping quietly. Spock found himself at a loss for a suitable course of action. His training had been surprisingly vague about what to do when tortured or a witness to torture. It had consisted of instructions to give away no information, beyond name, rank and serial number, intervene only if necessary, and that was it. It seemed horribly inadequate for their current situation. He found himself trying to think of what McCoy would do if their positions were reversed, in an endeavor to find some logical task that he could perform.
The doctor would probably be attempting to offer some form of comfort, although it would be in a very human fashion – reassurances, touches, possibly anger, however impotent it would be. Spock could not reach to touch, could not bring himself to believe that his anger would help in any way, and did not know what the doctor would find reassuring. Still, he felt it logical to make the effort, even if he calculated his own odds of success at less than twenty percent.
“Doctor McCoy,” he said, maintaining his usual even tone as best he could, although he could hear the worry in his own voice, and a tremor that would have been humiliating if he thought that it would be noticed. “Are any of your injuries life threatening?”
McCoy let out a hoarse bark of a laugh. “No, not that it matters. They’re planning to kill me one way or another,” he choked out.
“We have been out of contact for at least six hours and fifty six minutes. The Enterprise will have noticed our lack of contact and will be making attempts to locate us.”
“Won’t do much good if that sadistic madman finishes me off before they can find us.” The doctor’s voice was pained, and breaking under the strain.
“They will find us,” Spock said firmly. “The planet is largely uninhabited, and we cannot have been taken far from the city. We must wait and be prepared to leave when the chance is available.”
“I don’t think we’ve been left with any options but waiting,” McCoy said, before dropping back into silence.
*
When their torturer returned one hour and thirty two minutes later, he was not alone. He and his companion said nothing as they released McCoy from his chains and pulled him from the room. Spock could only hope that it wasn't for an execution.
They had left the door open, and Spock could see a wedge of light shining into the dark room from the corridor beyond. It would have been an opportune time for an escape or a rescue attempt, but his chains still held him captive, and no person from the Enterprise burst in to save the day.
Then he heard the doctor’s voice, echoing off the stone and directly in to Spock’s ears. “No! No!” was all he could make out before the screams started.
None of Spock’s attempts to focus could withstand the sound of those screams. He searched the room again, no longer caring if such an action was futile. He had to make the screams stop. They needed to get out of here.
He scanned the room, looking for anything, anything at all that might be of assistance. He saw it then, glinting slightly in the light – a bit of wire from the torturers whip. Spock positioned himself and reached as far as he could to try and grab it, focusing on that little piece of wire until he could no longer hear the screams.
With a final stretch he managed to snatch the little wire, bending it and getting to work on the locks. The manacles dropped from his ankles and then his wrists, and Spock ran.
He followed the sounds of McCoy’s screams to a small room not far away. The torturers had not shut the door, obviously wanting the doctor’s agony to travel and not expecting to be interrupted.
Spock saw red, and used the advantage of surprise to attack. He threw the accomplice into the wall, not even stopping to look as his body crumpled to floor, before turning his attention to the stunned man who had inflicted all of this.
Spock’s rational mind told him that he should use this chance to offer a way out, or just knock the man unconscious and escape with the doctor. He couldn’t. All he could see was McCoy’s body, stretched on a rack, his shoulders dislocated, his hands broken and hideous and the blood from his reopened wounds dripping to the floor. He could not justify mercy to this man.
The man attempted to fight, swinging at Spock with heavy fists, but the Vulcan was quicker, stronger, and had his hands around the man’s throat, and was squeezing the breath out of him.
“Don’t,” McCoy’s broken voice rasped, somehow breaking through the haze that clouded Spock’s senses.
Captain Kirk, with almost impeccable timing chose that moment to show up with reinforcements.
*
The days after their return to the Enterprise were eventful. There were reports to file, briefings to attend, along with the usual day to day running of the ship. He assured the Captain that he was unharmed and fit to resume his usual duties, and he put the incident behind him. It was not logical to dwell on events that could not be altered.
He could feel the eyes of the crew watching him, either disbelieving that he was fine or annoyed because he was fine. There were whispers as well, similar to the ones that had followed him after the destruction of Vulcan. He ignored them, whether they were sympathetic or condemning his lack of emotion.
He was fine, until Nyota caught up with him in the lift after his shift.
“Have you been down to see him at all,” she asked, and Spock tried to ignore the hint of accusation that he could hear in her voice.
“It did not seem necessary,” he answered. “He is being cared for by trained medical personnel. I can be of no further assistance.”
Nyota rolled her eyes, a gesture that Spock had come to find particularly distasteful after his contact with humans, possibly because it seemed to be directed at him more frequently than seemed normal.
“That isn’t the point of visiting,” Nyota explained carefully. “You go to show that you’re interested in someone’s wellbeing, and to keep them company if they want it.”
“If I am concerned with Doctor Mccoy’s wellbeing, I can get a report from the doctors attending him. As far as company, as you put it, I was under the impression that the doctor was being kept under sedation so he would not attempt to leave the medical bay before his injuries had been fully treated.”
Nyota smiled a little at that. “Yeah, I’d always heard that doctors make the worst patients. From what Nurse Chapel told me, Doctor McCoy is the reason for that saying. You should still visit.”
“The doctor has never been fond of my presence in the past. I have no reason to believe that this will have changed with his current state.”
“Maybe not, but the crew doesn’t like to think that their superior officers have no concern if one of them is injured. A lot of them are pretty shaken up over what they’ve heard about what happened.”
Spock considered Nyota’s words carefully, before nodding slightly. “I will visit at the end of my next shift, if you think it is important that I do so.”
Nyota smiled at him, and gave his arm a small squeeze. “Thank you.”
*
Spock made his way to the medical bay, and was surprised to see that the doctor appeared to be awake. He had planned his visit with the impression that McCoy would still be sedated, allowing him to make his visit, appease Nyota and the crew, while avoiding the more awkward aspects that could be involved.
It seemed that his ideal scenario was no longer a possibility, so he resigned himself to navigating the more uncomfortable idiosyncrasies of human interaction.
There was a chair at the doctor’s bedside; Spock was obviously not his first visitor. He sat cautiously and tried to decide on his next course of action. He took the opportunity to observe McCoy, who did not seem to have noted his presence.
His injuries were still healing, evidenced by the bandages around his hands and the padding separating his arms from his torso. Although he was clean shaven and obviously being cared for, there was a hollowness to his face and smallness to his form that suggested he had lost weight, although Spock could not rationally account for this seeming insubstantial-ness.
Spock continued to sit silently, waiting for the doctor to acknowledge him. When no acknowledgment came, he felt that perhaps, in this instance, he was expected to make the first conversational gambit.
“I have come to determine your state of wellbeing,” he said finally.
Even though his words were in the same tone he usually used, McCoy seemed unduly startled. His face became what Spock could only describe as panicked, before settling into a more neutral expression.
“I hadn’t noticed you.” McCoy turned his head gingerly to look at Spock, obviously trying not to move excessively.
Spock was taken aback by the bland statement. On previous occasions when he had startled the doctor, the reaction had been loud and had contained accusations of “sneaking up on people”. However, while this new reaction was atypical, he attributed it to the doctor’s recovering status.
McCoy did not seem inclined to conversation, so Spock continued to sit quietly, engaging in what Nyota had called “being there”.
*
It was Spock’s habit to take walks around the Enterprise during what was referred to by the crew as night. He found that the motion had a relaxing effect that was beneficial to his rest, allowing him to sleep more quickly and with fewer disturbances to his thoughts.
He was caught off guard when he saw McCoy on one of these walks. He could not recall the doctor previously making a habit of wandering the ship at what he had been assured were odd hours.
The man had been released and returned to his duties for several weeks now, and though Spock continued to hear reports of the doctor’s behavior seeming erratic and unstable, nothing had struck him as abnormal for the man. He thought that he would now have to revise his previous assessment.
McCoy was slumped into a corner of the Observation deck, looking far more haggard than Spock could ever recall seeing him, although he remembered from conversations with the Captain and Nyota that the doctor had taken less care with his appearance on previous occasions. He was unshaven, and his eyes appeared dark and sunken in way that was unusual. He wondered if the man had recently completed a long shift, though he could not recall any particularly hazardous occasions recently, outside of their own capture more than a month ago.
He did not seem to notice Spock at all, and Spock was reminded of his visit to the doctor in the medical bay. He carefully moved to put himself in the doctor’s line of sight, hoping to avoid startling him again.
“Doctor McCoy,” he said, attempting to get the other man’s attention.
The doctor looked up at Spock, registering his presence for the first time. Spock allowed himself to enjoy a small moment of relief, since while he normally did not mind frightening McCoy just to watch his reaction, it seemed inappropriate to engage in such behavior currently.
“Spock,” the doctor said, inclining his head in a gesture of greeting.
“Are you having difficulties sleeping?” Spock was unsure what sort of response he would get to such a personal line of inquiry, but he thought that gaining more information about the situation would aid in determining a suitable method to proceed in.
“No, I’m just enjoying the view,” McCoy said, gesturing towards the viewing area, a direction opposite the one he was facing.
Spock remembered Nyota mentioning the doctor having a fear of flying and space. She had seemed to find it particularly amusing, although Spock had just wondered why someone with such a phobia would willingly chose a career that required facing both fears.
“Do you wish to be left alone,” Spock asked. He knew that while he preferred to have time for solitude, humans were far more social, and often enjoyed company to extents that Spock would find overwhelming.
McCoy seemed to consider him for a moment, before shrugging. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Spock took this as something akin to an invitation and moved to sit near the other man. He wondered if this was another occasion where just “being there” was enough, or if he was expected to make conversation. He thought for a moment how much easier this situation would be if the doctor, like Nyota had often done, would just inform him which was the correct option.
As they sat quietly, he recalled the Captain mentioning once that humans frequently chose to engage in sexual activities after traumatic events. The Captain had called it “life affirming” and had said that it was often an effective way for humans to focus on the more positive aspects of existence. He looked over at the other man, and debated whether this would be a viable option. McCoy was attractive, in the manner of some humans, and Spock found the idea agreeable.
Making a decision, he asked, “Would you find it beneficial to engage in intercourse?” He could feel the blood moving to the tips of his ears, and wished that his physiological reactions were less human. He could only hope that the doctor was not looking closely enough to notice.
McCoy turned and looked at him fully for the first time since he had arrived. “Did I hear you correctly,” he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“While I am not sure what you think you heard, I can only assume that you are asking about my offer of physical intimacy, in which case you did hear me correctly. It is my understanding that such activities can be beneficial after a traumatic event.”
McCoy stared at him for a moment, before laughing. He curled in on himself, and Spock could see tears welling in his eyes from his apparent mirth. He felt embarrassed and unaccountably offended by this reaction. He moved to stand up, but was stopped by McCoy grabbing his arm and pulling him back. Spock could have easily pulled away, but he decided that he would wait for the moment.
“Now don’t get your feathers ruffled,” McCoy said, although his smile indicated that he still found the situation more amusing than Spock would like. Spock was about to ask the meaning of this strange idiom when McCoy continued. “You just caught me off guard, although I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. You’re not much of one for foreplay, are you?”
Spock stiffened slightly. “I had assumed that a direct approach would be preferable in this situation, given that we frequently seem to misunderstand each other.” He thought he was being generous with that statement, but concessions were usually required in order to facilitate amicable relations.
McCoy had stopped laughing, although he was still smiling. “We do at that. Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s actually a bit of a relief to be around you. Jim keeps trying to make me talk about everything.”
Spock inclined his head slightly. “Isn’t that a customary response? I was under the impression that humans found discussing their feelings to be cathartic.” He did not add that the doctor himself was one of his main sources for that impression.
McCoy shook his head. “So, does the offer stand,” he said. Spock recognized it as a change of subject, but he allowed it.
“If you’d like,” he said.
McCoy didn’t answer, instead turning and moving his mouth to press against Spock’s. His lips were cool and surprisingly soft. His stubble created a rough counterpoint that Spock found pleasant, if unfamiliar. He allowed the kiss to deepen, increasing the pressure slightly, using his tongue to trace the seam of the doctor’s lips. He was pleased when the doctor met it with his own.
McCoy pulled away first. “Do you really want to do this?”
Spock thought for a moment. “I find it to be an agreeable prospect, although perhaps a change of location would be preferable.”
McCoy nodded. “Your place or mine?”
*
They made their way to Spock’s quarters, which were both closer in proximity and a more comfortable temperature for a Vulcan. They walked quietly together, and Spock appreciated that McCoy seemed as reticent to engage in public displays of their intention as he was, although a very small part of him hoped it was out of professionalism, rather than embarrassment. He did allow his hand to brush against McCoy’s as they moved, though, as it was unlikely to be either noticed or understood by anyone they encountered.
They stop just inside the door. McCoy looks around, and Spock issn’t quite sure how to proceed.
“Doctor McCoy,” he starts.
“Leonard,” McCoy says.
“Leonard,” Spock agrees, before the other man pulls him close. He doesn’t kiss Spock; he seems to be waiting for something, although Spock isn’t sure what.
Spock can’t quite figure out what the next logical step is, so he decides to follow his instincts.
He runs his hands along Leonard’s jaw, and the texture of the stubble catching in the ridges of his fingers makes him shiver. He continues exploring with his hands, moving them up the doctor’s neck, tracing the soft curve of his ears. Leonard looks at him, eyebrow raised in amusement. He finds his own lips twitching slightly, and kisses the other man before he can notice, pushing his fingers into the doctor’s thick mess of hair.
Leonard is running his hands up Spock’s back, slipping one beneath his shirt and the other down to his hip, pulling Spock closer until their bodies are in full contact, rubbing slightly against each other. Spock thinks quickly, and shifts until he can feel the press of the other man’s erection against his own. Leonard moans, and pushes his tongue further into his mouth, cool and slick moving against Spock’s own.
When Leonard pulls away to breathe, Spock takes in his glazed expression, eyes hooded, pupils huge and dark, skin flushed pink. It’s still fascinating and exotic, no matter how many humans he sleeps with, their cool skin and freely-shown emotions. He slides his hands between their bodies, until he can rest his hand on Leonard’s heart. Even beating faster with arousal, it feels slow to him.
Leonard takes Spock’s hand in his own and brings it up until Spock’s fingers are just brushing the curve of his lips. Spock allows his eyes to close when Leonard pulls two fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently. He can feel himself whimper, and doesn’t even bother to try and hide it.
It takes him a moment to remember that he was attempting to improve Leonard’s state of mind, not his own, and he pulls away. He is curious about what he must look like to the other man, whether he can see all the little cracks of emotion slipping through, if that adds or removes from his pleasure in the situation.
He pushes Leonard until his back is against the wall, and lowers himself gently to his knees. He looks up and can hear the other man swallow when their eyes meet. He keeps looking as he rubs his hand over the other man’s still clothed erection. A thrust and another moan signal approval, and Spock quickly undoes the trousers, pulling them down along with the other man’s underwear.
He can’t stop the catch in his own breath, nor can he stop his hands from moving, touching, exploring, enjoying the feel of the soft hair covering solid thighs, the smooth skin stretched thin over pelvic bone, the thick curls of pubic hair, and finally the reddened, delicate skin of Leonard’s erection.
“Spock,” Leonard says above him, drawing his attention up again. “Please,” he says, as his hips roll forward, the tip of his penis brushing against Spock’s jaw, his cheeks. Spock moves until his mouth is just touching, and Leonard speaks again. “Please.”
Spock wraps his hand around the doctor’s erection, and guides it slowly into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the smooth flesh as he pulls it further into his mouth. Leonard groans above him, and his hands have fallen until they are resting on his head, the edges of his palms just brushing the backs of Spock’s ears, his fingers curling slightly through Spock’s hair. Spock moves, sucking, pulling back and allowing his mouth to slide forward again. He is pleased that the hands on his head remain gentle, in spite of the probable temptation to grab and thrust.
He pulls on Leonard’s hips, drawing him deeper into his mouth again, and sets a slow even rhythm, cataloguing each reaction, and adjusting the strength of his sucking, the position of his tongue allowing the volume and frequency of moans guide him until he can feel Leonard’s thighs shaking under his hands.
“Oh, god, god,” Leonard chants, “Spock. I’m gonna.” He trails off into a groan, and Spock can feel the pulse of his orgasm against his tongue, his mouth filling with the salty taste of semen. He swallows as Leonard slides down the wall, and is unsure what to do next. His own erection has become nearly painful, but he is unsure whether life-affirming, comfort sex is a mutual activity, or something meant to be enjoyed only by the person being comforted.
He receives his answer when Leonard lunges at him, grabbing his head and kissing him hard, thrusting his tongue into Spock’s mouth, even though it must surely taste like the doctor’s release. Spock finds himself being pushed until his back is on the floor, and Leonard’s hand tugging his pants open, pushing into his underwear and wrapping itself firmly around his penis.
Spock moves his hips into that tight grip, thrusting, as Leonard mouths his ear. He can feel his orgasm approaching fast and turns until his lips and Leonard’s meet again. He allows himself to be overtaken with pleasure, luxuriating in the moment, until it’s finished and he is aware and in control of himself again.
Leonard’s face is pressed against his neck, breathing soft and even. Spock wonders if he is still awake for a moment, until he hears the rumble of the doctor’s voice.
“Is this where we get dressed and I slink back to my own room, because if it is, I’m going to need a moment.” His nose is brushing Spock’s ear in a pleasant way, and although he would prefer to clean up and make himself presentable again, he finds himself strangely reluctant to proceed.
“You could stay,” he finally says. “If you’d like, although I would suggest that we relocate to the bed.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Leonard mumbles, wrapping an arm around Spock and pulling him closer.
Spock finds that he doesn’t mind.
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Warnings: Torture/Violence, Sex
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for this prompt at the kink meme.
It had seemed logical at the time. The Enterprise had been tasked with making diplomatic advances to a planet that could have strategic benefit to the Federation. It had seemed routine. If the reports of the planet were reliable, they should have been able to make the first steps quickly, peacefully and with a minimum of effort.
That was why when the planet’s governing body had requested assistance with their ill leader, Spock had thought it prudent to advise the Captain to send Doctor McCoy down to the planet with Spock accompanying him to engage in the required diplomacy. Spock would never say it, but it should have been easy.
He and McCoy were beamed down, and greeted with a small amount of anxious ceremony, before the delegation that had met them rushed the doctor off to look at his patient.
Spock was chatting quietly with miscellaneous chancellors. He never knew what hit him.
When he woke up, he was chained to the floor in a dark room. He blinked groggily, trying to reorient himself. He was still in his uniform, although his captors had taken everything else he had been carrying. He looked around the room, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, when he heard a low moan coming from somewhere in front of him.
As his eyes slowly adjusted, he was able to make out the crumpled form of McCoy.
“Doctor McCoy,” he tried, keeping his voice even and his emotions in check.
He was greeted with another moan and the figure on the floor shifting.
“Spock,” the doctor’s hoarse voice asked.
“Doctor McCoy, do you understand what might have happened to put us in this situation,” Spock asked, his voice coming out a touch more accusing than not. He knew that he had certainly not caused any sort of incident, so it was logical to assume that the doctor had managed to cause insult somehow with his caustic manner.
“I was too late,” McCoy said quietly. “We were too late. The illness has progressed too far for me to do anything more than make their leader comfortable. He’s dying. I think they were hoping for better news,” he said wryly, gesturing at their surroundings.
Spock didn’t really understand the human need to make jokes during unpleasant situations, but he did allow himself to feel a twinge of relief. If the doctor was joking, he was probably not injured very badly, which would increase their odds of either escaping or reasoning their way out of this situation. Spock set himself to the task of figuring out a way to escape.
“Are you injured,” he asked.
“Just a hell of a bump on the head. And these chains are probably going to leave some chafing,” he added, gesturing to his legs. Spock could see now that the doctor had also been chained to the floor. Obviously their captors did not want them going anywhere.
He tested his bonds, pulling against them to see if there were any weaknesses that he could exploit, but they were solid and firmly attached to the stone floor. He scanned the room quickly, looking for anything that might be serviceable for picking the locks or cutting through the chain. The room was barren of anything, except his companion, who appeared to be checking himself over and gauging his injuries.
“Did they leave any of your equipment on your person,” Spock asked.
McCoy glared at him. “Yeah, they left that handy lock-picking gear that I keep in my boot at all times. I’m a doctor, not an escape artist,” he huffed.
“I do not understand your hostility to an assessment of our assets, so that I might better plan our escape.”
“I may not be a Vulcan brainbox like you, but don’t you think that if they’d left something useful, I would have mentioned it?”
“Since, as you said, you are a doctor and not an escape artist, you might not be aware of what could be useful,” Spock attempted to point out, although he did not expect his rational statement to appease the doctor.
“No,” McCoy growled, “they didn’t leave me anything but my uniform. You’re supposed to be strong. Can’t you just snap the chains off the wall?” He punctuated his question with a tug on his chains that made the links rattle.
“I am stronger than a human. I am not stronger than these chains,” Spock replied, annoyance tinting his voice, although it was probably only noticeable to himself.
“I would have to get locked up with a cold-blooded bastard like you,” McCoy grumbled.
“As I have explained to you before, the average Vulcan core temperature is significantly higher than a human’s. I am not cold-blooded.”
“Just shut up. Just because we’re stuck here, doesn’t mean we have to make conversation.”
Spock agreed with this assessment, and decided that ignoring the other man was a logical plan.
*
An hour and twenty three minutes forty eight seconds passed before someone entered their cell. He pulled McCoy up from the floor, shaking him harshly, and yelling into his face. Spock couldn’t understand all the nuances of what was being said, but he caught the gist. The leader had not been cured, and the people blamed McCoy for his continued illness. He caught something that seemed to translate to treason.
“I’m sorry,” McCoy said, trying to reason with the man. “It was already too late when we got here. It was too late before we even made contact. I would help if I could, but there’s nothing I can do. Damn it, I’m a doctor not a god. I can’t raise the dead!”
Spock held back an almost involuntary wince when their captor threw McCoy back against the wall hard enough that Spock could hear the sickening crack of the doctor’s skull against the stone of the wall. He jerked his chains, though they remained as strong as ever and held him fast. He chastised himself for engaging in an illogical and futile exercise.
McCoy was blinking groggily at his captor. The man pushed the doctor’s face to the wall harshly, and pulled an evil looking knout from his belt. He was growling at the doctor, something about punishment as he chained his prisoner wrists to the wall.
Spock took this as his cue to intervene, working his way past the momentary shock that things had gone so wrong. “It is illogical to punish him for something that cannot be prevented or changed. He is not responsible for your leader’s illness. Release us before this situation is made worse for you and your people. Attacking Starfleet officers on a diplomatic mission can be considered an act of war by the Federation.”
The man turned to Spock and sneered at him. “We are allowed to punish criminals to the fullest extent of the law,” he said, slowly and clearly, obviously wanting to make sure that Spock understood every word. “The punishment for treason is flogging.” He turned away from Spock and returned his attention to the doctor.
Spock’s protests were silenced when the whip cracked across McCoy’s back, its sharp barbs tearing through the doctor’s uniform and breaking skin. McCoy cried out, and Spock could feel the agony rolling from the doctor like an almost physical blow. “You must stop,” Spock insisted again. “We have done nothing wrong. He has done nothing to warrant this punishment.”
Their captor paid him no mind, and continued to bring the whip cracking down on McCoy’s back with vicious blows. Spock could only stare impassively and try to quell the horror that was nearly choking him. He was not used to seeing this sort of barbaric punishment and it was difficult to remain emotionless with the doctor’s cries echoing in his ears and seeing the blood trickling down his back.
By the time the blows stopped, McCoy was hanging from his bonds limply. He seemed only capable of whimpers, and was probably clinging to consciousness through sheer tenaciousness.
“Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet,” the captor growled, grabbing McCoy by the back of the neck. “If the king dies, that’s murder. The punishment for that is death. Eventually.” He laughed horribly as he undid the chains around the doctor’s wrists, allowing him to slump to the floor.
Spock almost felt grateful that the other man seemed to finally be unconscious.
*
Spock attempted to meditate, and regain the pure logic that served him well. He would need it to figure out some way for them to escape. The Enterprise would soon notice if they failed to make contact in a timely fashion.
The door opened and their captor returned. Spock could make out his face enough to see the expression of pleasure the crossed it when he looked at the man crumpled on the floor, still where he had been left three hours and eighteen minutes before. The man kicked McCoy in the ribs, causing him to yelp. His eyes were wild and unfocused, consciousness having been thrust upon him again.
The man pulled him up by the neck, to look him in the eyes. “The king has died,” he growled to his prisoner. “The date of your execution has been set, but in the meantime you’re mine to do as I’d like with. Well, as long as I keep you alive long enough to be killed.” He chuckled, and brought one of his heavy boots down on one of the doctor’s hands.
Spock could hear the fresh scream from McCoy’s throat, along with the agonizing crunch of delicate bones. His throat closed up and he looked away before their torturer broke the doctor’s other hand. Averting his eyes didn’t stop him from hearing the sounds again.
When their torturer finally left again, Spock looked over at the man he served with, although he would never have called him a friend. McCoy had curled in on himself, holding his hands close to his chest and was weeping quietly. Spock found himself at a loss for a suitable course of action. His training had been surprisingly vague about what to do when tortured or a witness to torture. It had consisted of instructions to give away no information, beyond name, rank and serial number, intervene only if necessary, and that was it. It seemed horribly inadequate for their current situation. He found himself trying to think of what McCoy would do if their positions were reversed, in an endeavor to find some logical task that he could perform.
The doctor would probably be attempting to offer some form of comfort, although it would be in a very human fashion – reassurances, touches, possibly anger, however impotent it would be. Spock could not reach to touch, could not bring himself to believe that his anger would help in any way, and did not know what the doctor would find reassuring. Still, he felt it logical to make the effort, even if he calculated his own odds of success at less than twenty percent.
“Doctor McCoy,” he said, maintaining his usual even tone as best he could, although he could hear the worry in his own voice, and a tremor that would have been humiliating if he thought that it would be noticed. “Are any of your injuries life threatening?”
McCoy let out a hoarse bark of a laugh. “No, not that it matters. They’re planning to kill me one way or another,” he choked out.
“We have been out of contact for at least six hours and fifty six minutes. The Enterprise will have noticed our lack of contact and will be making attempts to locate us.”
“Won’t do much good if that sadistic madman finishes me off before they can find us.” The doctor’s voice was pained, and breaking under the strain.
“They will find us,” Spock said firmly. “The planet is largely uninhabited, and we cannot have been taken far from the city. We must wait and be prepared to leave when the chance is available.”
“I don’t think we’ve been left with any options but waiting,” McCoy said, before dropping back into silence.
*
When their torturer returned one hour and thirty two minutes later, he was not alone. He and his companion said nothing as they released McCoy from his chains and pulled him from the room. Spock could only hope that it wasn't for an execution.
They had left the door open, and Spock could see a wedge of light shining into the dark room from the corridor beyond. It would have been an opportune time for an escape or a rescue attempt, but his chains still held him captive, and no person from the Enterprise burst in to save the day.
Then he heard the doctor’s voice, echoing off the stone and directly in to Spock’s ears. “No! No!” was all he could make out before the screams started.
None of Spock’s attempts to focus could withstand the sound of those screams. He searched the room again, no longer caring if such an action was futile. He had to make the screams stop. They needed to get out of here.
He scanned the room, looking for anything, anything at all that might be of assistance. He saw it then, glinting slightly in the light – a bit of wire from the torturers whip. Spock positioned himself and reached as far as he could to try and grab it, focusing on that little piece of wire until he could no longer hear the screams.
With a final stretch he managed to snatch the little wire, bending it and getting to work on the locks. The manacles dropped from his ankles and then his wrists, and Spock ran.
He followed the sounds of McCoy’s screams to a small room not far away. The torturers had not shut the door, obviously wanting the doctor’s agony to travel and not expecting to be interrupted.
Spock saw red, and used the advantage of surprise to attack. He threw the accomplice into the wall, not even stopping to look as his body crumpled to floor, before turning his attention to the stunned man who had inflicted all of this.
Spock’s rational mind told him that he should use this chance to offer a way out, or just knock the man unconscious and escape with the doctor. He couldn’t. All he could see was McCoy’s body, stretched on a rack, his shoulders dislocated, his hands broken and hideous and the blood from his reopened wounds dripping to the floor. He could not justify mercy to this man.
The man attempted to fight, swinging at Spock with heavy fists, but the Vulcan was quicker, stronger, and had his hands around the man’s throat, and was squeezing the breath out of him.
“Don’t,” McCoy’s broken voice rasped, somehow breaking through the haze that clouded Spock’s senses.
Captain Kirk, with almost impeccable timing chose that moment to show up with reinforcements.
*
The days after their return to the Enterprise were eventful. There were reports to file, briefings to attend, along with the usual day to day running of the ship. He assured the Captain that he was unharmed and fit to resume his usual duties, and he put the incident behind him. It was not logical to dwell on events that could not be altered.
He could feel the eyes of the crew watching him, either disbelieving that he was fine or annoyed because he was fine. There were whispers as well, similar to the ones that had followed him after the destruction of Vulcan. He ignored them, whether they were sympathetic or condemning his lack of emotion.
He was fine, until Nyota caught up with him in the lift after his shift.
“Have you been down to see him at all,” she asked, and Spock tried to ignore the hint of accusation that he could hear in her voice.
“It did not seem necessary,” he answered. “He is being cared for by trained medical personnel. I can be of no further assistance.”
Nyota rolled her eyes, a gesture that Spock had come to find particularly distasteful after his contact with humans, possibly because it seemed to be directed at him more frequently than seemed normal.
“That isn’t the point of visiting,” Nyota explained carefully. “You go to show that you’re interested in someone’s wellbeing, and to keep them company if they want it.”
“If I am concerned with Doctor Mccoy’s wellbeing, I can get a report from the doctors attending him. As far as company, as you put it, I was under the impression that the doctor was being kept under sedation so he would not attempt to leave the medical bay before his injuries had been fully treated.”
Nyota smiled a little at that. “Yeah, I’d always heard that doctors make the worst patients. From what Nurse Chapel told me, Doctor McCoy is the reason for that saying. You should still visit.”
“The doctor has never been fond of my presence in the past. I have no reason to believe that this will have changed with his current state.”
“Maybe not, but the crew doesn’t like to think that their superior officers have no concern if one of them is injured. A lot of them are pretty shaken up over what they’ve heard about what happened.”
Spock considered Nyota’s words carefully, before nodding slightly. “I will visit at the end of my next shift, if you think it is important that I do so.”
Nyota smiled at him, and gave his arm a small squeeze. “Thank you.”
*
Spock made his way to the medical bay, and was surprised to see that the doctor appeared to be awake. He had planned his visit with the impression that McCoy would still be sedated, allowing him to make his visit, appease Nyota and the crew, while avoiding the more awkward aspects that could be involved.
It seemed that his ideal scenario was no longer a possibility, so he resigned himself to navigating the more uncomfortable idiosyncrasies of human interaction.
There was a chair at the doctor’s bedside; Spock was obviously not his first visitor. He sat cautiously and tried to decide on his next course of action. He took the opportunity to observe McCoy, who did not seem to have noted his presence.
His injuries were still healing, evidenced by the bandages around his hands and the padding separating his arms from his torso. Although he was clean shaven and obviously being cared for, there was a hollowness to his face and smallness to his form that suggested he had lost weight, although Spock could not rationally account for this seeming insubstantial-ness.
Spock continued to sit silently, waiting for the doctor to acknowledge him. When no acknowledgment came, he felt that perhaps, in this instance, he was expected to make the first conversational gambit.
“I have come to determine your state of wellbeing,” he said finally.
Even though his words were in the same tone he usually used, McCoy seemed unduly startled. His face became what Spock could only describe as panicked, before settling into a more neutral expression.
“I hadn’t noticed you.” McCoy turned his head gingerly to look at Spock, obviously trying not to move excessively.
Spock was taken aback by the bland statement. On previous occasions when he had startled the doctor, the reaction had been loud and had contained accusations of “sneaking up on people”. However, while this new reaction was atypical, he attributed it to the doctor’s recovering status.
McCoy did not seem inclined to conversation, so Spock continued to sit quietly, engaging in what Nyota had called “being there”.
*
It was Spock’s habit to take walks around the Enterprise during what was referred to by the crew as night. He found that the motion had a relaxing effect that was beneficial to his rest, allowing him to sleep more quickly and with fewer disturbances to his thoughts.
He was caught off guard when he saw McCoy on one of these walks. He could not recall the doctor previously making a habit of wandering the ship at what he had been assured were odd hours.
The man had been released and returned to his duties for several weeks now, and though Spock continued to hear reports of the doctor’s behavior seeming erratic and unstable, nothing had struck him as abnormal for the man. He thought that he would now have to revise his previous assessment.
McCoy was slumped into a corner of the Observation deck, looking far more haggard than Spock could ever recall seeing him, although he remembered from conversations with the Captain and Nyota that the doctor had taken less care with his appearance on previous occasions. He was unshaven, and his eyes appeared dark and sunken in way that was unusual. He wondered if the man had recently completed a long shift, though he could not recall any particularly hazardous occasions recently, outside of their own capture more than a month ago.
He did not seem to notice Spock at all, and Spock was reminded of his visit to the doctor in the medical bay. He carefully moved to put himself in the doctor’s line of sight, hoping to avoid startling him again.
“Doctor McCoy,” he said, attempting to get the other man’s attention.
The doctor looked up at Spock, registering his presence for the first time. Spock allowed himself to enjoy a small moment of relief, since while he normally did not mind frightening McCoy just to watch his reaction, it seemed inappropriate to engage in such behavior currently.
“Spock,” the doctor said, inclining his head in a gesture of greeting.
“Are you having difficulties sleeping?” Spock was unsure what sort of response he would get to such a personal line of inquiry, but he thought that gaining more information about the situation would aid in determining a suitable method to proceed in.
“No, I’m just enjoying the view,” McCoy said, gesturing towards the viewing area, a direction opposite the one he was facing.
Spock remembered Nyota mentioning the doctor having a fear of flying and space. She had seemed to find it particularly amusing, although Spock had just wondered why someone with such a phobia would willingly chose a career that required facing both fears.
“Do you wish to be left alone,” Spock asked. He knew that while he preferred to have time for solitude, humans were far more social, and often enjoyed company to extents that Spock would find overwhelming.
McCoy seemed to consider him for a moment, before shrugging. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Spock took this as something akin to an invitation and moved to sit near the other man. He wondered if this was another occasion where just “being there” was enough, or if he was expected to make conversation. He thought for a moment how much easier this situation would be if the doctor, like Nyota had often done, would just inform him which was the correct option.
As they sat quietly, he recalled the Captain mentioning once that humans frequently chose to engage in sexual activities after traumatic events. The Captain had called it “life affirming” and had said that it was often an effective way for humans to focus on the more positive aspects of existence. He looked over at the other man, and debated whether this would be a viable option. McCoy was attractive, in the manner of some humans, and Spock found the idea agreeable.
Making a decision, he asked, “Would you find it beneficial to engage in intercourse?” He could feel the blood moving to the tips of his ears, and wished that his physiological reactions were less human. He could only hope that the doctor was not looking closely enough to notice.
McCoy turned and looked at him fully for the first time since he had arrived. “Did I hear you correctly,” he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“While I am not sure what you think you heard, I can only assume that you are asking about my offer of physical intimacy, in which case you did hear me correctly. It is my understanding that such activities can be beneficial after a traumatic event.”
McCoy stared at him for a moment, before laughing. He curled in on himself, and Spock could see tears welling in his eyes from his apparent mirth. He felt embarrassed and unaccountably offended by this reaction. He moved to stand up, but was stopped by McCoy grabbing his arm and pulling him back. Spock could have easily pulled away, but he decided that he would wait for the moment.
“Now don’t get your feathers ruffled,” McCoy said, although his smile indicated that he still found the situation more amusing than Spock would like. Spock was about to ask the meaning of this strange idiom when McCoy continued. “You just caught me off guard, although I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. You’re not much of one for foreplay, are you?”
Spock stiffened slightly. “I had assumed that a direct approach would be preferable in this situation, given that we frequently seem to misunderstand each other.” He thought he was being generous with that statement, but concessions were usually required in order to facilitate amicable relations.
McCoy had stopped laughing, although he was still smiling. “We do at that. Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. It’s actually a bit of a relief to be around you. Jim keeps trying to make me talk about everything.”
Spock inclined his head slightly. “Isn’t that a customary response? I was under the impression that humans found discussing their feelings to be cathartic.” He did not add that the doctor himself was one of his main sources for that impression.
McCoy shook his head. “So, does the offer stand,” he said. Spock recognized it as a change of subject, but he allowed it.
“If you’d like,” he said.
McCoy didn’t answer, instead turning and moving his mouth to press against Spock’s. His lips were cool and surprisingly soft. His stubble created a rough counterpoint that Spock found pleasant, if unfamiliar. He allowed the kiss to deepen, increasing the pressure slightly, using his tongue to trace the seam of the doctor’s lips. He was pleased when the doctor met it with his own.
McCoy pulled away first. “Do you really want to do this?”
Spock thought for a moment. “I find it to be an agreeable prospect, although perhaps a change of location would be preferable.”
McCoy nodded. “Your place or mine?”
*
They made their way to Spock’s quarters, which were both closer in proximity and a more comfortable temperature for a Vulcan. They walked quietly together, and Spock appreciated that McCoy seemed as reticent to engage in public displays of their intention as he was, although a very small part of him hoped it was out of professionalism, rather than embarrassment. He did allow his hand to brush against McCoy’s as they moved, though, as it was unlikely to be either noticed or understood by anyone they encountered.
They stop just inside the door. McCoy looks around, and Spock issn’t quite sure how to proceed.
“Doctor McCoy,” he starts.
“Leonard,” McCoy says.
“Leonard,” Spock agrees, before the other man pulls him close. He doesn’t kiss Spock; he seems to be waiting for something, although Spock isn’t sure what.
Spock can’t quite figure out what the next logical step is, so he decides to follow his instincts.
He runs his hands along Leonard’s jaw, and the texture of the stubble catching in the ridges of his fingers makes him shiver. He continues exploring with his hands, moving them up the doctor’s neck, tracing the soft curve of his ears. Leonard looks at him, eyebrow raised in amusement. He finds his own lips twitching slightly, and kisses the other man before he can notice, pushing his fingers into the doctor’s thick mess of hair.
Leonard is running his hands up Spock’s back, slipping one beneath his shirt and the other down to his hip, pulling Spock closer until their bodies are in full contact, rubbing slightly against each other. Spock thinks quickly, and shifts until he can feel the press of the other man’s erection against his own. Leonard moans, and pushes his tongue further into his mouth, cool and slick moving against Spock’s own.
When Leonard pulls away to breathe, Spock takes in his glazed expression, eyes hooded, pupils huge and dark, skin flushed pink. It’s still fascinating and exotic, no matter how many humans he sleeps with, their cool skin and freely-shown emotions. He slides his hands between their bodies, until he can rest his hand on Leonard’s heart. Even beating faster with arousal, it feels slow to him.
Leonard takes Spock’s hand in his own and brings it up until Spock’s fingers are just brushing the curve of his lips. Spock allows his eyes to close when Leonard pulls two fingers into his mouth, sucking them gently. He can feel himself whimper, and doesn’t even bother to try and hide it.
It takes him a moment to remember that he was attempting to improve Leonard’s state of mind, not his own, and he pulls away. He is curious about what he must look like to the other man, whether he can see all the little cracks of emotion slipping through, if that adds or removes from his pleasure in the situation.
He pushes Leonard until his back is against the wall, and lowers himself gently to his knees. He looks up and can hear the other man swallow when their eyes meet. He keeps looking as he rubs his hand over the other man’s still clothed erection. A thrust and another moan signal approval, and Spock quickly undoes the trousers, pulling them down along with the other man’s underwear.
He can’t stop the catch in his own breath, nor can he stop his hands from moving, touching, exploring, enjoying the feel of the soft hair covering solid thighs, the smooth skin stretched thin over pelvic bone, the thick curls of pubic hair, and finally the reddened, delicate skin of Leonard’s erection.
“Spock,” Leonard says above him, drawing his attention up again. “Please,” he says, as his hips roll forward, the tip of his penis brushing against Spock’s jaw, his cheeks. Spock moves until his mouth is just touching, and Leonard speaks again. “Please.”
Spock wraps his hand around the doctor’s erection, and guides it slowly into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the smooth flesh as he pulls it further into his mouth. Leonard groans above him, and his hands have fallen until they are resting on his head, the edges of his palms just brushing the backs of Spock’s ears, his fingers curling slightly through Spock’s hair. Spock moves, sucking, pulling back and allowing his mouth to slide forward again. He is pleased that the hands on his head remain gentle, in spite of the probable temptation to grab and thrust.
He pulls on Leonard’s hips, drawing him deeper into his mouth again, and sets a slow even rhythm, cataloguing each reaction, and adjusting the strength of his sucking, the position of his tongue allowing the volume and frequency of moans guide him until he can feel Leonard’s thighs shaking under his hands.
“Oh, god, god,” Leonard chants, “Spock. I’m gonna.” He trails off into a groan, and Spock can feel the pulse of his orgasm against his tongue, his mouth filling with the salty taste of semen. He swallows as Leonard slides down the wall, and is unsure what to do next. His own erection has become nearly painful, but he is unsure whether life-affirming, comfort sex is a mutual activity, or something meant to be enjoyed only by the person being comforted.
He receives his answer when Leonard lunges at him, grabbing his head and kissing him hard, thrusting his tongue into Spock’s mouth, even though it must surely taste like the doctor’s release. Spock finds himself being pushed until his back is on the floor, and Leonard’s hand tugging his pants open, pushing into his underwear and wrapping itself firmly around his penis.
Spock moves his hips into that tight grip, thrusting, as Leonard mouths his ear. He can feel his orgasm approaching fast and turns until his lips and Leonard’s meet again. He allows himself to be overtaken with pleasure, luxuriating in the moment, until it’s finished and he is aware and in control of himself again.
Leonard’s face is pressed against his neck, breathing soft and even. Spock wonders if he is still awake for a moment, until he hears the rumble of the doctor’s voice.
“Is this where we get dressed and I slink back to my own room, because if it is, I’m going to need a moment.” His nose is brushing Spock’s ear in a pleasant way, and although he would prefer to clean up and make himself presentable again, he finds himself strangely reluctant to proceed.
“You could stay,” he finally says. “If you’d like, although I would suggest that we relocate to the bed.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Leonard mumbles, wrapping an arm around Spock and pulling him closer.
Spock finds that he doesn’t mind.
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