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Title: The Cat
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of saucy language
Word Count: 2928
Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine, although the story is.
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for this prompt at the kink meme. Complete fluff.
The cat, because it was obviously too old to be called a kitten, was staring at him. He didn’t know why it was staring at him. It could be because she was hungry, or wanted a scratch, or was just plotting some way of killing him without drawing suspicion. The only thing McCoy was sure of was that this “thoughtful gift” had probably been a way of disposing of a cat that seemed to hate everyone except for McCoy. Well, she probably hated him too, but was lulling him into a false sense of security by being very affectionate when no one else was looking.
He hadn’t really wanted a cat. He was more of a dog person, but there hadn’t been any way to refuse the gift. He had to admit, it was kind of nice to have something waiting for him at the end of a long day, even if it was a particularly persnickety feline.
She was perched on his bed, carefully licking her soft, white paws to remove all the invisible dirt that she might somehow have acquired during the course of her busy schedule of naps.
“Yeah, it must be a rough life,” he muttered in the general direction of the cat. “Wish I could sleep all damn day and then have some dumb bastard feed and pet me just for existing. “ Great, now he was talking to the cat.
He had just kicked off his boots and settled in to relax when a small beep indicated someone was at his door. The cat looked up from where she was investigating his boots, and made an unhappy noise.
“Oh be quiet. I’m sure they aren’t here for you,” McCoy grumbled, making his way to the door.
He was surprised to see Spock standing there. He looked as placid as ever, but McCoy still couldn’t be sure that the ship wasn’t about to burst into millions of pieces around him. He hated that. Would it kill the man to have a facial expression? Just something that would notify someone of the difference between situation normal and imminent death.
“Is there an emergency,” he asked, since Spock was just standing there, cool as a cucumber, hands behind his back.
“No, Doctor. I was informed that you had received a pet. I am here to see it, if it would not be inconvenient.”
McCoy took this in with a blink. “You’re here to see my cat?” He found Spock weird at the best of times, but this was something else. Who pays social calls on a cat?
“If it would not be inconvenient.”
McCoy shrugged. “Be my guest,” he said, moving aside to let the Vulcan in. At the very least, it might be amusing to see what happens when the cat treated Spock with the same hostility she’d had for Jim. Then again, she might decide to defect in favor of someone with even more body heat to leech.
Spock walked into the room, but made no attempt to actually approach the cat, who was currently twining around McCoy’s legs, complaining loudly about the interloper. Spock just watched, until the silence was making McCoy uncomfortable.
He leaned down to pick up the cat, who curled into his arms, purring as he scratched behind her ears, even as she continued to glare at Spock. It was actually going better than with Jim. She’d taken a chunk out of him when he’d tried to pet her. Jim never had been very good with boundaries.
Spock moved closer, and McCoy could feel the cat tensing, although she hadn’t leapt out of his arms to claw Spock’s face off, which was for the best. He wasn’t really in the mood to patch up anyone else today.
“Have you named your animal,” Spock asked.
McCoy wasn’t really sure how to interact with Spock when he wasn’t blathering on about logic. He and Spock weren’t exactly visit each other’s rooms and make small talk sort of friends. He settled on basic politeness, well at least until any mention was made of how keeping a pet on a starship was illogical. “No. Jim suggested Evil, although she had just scratched the hell out of him at the time.”
The cat had apparently adjusted to Spock’s closer proximity. She was still eying him warily, but she wasn’t preparing for an attack. Spock reached out and gently ran his hand over her head, carefully smoothing past her ears. His fingers were brushing slightly against McCoy’s chest, and his breath caught for a moment at the unexpected contact. McCoy looked up, but Spock seemed intent on petting the cat, who was actually allowing it.
Spock continued stroking her. “She is a very attractive cat.” He brushed his fingers over the black markings on her forehead. “Jim had related that she was temperamental, although perhaps he was mistaken.”
“Not really. I’m a bit surprised she’s even tolerating you. She hasn’t seemed to like anyone really. Well, except me, but I do control the food.” McCoy shrugged and thrust the cat at Spock. “Here.”
Spock accepted the animal, who was not pleased with her relocation. She scrambled to escape, her claws sinking in to Spock’s uniform until she was perched precariously on his shoulder with her tail curled around his neck. Spock didn’t seem to mind, and McCoy wished he had some sort of camera to capture the moment. Even Spock couldn’t quite manage to look dignified with a small cat sniffing at his ears.
“You look like some sort of Vulcan pirate,” McCoy laughed. Spock and the cat both looked at him and blinked slowly. “Or like you’ve met one of your early ancestors. The resemblance is uncanny.”
The cat leapt off Spock’s shoulder in pursuit of a more stimulating activity – chasing interesting shadows.
Spock watched her for a moment. “I do not believe I can see any particular similarity. If anything, she seems more like her owner.”
McCoy bristled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I was merely noting that pets are thought to resemble their owners.”
“What sort of pet did you have then? A Rubik’s cube? A calculator?” McCoy could feel himself moving closer to Spock. This at least was familiar.
Spock just shifted slightly, in something that might be a shrug. “No Doctor. As I child I had a pet sehlat.”
McCoy tried to remember if he’d ever heard of one, but he was drawing a blank. “What’s that then?”
“I believe you would find it most similar to a bear.”
The cat had grown bored with the shadows and had decided that her time was more effectively spent batting at the hems of McCoy’s pants. “Stop that,” he said, reaching down to shoo her away. “You’d think you were starved for affection.”
“Perhaps she requires more stimulus than is currently available to her,” Spock suggested, joining McCoy in a crouch, and reaching out to let the cat investigate his fingers.
McCoy sighed. “Yeah. I should probably see about getting her some toys or something before she shreds everything I own.”
Spock looks up, and their eyes meet. Spock breaks the moment. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.” He stands up.
McCoy isn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t really expected Spock to offer to help, although he supposes there is probably some convoluted logical reason for the offer. Still, it would save him having to try and hunt down things that are probably going to be a bit difficult to come by on the Enterprise. “Sure Spock. I’d appreciate that,” he finally says.
“Very well. Good evening Doctor,” Spock says, as he leaves.
McCoy just settles on the floor, and the cat crawls into his lap, rumbling away as he pets her.
**
A couple of days later, Spock shows up at McCoy’s door again, this time with something like a scratching post, a stuffed fuzzy mouse, and a small ball of yarn. McCoy has no idea where he managed to get these things, and figures it’s probably best not to ask.
The cat still isn’t too keen on his visitor, but she deigns to sniff at Spock’s boots and allows him to pet her. Apparently, she’s willing to be bribed.
Spock surprises him by asking if he could visit the cat again. McCoy is feeling particularly agreeable at the time and gives permission. What surprises him is that Spock seems to take this as an invitation to stop by nearly every evening, usually right after McCoy has finished his shift, but before he goes to dinner. He has no idea how the Vulcan manages to time it.
Eventually, it starts to become a routine and the conversation feels less stilted. They still argue, but it begins to feel more philosophical and less personal. That and McCoy finds it more difficult to get annoyed when Spock has a cat curled up on his shoulder, or purring on his lap. It doesn’t quite align with the whole impassive Vulcan thing, and it tickles him just a little bit every time he sees Spock dangling a string for the cat to chase, or trying to gently adjust her position so her ass isn’t directly in his face.
After one evening when he has spent the better part of the visit watching Spock and the cat engage in an epic staring match, the subject of a name comes up again.
“Have you given more thought to a name,” Spock asks, when the cat has shifted to lounge on his lap.
“Can’t say that I have. Jim keeps suggesting things, but I can’t really see naming her Demon, or Hellion or anything like that. It’d just encourage her. Wouldn’t it darlin’?” McCoy leans forward in his chair to rub the cat under her chin, and Spock’s fingers brush against his a little when the Vulcan strokes behind her ears. He looks up and smiles at Spock. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Spock seems distracted and it takes him a moment to answer. “I am not aware of human conventions regarding the naming of pets. Is it merely a descriptive word that you believe embodies the animal?”
“I suppose that’s the case for things like Fluffy or Spot. Some people name them after someone, characters or mythical figures, things like that. My dog when I was a kid was named Einstein. I didn’t name him though. My mother had a thing for irony.”
Spock’s eyebrow shifts. “You imply that your dog was of below average intelligence.”
“Yeah. Dumbest animal I’ve ever seen. Took ten years to teach him how to sit and he never managed anything beyond that. Good dog though. Loyal.”
McCoy’s stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and he moves back.
“I have been keeping you from your meal,” Spock said, shifting the cat from his lap and standing.
McCoy isn’t sure what compels him, but he’s been enjoying Spock’s quiet company. “You could join me if you’d like.”
Spock looks at him a moment. “That would be acceptable.” He attempts to brush himself off, since even the space age fabric of their uniforms can’t repel everything. McCoy doesn’t even think about it, before he reaches out to remove some stray hairs from Spock’s shoulder.
Spock’s shoulder is warm, even through his shirt, and McCoy lets his hand linger for a moment before he registers Spock looking at him. It’s the same inscrutable, unblinking look that the cat gives him when she wants something, as if by somehow staring hard enough, she could convey her thoughts to McCoy.
McCoy coughs and pulls away. “Are you ready?”
“Yes Doctor.”
McCoy gives the cat a pat before they leave, and he’s pretty sure the look she’s giving him now is calling him an idiot.
**
Somewhere McCoy’s life seemed to have taken a very odd turn. If he thought about it, he blamed the divorce, since he was pretty sure that he had been reasonably normal before then. Now he was on a starship out in space, spending most of his time treating people for a variety of alien STDs in between moments of terrifying peril. His best friend was Jim for god’s sake. He had a cat. He had a Vulcan that he suspected was dating his cat. Where had his life gone wrong?
He had just returned from dinner with Spock, when the weirdness of the whole situation had hit him. Spock had walked him back to his room. He’d looked inside, like he was hoping to be invited in. The cat had wandered over to McCoy and had twined around his ankles purring, and McCoy was fairly certain that Spock had been restraining himself somehow, although he still couldn’t make out what exactly he was restraining himself from. It had involved another one of those intense stares that managed to make McCoy feel stupid for not being a mind reader.
McCoy had just stood there until Spock had said goodnight and walked off down the corridor.
Now, he is sitting with his cat insistently head butting him until he pets her in just the right spot. He looks down at her, and has to ask, “Are you and Spock doing anything I should know about?”
The cat just blinks at him and purrs some more. McCoy isn’t sure if that is a yes or no.
He was tempted to call Jim, because if anyone knew something about bizarre Vulcan mating practices, it was probably Jim.
He is just about to go find Jim to ask when his door beeps. He debates answering it for a moment, because he has the momentary thought that either Jim has developed mind reading capabilities which would just be too much for him to deal with right now, or it’s Spock coming to elope with his cat. He shuts down that train of thought very quickly, and goes to answer the door.
Option B, he thinks when he sees Spock standing there. “Spock,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to where the cat is happily shedding on his chair. Spock seems somewhat agitated, which for him apparently involves looking even more stiff and a tightness around his mouth. It’s not a lot to go on.
“Doctor,” Spock replied. “May I come in?”
McCoy can’t really think of a reason why not, that won’t just sound insane. Regardless of what Spock might think of him, he is not actually an irrational nut job. He sighs, and moves away to allow Spock in.
Spock doesn’t speak, which is something that McCoy occasionally finds relaxing, but which is really annoying right now. “Did you need something,” he fairly growls, because he is just not in the mood for this enigmatic crap right now.
Spock seems to be looking at a point just over McCoy’s shoulder, but he does answer. “As you have probably noticed, I have been spending an unusual amount of time with you since you acquired your cat.”
McCoy nearly groans, because this is probably the lead in to Spock explaining why he must logically run off with McCoy’s cat to a happy life of staring at each other, sharing grooming tips, and comparing pointy ears. McCoy is even more annoyed to realize that the idea is making him jealous, since honestly – he has to be better company than a cat, even if he requires actual speech to convey thoughts.
“I believe I must admit that this has merely been an excuse to spend more time with you,” Spock says. “I had hoped that it would allow me the opportunity to express my,” he pauses, struggling, “feelings for you. However, after this evening, I have come to realize that perhaps this method has been too abstruse.”
McCoy is fairly certain that his eyes might pop out of his head. Abstruse is certainly one way to put it. “But, you only like me for my cat,” he says.
“While I do find your cat pleasing, I am more interested in you, Doctor.”
Spock seems equally at a loss, and McCoy has to admit, it is an attractive expression. Not as haughty and superior now, instead he seems almost vulnerable, and McCoy’s first instinct is to offer comfort somehow. McCoy moves closer, intending to pat Spock on the shoulder or something, but Spock apparently interprets this as an invitation.
Spock has his hand and is pulling him closer, finally looking him in the eye again, his fingers idly rubbing against McCoy’s. McCoy looks down at their hands and looks back up at Spock. Is Spock going to kiss him now?
Unlike McCoy, Spock is apparently much better at the mind reading, and uses his other hand to guide McCoy’s face until their lips are brushing against each other with the same soft rhythm as their fingers.
Spock pulls away, and McCoy opens his eyes. His thumb is lightly stroking McCoy’s cheekbone, and McCoy can’t help but lean into the gentle touch a little.
The cat chooses that moment to remind them of her presence, rubbing herself between their legs, purring loudly. McCoy suspects that she’s happy that he’s finally caught a clue.
“I have thought of a suggestion for her name,” Spock says, pulling McCoy a little closer.
“Oh yeah? What’s that,” McCoy murmurs, nuzzling Spock’s ear with his nose.
“Would you find Venus acceptable?”
McCoy can’t help but chuckle a little. Who would have thought that Spock was hiding a sappy romantic under all that logic?
“Sure Spock,” he says, and he shifts to kiss the Vulcan again. Maybe McCoy’s a bit of a romantic as well.
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of saucy language
Word Count: 2928
Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine, although the story is.
Notes: Unbetaed. Written for this prompt at the kink meme. Complete fluff.
The cat, because it was obviously too old to be called a kitten, was staring at him. He didn’t know why it was staring at him. It could be because she was hungry, or wanted a scratch, or was just plotting some way of killing him without drawing suspicion. The only thing McCoy was sure of was that this “thoughtful gift” had probably been a way of disposing of a cat that seemed to hate everyone except for McCoy. Well, she probably hated him too, but was lulling him into a false sense of security by being very affectionate when no one else was looking.
He hadn’t really wanted a cat. He was more of a dog person, but there hadn’t been any way to refuse the gift. He had to admit, it was kind of nice to have something waiting for him at the end of a long day, even if it was a particularly persnickety feline.
She was perched on his bed, carefully licking her soft, white paws to remove all the invisible dirt that she might somehow have acquired during the course of her busy schedule of naps.
“Yeah, it must be a rough life,” he muttered in the general direction of the cat. “Wish I could sleep all damn day and then have some dumb bastard feed and pet me just for existing. “ Great, now he was talking to the cat.
He had just kicked off his boots and settled in to relax when a small beep indicated someone was at his door. The cat looked up from where she was investigating his boots, and made an unhappy noise.
“Oh be quiet. I’m sure they aren’t here for you,” McCoy grumbled, making his way to the door.
He was surprised to see Spock standing there. He looked as placid as ever, but McCoy still couldn’t be sure that the ship wasn’t about to burst into millions of pieces around him. He hated that. Would it kill the man to have a facial expression? Just something that would notify someone of the difference between situation normal and imminent death.
“Is there an emergency,” he asked, since Spock was just standing there, cool as a cucumber, hands behind his back.
“No, Doctor. I was informed that you had received a pet. I am here to see it, if it would not be inconvenient.”
McCoy took this in with a blink. “You’re here to see my cat?” He found Spock weird at the best of times, but this was something else. Who pays social calls on a cat?
“If it would not be inconvenient.”
McCoy shrugged. “Be my guest,” he said, moving aside to let the Vulcan in. At the very least, it might be amusing to see what happens when the cat treated Spock with the same hostility she’d had for Jim. Then again, she might decide to defect in favor of someone with even more body heat to leech.
Spock walked into the room, but made no attempt to actually approach the cat, who was currently twining around McCoy’s legs, complaining loudly about the interloper. Spock just watched, until the silence was making McCoy uncomfortable.
He leaned down to pick up the cat, who curled into his arms, purring as he scratched behind her ears, even as she continued to glare at Spock. It was actually going better than with Jim. She’d taken a chunk out of him when he’d tried to pet her. Jim never had been very good with boundaries.
Spock moved closer, and McCoy could feel the cat tensing, although she hadn’t leapt out of his arms to claw Spock’s face off, which was for the best. He wasn’t really in the mood to patch up anyone else today.
“Have you named your animal,” Spock asked.
McCoy wasn’t really sure how to interact with Spock when he wasn’t blathering on about logic. He and Spock weren’t exactly visit each other’s rooms and make small talk sort of friends. He settled on basic politeness, well at least until any mention was made of how keeping a pet on a starship was illogical. “No. Jim suggested Evil, although she had just scratched the hell out of him at the time.”
The cat had apparently adjusted to Spock’s closer proximity. She was still eying him warily, but she wasn’t preparing for an attack. Spock reached out and gently ran his hand over her head, carefully smoothing past her ears. His fingers were brushing slightly against McCoy’s chest, and his breath caught for a moment at the unexpected contact. McCoy looked up, but Spock seemed intent on petting the cat, who was actually allowing it.
Spock continued stroking her. “She is a very attractive cat.” He brushed his fingers over the black markings on her forehead. “Jim had related that she was temperamental, although perhaps he was mistaken.”
“Not really. I’m a bit surprised she’s even tolerating you. She hasn’t seemed to like anyone really. Well, except me, but I do control the food.” McCoy shrugged and thrust the cat at Spock. “Here.”
Spock accepted the animal, who was not pleased with her relocation. She scrambled to escape, her claws sinking in to Spock’s uniform until she was perched precariously on his shoulder with her tail curled around his neck. Spock didn’t seem to mind, and McCoy wished he had some sort of camera to capture the moment. Even Spock couldn’t quite manage to look dignified with a small cat sniffing at his ears.
“You look like some sort of Vulcan pirate,” McCoy laughed. Spock and the cat both looked at him and blinked slowly. “Or like you’ve met one of your early ancestors. The resemblance is uncanny.”
The cat leapt off Spock’s shoulder in pursuit of a more stimulating activity – chasing interesting shadows.
Spock watched her for a moment. “I do not believe I can see any particular similarity. If anything, she seems more like her owner.”
McCoy bristled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I was merely noting that pets are thought to resemble their owners.”
“What sort of pet did you have then? A Rubik’s cube? A calculator?” McCoy could feel himself moving closer to Spock. This at least was familiar.
Spock just shifted slightly, in something that might be a shrug. “No Doctor. As I child I had a pet sehlat.”
McCoy tried to remember if he’d ever heard of one, but he was drawing a blank. “What’s that then?”
“I believe you would find it most similar to a bear.”
The cat had grown bored with the shadows and had decided that her time was more effectively spent batting at the hems of McCoy’s pants. “Stop that,” he said, reaching down to shoo her away. “You’d think you were starved for affection.”
“Perhaps she requires more stimulus than is currently available to her,” Spock suggested, joining McCoy in a crouch, and reaching out to let the cat investigate his fingers.
McCoy sighed. “Yeah. I should probably see about getting her some toys or something before she shreds everything I own.”
Spock looks up, and their eyes meet. Spock breaks the moment. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.” He stands up.
McCoy isn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t really expected Spock to offer to help, although he supposes there is probably some convoluted logical reason for the offer. Still, it would save him having to try and hunt down things that are probably going to be a bit difficult to come by on the Enterprise. “Sure Spock. I’d appreciate that,” he finally says.
“Very well. Good evening Doctor,” Spock says, as he leaves.
McCoy just settles on the floor, and the cat crawls into his lap, rumbling away as he pets her.
**
A couple of days later, Spock shows up at McCoy’s door again, this time with something like a scratching post, a stuffed fuzzy mouse, and a small ball of yarn. McCoy has no idea where he managed to get these things, and figures it’s probably best not to ask.
The cat still isn’t too keen on his visitor, but she deigns to sniff at Spock’s boots and allows him to pet her. Apparently, she’s willing to be bribed.
Spock surprises him by asking if he could visit the cat again. McCoy is feeling particularly agreeable at the time and gives permission. What surprises him is that Spock seems to take this as an invitation to stop by nearly every evening, usually right after McCoy has finished his shift, but before he goes to dinner. He has no idea how the Vulcan manages to time it.
Eventually, it starts to become a routine and the conversation feels less stilted. They still argue, but it begins to feel more philosophical and less personal. That and McCoy finds it more difficult to get annoyed when Spock has a cat curled up on his shoulder, or purring on his lap. It doesn’t quite align with the whole impassive Vulcan thing, and it tickles him just a little bit every time he sees Spock dangling a string for the cat to chase, or trying to gently adjust her position so her ass isn’t directly in his face.
After one evening when he has spent the better part of the visit watching Spock and the cat engage in an epic staring match, the subject of a name comes up again.
“Have you given more thought to a name,” Spock asks, when the cat has shifted to lounge on his lap.
“Can’t say that I have. Jim keeps suggesting things, but I can’t really see naming her Demon, or Hellion or anything like that. It’d just encourage her. Wouldn’t it darlin’?” McCoy leans forward in his chair to rub the cat under her chin, and Spock’s fingers brush against his a little when the Vulcan strokes behind her ears. He looks up and smiles at Spock. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Spock seems distracted and it takes him a moment to answer. “I am not aware of human conventions regarding the naming of pets. Is it merely a descriptive word that you believe embodies the animal?”
“I suppose that’s the case for things like Fluffy or Spot. Some people name them after someone, characters or mythical figures, things like that. My dog when I was a kid was named Einstein. I didn’t name him though. My mother had a thing for irony.”
Spock’s eyebrow shifts. “You imply that your dog was of below average intelligence.”
“Yeah. Dumbest animal I’ve ever seen. Took ten years to teach him how to sit and he never managed anything beyond that. Good dog though. Loyal.”
McCoy’s stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and he moves back.
“I have been keeping you from your meal,” Spock said, shifting the cat from his lap and standing.
McCoy isn’t sure what compels him, but he’s been enjoying Spock’s quiet company. “You could join me if you’d like.”
Spock looks at him a moment. “That would be acceptable.” He attempts to brush himself off, since even the space age fabric of their uniforms can’t repel everything. McCoy doesn’t even think about it, before he reaches out to remove some stray hairs from Spock’s shoulder.
Spock’s shoulder is warm, even through his shirt, and McCoy lets his hand linger for a moment before he registers Spock looking at him. It’s the same inscrutable, unblinking look that the cat gives him when she wants something, as if by somehow staring hard enough, she could convey her thoughts to McCoy.
McCoy coughs and pulls away. “Are you ready?”
“Yes Doctor.”
McCoy gives the cat a pat before they leave, and he’s pretty sure the look she’s giving him now is calling him an idiot.
**
Somewhere McCoy’s life seemed to have taken a very odd turn. If he thought about it, he blamed the divorce, since he was pretty sure that he had been reasonably normal before then. Now he was on a starship out in space, spending most of his time treating people for a variety of alien STDs in between moments of terrifying peril. His best friend was Jim for god’s sake. He had a cat. He had a Vulcan that he suspected was dating his cat. Where had his life gone wrong?
He had just returned from dinner with Spock, when the weirdness of the whole situation had hit him. Spock had walked him back to his room. He’d looked inside, like he was hoping to be invited in. The cat had wandered over to McCoy and had twined around his ankles purring, and McCoy was fairly certain that Spock had been restraining himself somehow, although he still couldn’t make out what exactly he was restraining himself from. It had involved another one of those intense stares that managed to make McCoy feel stupid for not being a mind reader.
McCoy had just stood there until Spock had said goodnight and walked off down the corridor.
Now, he is sitting with his cat insistently head butting him until he pets her in just the right spot. He looks down at her, and has to ask, “Are you and Spock doing anything I should know about?”
The cat just blinks at him and purrs some more. McCoy isn’t sure if that is a yes or no.
He was tempted to call Jim, because if anyone knew something about bizarre Vulcan mating practices, it was probably Jim.
He is just about to go find Jim to ask when his door beeps. He debates answering it for a moment, because he has the momentary thought that either Jim has developed mind reading capabilities which would just be too much for him to deal with right now, or it’s Spock coming to elope with his cat. He shuts down that train of thought very quickly, and goes to answer the door.
Option B, he thinks when he sees Spock standing there. “Spock,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to where the cat is happily shedding on his chair. Spock seems somewhat agitated, which for him apparently involves looking even more stiff and a tightness around his mouth. It’s not a lot to go on.
“Doctor,” Spock replied. “May I come in?”
McCoy can’t really think of a reason why not, that won’t just sound insane. Regardless of what Spock might think of him, he is not actually an irrational nut job. He sighs, and moves away to allow Spock in.
Spock doesn’t speak, which is something that McCoy occasionally finds relaxing, but which is really annoying right now. “Did you need something,” he fairly growls, because he is just not in the mood for this enigmatic crap right now.
Spock seems to be looking at a point just over McCoy’s shoulder, but he does answer. “As you have probably noticed, I have been spending an unusual amount of time with you since you acquired your cat.”
McCoy nearly groans, because this is probably the lead in to Spock explaining why he must logically run off with McCoy’s cat to a happy life of staring at each other, sharing grooming tips, and comparing pointy ears. McCoy is even more annoyed to realize that the idea is making him jealous, since honestly – he has to be better company than a cat, even if he requires actual speech to convey thoughts.
“I believe I must admit that this has merely been an excuse to spend more time with you,” Spock says. “I had hoped that it would allow me the opportunity to express my,” he pauses, struggling, “feelings for you. However, after this evening, I have come to realize that perhaps this method has been too abstruse.”
McCoy is fairly certain that his eyes might pop out of his head. Abstruse is certainly one way to put it. “But, you only like me for my cat,” he says.
“While I do find your cat pleasing, I am more interested in you, Doctor.”
Spock seems equally at a loss, and McCoy has to admit, it is an attractive expression. Not as haughty and superior now, instead he seems almost vulnerable, and McCoy’s first instinct is to offer comfort somehow. McCoy moves closer, intending to pat Spock on the shoulder or something, but Spock apparently interprets this as an invitation.
Spock has his hand and is pulling him closer, finally looking him in the eye again, his fingers idly rubbing against McCoy’s. McCoy looks down at their hands and looks back up at Spock. Is Spock going to kiss him now?
Unlike McCoy, Spock is apparently much better at the mind reading, and uses his other hand to guide McCoy’s face until their lips are brushing against each other with the same soft rhythm as their fingers.
Spock pulls away, and McCoy opens his eyes. His thumb is lightly stroking McCoy’s cheekbone, and McCoy can’t help but lean into the gentle touch a little.
The cat chooses that moment to remind them of her presence, rubbing herself between their legs, purring loudly. McCoy suspects that she’s happy that he’s finally caught a clue.
“I have thought of a suggestion for her name,” Spock says, pulling McCoy a little closer.
“Oh yeah? What’s that,” McCoy murmurs, nuzzling Spock’s ear with his nose.
“Would you find Venus acceptable?”
McCoy can’t help but chuckle a little. Who would have thought that Spock was hiding a sappy romantic under all that logic?
“Sure Spock,” he says, and he shifts to kiss the Vulcan again. Maybe McCoy’s a bit of a romantic as well.
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McCoy and his pricklyness was perfect, as was his latent jealousy.
The confession moments where particularly adorable, and I really enjoyed reading it.
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I'm glad that McCoy worked for you. I know I always soften him up a bit, so it's good to hear that I've maintained his prickliness.
Thanks so much for you comment.
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