I loved the original image and I missed drawing them so this was the result of that
I loved the original image and I missed drawing them so this was the result of that
As much as I love all the adoring glances, another favorite Kirk face of mine is the one he makes when anyone so much as hints at an interest in Spock.
He always looks so affronted. Like, "excuse me? are you referring to my first officer?!"
Romulan Commander: I must admit... some surprise on seeing you, Spock?
Garth: Your friend Spock is a logical man... a very logical man
*bites lower lip*
So I just realized, in This Side of Paradise, Kirk isn't taken over by the plants right away. And it's stated that "Emotions. Violent emotions. Needs. Anger." is what prevents them from taking control. So presumably, when Kirk, Sulu and that redshirt were first sprayed with the pollen, Kirk was experiencing violent emotions and needs
The scene immediately preceding them being sprayed being Kirk seeing Spock all flirty with Leila, of course,
Inspired by @lepoppeta's moodboard format!
All image credits from Pinterest.
Spock: *does something impressive*
Kirk: *deep inhale*
Kirk: *impressed head shaking*
Can't decide what expression Kirk is making at the start but love how it looks like he had some sort of awakening.
Tell a Vulcan you're hungry and they will fix you a full-fledged, balanced meal. They are not familiar with the concept of having "just something simple" for dinner.
Sooo cute! This would happen and I would love to see a fan fiction pop up for this. ♥️
TOS K/S is "newsflash asshole, I've been in love with you the entire goddamn time" (affectionate) and AOS K/S is "newsflash asshole, I've been in love with you the entire goddamn time" (derogatory)
t'pring: spock, you caused the death of my husband. i wish to exact revenge that causes you the same pain i felt when my romantic significant other died. so i will separate you from your captain. losing james t kirk will hurt as much as losing a lover
effective nonverbal communication involves
and complete adoration attention
who needs words when you're in love make such a good team, right?
Ive heard of starfleet issued poncho ideas and its so cute
but what about hoodies? like imagine every crewmember has one or two, and Jim always accidentally spills something on it or rips it, you know, cause he's jim, and of course Spock, being Spock, offers his hoodie to Jim, who keeps smelling the hoodie when he's wearing it.
Spock: You may use mine, Captain *takes off hoodie*
Jim: *smushes his face against it*
And this happens like every other day and Spock just lets it happen even if he feels cold cause now Jim kinda smells like him
Star Trek is the only show where two of the main characters kiss repeatedly throughout the entire series and movies and people still claim they are hetero bros.
I think Kirk is ghostwriting on my dash.
Every time my star trek obsession resurfaces and I spend some time watching/reading about it I suddenly get back to real life or to other fandoms and suddenly I find people’s hands touching so intimate/indecent in public like. Oh my god spock what have you done to me. Every time.
In a time-stream that diverges from Prime roughly four months before that start of TOS: Season 2...
After marrying James Kirk, Spock begins behaving strangely toward Leo. Is he still recovering from the Plak Tow? Or is there something infinitely more awkward and uncomfortable going on?
Post-Discovery. Chris Pine as Kirk, Karl Urban as Bones, and Ethan Peck as Spock. Chapter 2 of 20. CW: discussion of alcohol abuse and dependency. Mental illness, anxiety, and depression. Oblique references to BDSM.
We were on our way, not long after that, to rendezvous with some Andorian diplomats for more of the same bullshit. What you really have to know about Andorians is that they hate Vulcans with an almighty icy passion. Doesn’t matter what they say they’re getting together with you for, or what their nominal purpose is supposed to be. It always boils down to the notion that Vulcans are bastards, and if they ceased to exist, Andoria could ascend to some kind of Vulcan-free Nirvana, end planetary hunger, attain Galactic peace, yadda yadda.
Look, I know I give Spock hell about being a green-blooded hobgoblin and a pointy-eared smartass, and he is all of that. But if anyone had the audacity to say as much to him in front of me, I’d deck them. There’s a big difference between me insulting my Vulcan, and someone else doing it.
But on our way, we picked up, on long-range sensors, a disabled Federation craft floating dead in the water. The USS Shenzhou. Swear to all that is holy, we go through a ship named Shenzhou every five years or so. The name’s cursed, if you ask me.
I’m not 100% clear on why I was on the bridge, but I was.
“Lay in a course, Mr. Sulu.” Kirk said.
“Now wait a damn minute, Captain,” I interjected. “I’m just a country doctor, not a diplomat, but even I know that you’re taking us close to Klingon territory, and that those borders have shifted six times in the last month.”
“That’s exactly why we’re going, Bones,” he said. “We have to go and get the black box and disable the ship’s systems. Otherwise we’re handing the Klingons our military secrets, and they’ll be more than happy to take them.”
I couldn’t exactly argue with his reasoning. Maybe it was in my head, but he’d seemed more Vulcan of late. Doing unexpected things for reasons that seemed obvious to him, logical once explained, but in utter defiance of emotions like caution or fear. If it even registered with him how much danger we’d be in, it didn’t show in his manner or on his face. If sharing a brain with a Vulcan would make anyone more reckless, I suppose it’d be James Kirk.
He looked at me and smiled fondly. “We got this, Bones. A quick in-and-out mission. Then we’re back on track to go meet up with the Andorians.”
Spock turned to me. “You need not accompany us on the away mission, Doctor McCoy, if you are concerned about the potential for conflict.”
“Like hell,” I said. “I’m not letting you two go by yourselves. If you get sliced open with a bat’leth, the time it takes to beam you back to the ship and rush you to Sick Bay could be the difference between life and death.”
“As you wish, Doctor,” said Spock, and he turned back to looking at his microscope widget. Never quite knew what the hell he was doing with that thing. We were on the bridge, not in a botany lab. I half expected that he had it installed to reduce interactions with the bridge crew by looking busy.
I think it was less than ten minutes before we pulled up to that vessel. Jim made a big ‘come on’ gesture, and Spock and I got into the lift with him.
We met up in the transporter room, and I got on the platform.
You know, I can actually feel the accursed thing scattering my atoms. There’s this horrific sensation of being momentarily disembodied. Things kinda scratched at the back of my head, and I didn't want to look, because I was afraid of what I might see. You get what I’m saying? I hated it. I still hate it.
We materialized, and, confirming my suspicions, there were three Klingons digging through the bridge. One of them was older and stouter, with long salt and pepper hair. The other two were younger, one of them broad across the shoulders with his hair in a tight braid, the other rather narrower in build, a shaved head, showing ridges that went all the way around his skull, and some kind of red paint on his face. Doubtlessly, their ship wasn’t far from here, but hidden from us with a cloaking device.
The Shenzhou was badly damaged. A force field was all that was holding in the atmosphere, standing between us and the vacuum of space. Never a great feeling, looking through a big hole in the hull with space peeking through a gauzy blue shimmer.
“reH SoHvaD chol! NaDevvo' qechvam ghu'vam!” The older Klingon shouted at us. And then they drew their weapons. Not their side-arms, you understand, but their nasty, two-handed curved Klingon blades with an infinitude of razor-sharp hooks and blood letting grooves, their bat’leths. The bald one with the red on his face came charging straight at me.
I jumped into stance, ready to dodge, but then everything was chaos for a second, and I saw a bat’leth go flying. A second later, I realized that Spock had punched it out of the Klingon’s hand, and another second later, had him by the throat. Icy Vulcan fingers clamped down on the guy’s wind pipe, and there was a distressing gurgle, right before Spock straight up threw him, halfway across the bridge and into a bulkhead. That would have killed just about anyone else, but the Klingon hit the wall, and just started rubbing his head with a look of confusion.
“I apologize, Vulcan Warrior!” said the older Klingon, directly to Spock. “We did not realize that this man was your mate.”
I… excuse me, what?
The Klingon on the floor, just as confused as I am, said, “But he is a man! They are both men!”
“Do not be a coward, D’Ghor! These men are clearly competent in battle. Who are you to judge their relationship?”
“You are right.” Said D’Ghor. “My comment was not an honorable one.”
Part of me wanted to clear up the misunderstanding, but Kirk was quick to use the opportunity to create dialogue. “Sorry, Captain, but our translators didn’t do a very good job on what you said when we first arrived. Why are we fighting?”
“This vessel is a Federation vessel, but it is in contested space,” the Kingon Captain explained. “If we had found it in Federation space, we would not have entered. If we had found it in Klingon space, our rights would be clear, and your intrusion here would be an act of war against the Empire. Our rights are equal, in this case. Thus, the most honorable solution is to do battle until there is a clear victor.”
“Maybe we can come to a different arrangement,” Kirk said. “You can keep the salvage, we just want the black box.”
“That is agreeable, considering the grievous offense we have given your Captain.” Said the old Klingon. He meant Spock. But Kirk wasn’t going to argue.
“Yes,” said Spock. “I agree. We will take the black box and depart. My mate is undamaged. No restitution to my honor is required.”
And we did that. The Klingons sort of propped themselves on their bat’leths and waited. We took the black box, and by removing it, fried the info grid of the ship. Or, I should say, Jim did that. Me? I stood there feeling rattled and giddy from the adrenaline rush, and trying to come to grips with exactly how close I’d come to being sliced in half.
But something else was concerning, quite apart from my brush with death. Spock had tossed that Klingon warrior aside, near three hundred pounds, if you include the armor, with one arm, like a rag doll. He was strong, but he wasn’t that strong. That slip of emotional control concerned me, and if his brain had temporarily lifted the cap on his muscular strength, he likely had sprains in every muscle in the involved kinetic chains.
Finally, we beam back to the ship, and Spock said, “I apologize for my earlier outburst, gentlemen. I must go and meditate.”
“Of course, Commander Spock,” the Captain replied. Bit cold for speaking to your husband, I thought to myself, but what did I know?
“I should tend to things in Sick Bay,” I told Jim. “Have Spock report to sickbay as soon as he’s feeling up to it.”
“Acknowledged. I’ll be on the bridge, Doctor.” He replied.
“Hey Jeff,” I called out, once I got into Sick Bay.
“Please don’t tell me it’s a plague again,” he replied with an exhausted sigh, then rounded the corner to come stand in front of me, folding his arms over his chest.
I chuckled. “No, not a plague. A question about Vulcans.”
He relaxed visibly. “Sure.”
“Sudden burst of strength coupled with a momentary loss of emotional control. What would cause something like that?”
He frowned. “Depends. I’ve seen that happen. Routine diplomatic mission went sour while our Captain was meeting up with his wife. He ripped an Orion’s arm clean out of the socket because they tried to take her.”
“Apart from that?” I asked.
“I guess it can happen when they’re protecting their children as well,” he told me.
“Anything else?” I asked.
He considered. “Vulcans sick with Bendai syndrome have every kind of emotional outburst, and sometimes that can cause it. Why?”
I pursed my lips and scowled. “Because Commander Spock just pitched a three hundred pound Klingon warrior with one arm straight into a bulkhead.”
He nodded. “Was the Captain in danger?”
I shook my head. “No, it was me.”
M’Benga looked pensive for a long moment. “Maybe delicately ask if he’s had any other recent slips of control. I’d do it, but he might take it better from you. The thing to appreciate is that Bendai Syndrome generally afflicts very old Vulcans. Early onset Bendai is anything earlier than 200, and Spock only just had his first Pon Farr. He’s like the Vulcan equivalent of a teenager.”
“Well, I gotta go patch him up anyway,” I said, grabbing a regenerator and a scanner. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Well, I rang the door to Jim’s quarters—Jim and Spock’s, now, I suppose— Spock told me to come in. He was sitting at the desk, leaning on one arm of the chair he was in. The left one, obviously. His right arm doubtlessly hurt like a bitch.
You could tell by the looks of the place that the housekeeper had stopped coming around. Dirty socks and skivvies next to the hamper, rather than in it. Crumbs, probably from a donut Jim shouldn’t have been eating, on their dining table.
I chuckled. “How’s married life with Jim, Mr. Spock?”
“He is an excellent husband,” Spock replied, “But he leaves much to be desired as a roommate. We are working on his domestic habits. I refuse to have a member of the crew pick up after him. I dislike the intrusion.”
I smiled. “You mean you don’t like him making eyes at a pretty young thing in a skant.”
He lifted an eyebrow at me. “I suppose that might trouble you, Doctor, but I am a Vulcan. I lack emotional impediments such as jealousy. Moreover, Jim and I share a bond. I am not concerned that he will cease to love me. I am certain that it would be quite impossible for him. When I say I dislike the intrusion, I mean that I prefer for the place I live to be private. I do not want anyone in my quarters, other than Jim.”
“Well, you let me in,” I said.
“I presume that you are here in a medical capacity,” he replied.
“Yeah, I am,” I confirmed. “I’m betting you need a little help with the muscles you doubtlessly over-exerted throwing that Klingon.”
“Not at all, Doctor.” Spock said. “I am undamaged.”
“Yeah, well, humor me.” I said, and went over to him, turning on the scanner. “Much as I expected. I brought a regenerator, just in case.”
“A few sore muscles are hardly worthy of your time and attention, Doctor,” he said. “I am not distressed, and they will heal on their own.”
“You know, I’d almost believe that you enjoyed giving M’Benga and me a headache,” I said, pulling the regenerator out of my medical kit. “Lean forward and put your right hand on the desk, please, Mr. Spock.”
He did so. “This is a most illogical use of your time,” he told me as I worked on him, starting with the muscles on the right side of his back.
“Stop grousing and let me patch you up, you stubborn, green-blooded imp.” I added, as I moved the regenerator up to his right shoulder. “It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”
He let out a little puff of air through his nose. Frustration? Hard to tell. “You owe me no thanks or reciprocation.”
“I’m less interested in niceties and more interested in the medical aspects of the situation,” I said, and started working on the hot disaster that was his upper arm. “Speaking of, your behavior aboard the Shenzhou is something I’d like to discuss.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
“Those Klingons thought I was your mate.” I told him, “And looking into it, I can see where they’d make the mistake. But I’m certainly not. So what happened? Either you got Bendai syndrome... and Mr. Spock, if you are having symptoms for Bendai syndrome, that’s a talk we need to have right away--”
“I am not experiencing symptoms of Bendai syndrome, Doctor,” Spock said archly. “I perceived that you were in danger, and I experienced a moment of… emotional investment… in your continued wellbeing.” The way he said ‘emotional investment’ you’d think he’d been made to read the name of some particularly lewd sex act aloud. A human sentiment he stepped in, and wished he could scrape off of his boot, no doubt.
I finished fixing his arm, and then he leaned back in his chair. “Given the results, I think you can see why Vulcans attempt to avoid such sentiments.” His voice was impassive, his face expressionless.
I wrinkled up my face at him. “I still need your forearm and hand.”
He held his hand up, and I fixed his forearm and wrist, where he had a badly distressed tendon. Lastly, I patched up his hand, both sides.
Finally he looked me in the eye. “I believe I have given you all of the relevant information as I understand it. And I deeply apologize if my outburst distressed you. If you would like to perform a neural scan to rule out Bendai syndrome, I am available. I believe it is possible that you have a similar interest in my well being.”
“Well,” I admitted, “It couldn’t hurt, just to be sure.”
He stood. “Very well, Doctor.”
We walked to Sick Bay, admittedly not a long walk, in silence. We went in, walking past my desk, and I gestured for him to get up onto one of the medical beds.
“Please lie down, Mr. Spock.” I instructed. And he did so.
The medical tests turned up nothing. He was fine. Nothing wacky in his neurochemistry, nothing out of the ordinary for him in terms of his neural activity. Of course, I’d make a full report to M’Benga and get his take.
I smiled at him. “Well, it looks usual enough for you, Mr. Spock. You’re free to go.”
And he left without a word. I was left grappling with a big complicated tangle of feelings about how Spock had acted, coupled with a real clear sense of dissatisfaction about his answers.
I walked over to M’Benga’s desk. He looked up at me. I could tell he was tired already.
“I ran these tests on your patient,” I said, and handed him a PADD.
M’Benga looked over the readings, then took in a long slow breath and nodded. “Well, it’s not Bendai syndrome.” He handed the PADD back to me. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Leo. No Vulcan’s emotional control is perfect. He only recently went through a particularly harrowing Pon Farr. It might take him up to a year to regain emotional equilibrium.”
“I guess.” I said.
“We’ll keep an eye on it.”
The next day at the staff meeting, we were going over personnel reports, and I was extra grouchy because my joints hurt like all hell. Combination of being almost 40, standing all day every day, and too much alcohol. And that’s why you don't drink your feelings, Leo.
Particularly, as the Captain was going over promotions for certain redshirts, I was doing my best to stretch the tendons leading up to my right wrist, and squirming around in my chair, trying to get my left hip to pop. I figured out, by way of squirming, that it was either pain in my sacroiliac joint, or real bad tension in my T-band -- I’d figure it out later using more professional means.
“You ok, Bones?” The Captain asked, looking at me with open affection and concern.
What I didn’t say was, ‘Hell yeah, I nearly got iced by a Klingon, and I couldn’t wind down after that, so I drank more than was strictly speaking legal for an officer who might be called to duty at a moment’s notice on account of a Klingon attack.’ I just said, “Aw, I’m fine. Just getting old is all. Everything hurts.”
Spock, who up until that moment, was paying attention to what was going on with his usual bland sort of interest, suddenly went stony. Every last hint of reaction dropped out of his face. Kirk looked at him with confusion and offered his index and middle finger. Without a word, or even a twitch of his facial muscles, the Vulcan returned the gesture, and they touched fingers.
They call that ozh'esta, a Vulcan ‘kiss,’ but by that point I’d figured out that ‘kiss’ was a really bad translation. It meant something more like ‘my commitment to you is unwavering’ or in their specific case, ‘I support you,’ or ‘I’m here if you need me.’ What it is not is a display of passion, attraction, or even affection. They have other stuff for that, and it’s private, as you might have guessed, but Jim’s my friend, and he’s not so tight-lipped as Spock is about that kind of thing.
In context, Spock had just done the Vulcan equivalent of preemptively shouting I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW. And Jim had done the Vulcan equivalent of responding with, ‘it’s ok, my love, I’m here whenever you do want to talk about it.’
I didn’t know what Spock’s deal was, but this was the second instance of ‘emotional investment’ in my well being. What I did know was that I didn’t like it. It was unnatural for a Vulcan, honestly. I didn’t like what M’Benga had said, about him still being off-balance after Pon Farr. I liked how scrawny he still was even less. He wasn’t my patient, of course, but I was still this ship's CMO. And he was still my best friend’s husband.
“WELP” I announced, “I am going to get my sorry ass to Sick Bay, take a painkiller, and start on scheduling. Never ending goddamn task that it is. See you later.”
And at least for the time being, I resolved to put the matter out of my head.
On Friday, after my shift, I was just sitting down in my big old recliner to read a book, and my door chimed.
“Come in,” I said without thinking. It was Jim. I only glanced up at him briefly, then went to grab a bookmark. I hate to dog-ear the pages.
I looked up at him, and he’d brought a bottle of bourbon. “Have a drink with me?”
“You look tense, Jim. What’s wrong?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I am. I’ll explain. Drinks first, though.”
I went and got some glasses for us, and he went into my bedroom. I followed him. The thing to understand about my quarters is that, while I’m not the sort of slob Jim is, my couch isn’t a place anyone sits. I have stacks of things I’m still sorting. PADDs still in use, medical files I’m still in the process of filing, old pictures and other mementos in boxes that, even after a year and change, I still haven’t found any good place for. My bedroom, however, is neat as a pin. I never use it, because I sleep in my recliner.
Jim laid on his side across the end of the bed with pillows on it and set the bottle down in front of him. Then he reached in my general direction with the arm he wasn’t leaning on until I sat down criss-cross in front of him and handed him a glass. The other glass I set down on its side next to me, taking a moment to open the bottle, then I picked up my glass, and poured out a little comfort for each of us before setting the bottle on the nightstand.
“He’s driving me crazy, Bones.”
I took a sip and laughed. “Welcome to married life, Jim. And you signed up for the kind of marriage you can’t escape from without someone’s head getting chopped off with a lirpa.”
“No, I mean…” Jim took a moment to collect his thoughts and reframe. “I don’t mean that being with him is driving me crazy.” His big blue eyes got distant for a second. “He’s amazing, and I am so, so grateful.” Then he looked at me with heat in his eyes, and concentration. “What I mean is that he’s behaving oddly right now, and I can’t make heads or tails of it, and when he answers my questions, he’s totally honest with me, but I still feel like I didn’t get an answer.” He shook his head with a hint of frustration.
I looked down at my bourbon. “Yeah, well, Vulcans are like that. But he loves you. I know he does. And he knows you love him. So if there’s something important, I’m sure he’ll tell you about it when he’s ready.”
He banged back the entirety of his drink and nodded. “You gotta talk to him, Bones.”
“Me?” I asked incredulously. “Why me? If that man were drowning I doubt he’d let me hand him a life preserver.”
Jim looked pensive for a moment. “A thing to know about the bond I share with Spock is that it’s not just a psychic bond. It’s a bonding of his life force to mine. Going forward, we’ll age at the same rate.” He added, “Also, the next time he goes through Pon Farr, he’ll drag me into Plak Tow right along with him.” He took a sip, then set his drink down on the nightstand with a clack, for emphasis.
“Oh, shit.” I said, mostly to myself. That was a whole lot to get himself mixed up in over a single blowjob. Or… two, I guessed. Just based on the medical standard.
“I can feel his emotions, too, when they rise to the surface,” Jim continued. “I can read deeper ones when we’re in physical contact, especially palm to palm.” He held out a hand, and without thinking, I touched mine to his, and he smiled at me.
“Sounds useful,” I said. Then I took my hand back.
He shook his head. “He really thought you were going to die, back there on the Shenzhou.” He looked down. “Me too, honestly. Those emotions were close to the surface, and I felt them clear as day. We were both really scared for you.” He looked up again, at me, with big sad eyes. “He knows how much you mean to me. So, to be honest, I wasn’t surprised or concerned that he raged out and threw that Klingon across the bridge. It was really no different than him reacting to someone trying to rip my arm off, in a sense. It’s what happened after that. He’s been fretting.”
“Vulcans fret?” I asked incredulously.
Jim nodded gravely. “Spock does. I picked it up in a mind meld with him. He’s worried about you. Thinking about your mortality and the fact that you won’t live as long as he or I will. That you’re not drinking enough water. That you’re not sleeping enough. That you’re self-isolating. Taking needless risks on away missions.”
“I’m fine,” I groused. “I certainly don’t need a snarky Vulcan hovering over me to keep me in line.”
“It’s not just that,” Jim said. “You gotta talk to him.”
“What’s there to talk about?” I asked.
He pursed his lips, looking sideways toward the ceiling. Then his face shifted to a sort of half-smile and he looked at me. “I’m not even sure. I just know that I love the man, and that he’s distressed. I already told him that you’re fine, that despite your relentless bitching, you’re in good health, and that there’s nothing to worry about. And so I’m left wondering why he can’t seem to get his mind off of it.”
“I’m hardly an expert in Vulcan psychology,” I told him. “You might be better off talking to M’Benga.”
“I did,” he said with a tight smile.
“And?” I asked.
“I got the run-around,” Jim answered. “M’Benga, also, was totally honest with me without really answering my questions.”
“Odd,” I commented.
“You should really talk to Spock.” Jim said. “Maybe he might tell you something that he wouldn’t tell me.”
“I can do that,” I said. I frowned. “I’m going to be honest with you, though. The way he’s acting around me is really disquieting. And if it’s about feelings, I can’t imagine I’m going to get much out of him.”
“I’m sure it is about feelings,” Jim replied. “But Vulcans are asexual outside of Pon Farr, so it’s not like that.”
“I don’t know what it’s like,” I said, pouring myself another drink. “But me too, minus the Pon Farr part.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“There are more reasons to have sex than because you’re personally horny. But some people can’t get past the fact that… well… that you don’t… hm.” I tried to find the right words, but I just couldn’t.
He waved a hand. “No, I get it. With Spock, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, or even how I look… unless I express a need, he just wants to feel my soul and...” his gaze became distant, and he swallowed. “God, but that can be intense.”
“Oh? You like that?” I asked.
He looked at me and smiled with soft affection. “I mean, if I didn’t, I’d be pretty screwed.”
“So, you getting on ok with him not…” I paused to think, “getting turned on by you?”
He shrugged. “He loves me. And no one but no one is dutiful like a Vulcan spouse. First he said that I could have sex with anyone I needed to, as long as I was available during ‘go time.’ Then he made it his one man mission to find out every possible button he could press to get me off.” He held up a hand. “Yeah, I know, you don’t need details.”
I chuckled. “I can relate. To him, I mean. He knows it’s something you need to feel well and be happy, and he’d probably do battle with a dragon to accomplish that, if he had to. That, and I’m sure there’s a certain satisfaction from the reactions he gets out of you.”
“I think he found them all,” Jim said with a dreamy, yet somehow mischievous smile. His eyebrows twitched up for a second. “All the buttons.”
“Hmph.” I grunted. “It can be tough, you know. When you’re like that. Figuring out when it’s crossed the line from being really good friends to something more. And, I suppose, it’s entirely possible to fall in love with someone without realizing it at all.”
“You trying to tell me something, Bones?” He asked, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Just trying to give you insight into what it’s like for him.” I said. “I mean, it’s not exactly the same. He’s got a seven year cycle. Me? Can’t say what causes it, but there have been times I wanted to be with someone in that way for more reasons than their reaction.”
“Hm.” It was the exact same ‘hm’ you get from Spock when he’s acknowledging that you said something, but his mind is elsewhere. There was just a ghost of a Spock-like eyebrow lift, and he slid closer to me, laying a hand on my thigh.
Then he said, “I think it’s best for the two of you to just have a frank discussion about it.” He furrowed his brow. “You just have to remember that emotions are really uncomfortable for him, so when he allows himself to feel them, he can’t really find the words, you know?” Then he looked up at me with some emotion on his face that I couldn’t parse.
What I wouldn’t have given to know what Jim was thinking just then.
A whole ass day later, I’m ringing on Spock and Jim’s door again, when Jim had arranged to be out. Spock called for me to come in, and I did. He was sitting on the couch, reading.
“Doctor?” Spock called out without looking up from his PADD.
“Spock, Jim says we need to talk.” I said.
He put the PADD down beside him and fixed his gaze on me. “Indeed.”
“Not my favorite, serious non-professional conversations,” I said, as I pulled over the desk chair and sat down, “but I'd rip my own leg off and beat myself to death with it for the man, so here I am.”
Spock nodded with agreement. “Did he inform you as to what the topic of our conversation should be?”
“Not sure I know,” I answered honestly. “I do know that you’re driving him up a wall with all of your fretting.”
“Fretting?” He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Now, stop that.” I snapped at him. “We both know he’s not on about nothing.”
He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “I did not suggest that he was.”
“Course not.” I scoffed. “You didn’t suggest anything. We’re all just being highly illogical humans. And you don’t have any emotions about anything.”
“Indeed.” Spock agreed pleasantly.
I stood up again, right in front of him, and folded my arms over my chest. “Enough of your evasive Vulcan bullshit. There is a logic to your behavior, and I mean to find out what it is, right now. You’re giving your husband paroxysms!”
He considered. “I have a question, Doctor.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“If I had died, what would your first concern have been?”
“I wasn’t going to let you die, you damned green blooded hobgoblin,” I said angrily.
“But if I had?” He asked. “What would have been most troubling to you about it?”
I stared at him for a second. His eyes showed nothing I could latch onto. “Apart from having lost a patient, not to mention the ship’s First Officer? That you could be so selfish as to end yourself when you knew right well that Jim would be lost without you.”
“You would find his grief to be the most disagreeable aspect of the situation.” He concluded. As though his death, by itself, would trouble me not at all!
“Oh yeah, of course,” I said bitterly. “I suppose in my shoes, you’d be most concerned about the loss of efficiency in the Captain’s functioning, and the ongoing mission of the flagship.”
“Not at all,” he said calmly. “Rather, like you, I would know that I had failed a man I greatly valued.”
“Greatly valued… of course. No such word as ‘love’ would ever cross your lips.” I glared at him.
“You love Jim,” he said simply.
I took in a sharp breath. “I care about him. Losing you would hurt him.”
Spock nodded. “Indeed. No such word as ‘love’ would cross your lips either.”
He continued, “I believe that you understand my predicament with clarity, in fact. I am of a longer lived species than you. Our average life expectancy is three hundred years. And it can be as long as five hundred. Having bound my katra to Jim’s, I have inflicted that extended life span on him. In about sixty years, we will likely attend your funeral, and my husband will grieve you for the rest of his life.”
I pursed my lips for a moment and looked away from him. “Well, what’s done is done.”
“I find the situation unacceptable,” he told me, and the sudden energy and conviction in his voice snapped my gaze back to his face, but there was nothing there. “And I have a potential solution.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“Mm.” He put his hands in his lap and looked up at me. “But as yet, I am unclear as to whether or not it would be tenable. In order to know, I need clarity on your exact sentiments toward me.”
“My sentiments toward you?” I asked incredulously. “What the hell does that matter?”
He cocked his head to the side, just a little. “Doctor, why do you and I argue?”
“Because you're irritating as hell, that’s why!” I spat out.
“Am I?” He asked.
“You are,” I said with certainty, widening my eyes at him for emphasis.
“So you dislike me.” He said. Just a simple statement.
I shook my head. “I didn’t say that, Spock.”
“So… you... do not dislike me.” Just testing out a second hypothesis.
“No,” I conceded.
“Then why do we argue?” he asked.
“I guess we just disagree about things,” I said.
“Do we?” he asked. “How would you characterize the nature of those disagreements?”
“I guess it’s different at different times,” I said.
He shook his head with his eyebrows raised. “Indeed, the specific disagreements seem to me to be immaterial. My conjecture is that we simply enjoy it.”
I considered it as I sat myself down again. “Yeah, I suppose. There’s something to be said for having someone to sharpen your wits on.”
“The possibility has occurred to me that, viewed from an outside perspective, someone might conclude that we were flirting.” And he straight up batted his eyelashes at me. Not in a coquettish way. More like a sarcastic flourish.
“That’s the most absurd thing I've ever heard!” I snapped.
“Is it?” He asked. “What is the aphorism? Dipping a girl’s braids in an inkwell? Antagonizing a person is not outside of the norm for one human who is sexually interested in another. Nor is it entirely out of the ordinary for Vulcans to evaluate a potential mate through verbal sparring.”
“I’m not sexually interested in you,” I told him. “I’m not sexually interested in anyone.”
“I am aware that you are asexual. Are you also aromantic?”
“No,” I said. “I’m biromantic. But I’m not romantically interested in you, either.” I cocked an eyebrow at him briefly. “I’d know.”
“I am also aware that asexuality is a spectrum in humans,” he pressed, “Would you say that sexual attraction is impossible for you? Or simply rare?”
“Exceedingly rare,” I told him.
“But possible?” He asked.
“Maybe? What about you? You sweet on me, Mr. Spock?” I asked teasingly, unable to suppress a smile. “You want to take long, romantic strolls with me on a beach? Buy me dinner?” I hoped he knew how silly he sounded.
He lifted both eyebrows and tilted his head very slightly. “I cannot know. Unlike Jim, you were careful to respect the Vulcan cultural taboos surrounding skin contact. Vulcan attraction is not based on visual appearance. It is tied to touch telepathy and having an experience of another’s soul.”
“Then why are you bringing all of this up?” I asked.
He looked down at his PADD. “I am considering a katra bond with you. A platonic bond with greater than the usual depth and intensity. It would increase your lifespan to match mine. And Jim’s. But such a bond would be impossible if either of us found the other truly detestable. And if we harbored any romantic or sexual attraction toward one another, it would be unpredictable, and possibly intensely disruptive. Under such circumstances, a katra bond would be quite irresponsible.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
He looked at my face again. “You concur?”
“I concur,” I said with a nod.
“And you do not find me detestable.” It sounded like a statement. But it was a question.
“No.” I answered.
“Then all that remains is to be certain there is indeed no attraction,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “There’s not.”
“I do not believe that you are deceiving me,” he said, “but given the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences, I must be empirically certain, rather than taking your word for it. And as yet, I cannot not know what my own reaction will be.”
“Yeah, ok,” I said. “That’s fair, actually.”
He picked up the PADD, setting it on the side table, and gestured for me to sit beside him. I hesitated a moment, and then got up, setting myself in the space he’d cleared. Then he held up a palm to me.
I knew this one. It was him asking to establish an empathic link. And it was a very, very irregular thing to do with someone a Vulcan had no bond with.
I touched my palm to his. His skin was cooler than a human’s. Maybe it was just knowing that we were breaking a taboo, but there was something powerful about it. After a moment, he trailed his fingertips over my fingers, then over the side of my hand, his touch leaving shimmering sparks in its wake. It was beautiful. Distractingly so. Like touching a pool full of dancing moonlight.
“But of course,” he said, taking his hand back. “You are not a Vulcan. That would be unlikely to provoke the same reaction in you that it would in me.”
I dropped my hand. And all at once, it hit me like a ton of bricks that Spock and Jim had been doing something terribly intimate when they were brushing fingers. The actual Vulcan equivalent of kissing. On the bridge! On away missions! In staff meetings!
I stared at him, still getting my head around that ghastly realization. “I’m sorry, it just occurred to me how absolutely indecent Jim was being with you. If you had feelings for him, that must have been absolute torture.”
“It was,” he said. “However, it was not exclusively him initiating it.”
“Why did you do that to yourself?” I asked. And then I answered my own question. “Of course. Because in your mind, at the time, you didn’t have a chance in hell, and it was all you did have.” The poor bastard.
“Had we not... I would doubtlessly have killed him in the place of Koon-ut-Kal-if-fee,” he said meditatively.
“Don’t be a drama queen,” I said. “I would have made you think that you’d killed him by dosing him with a paralytic and then beamed him back to the ship to revive him.” I thought for a moment. “That energy… that’s your soul.”
He nodded. “I’m surprised you could feel it.”
“Sure, why not?” I asked. “Plenty of humans can feel energy like that. For you, I guess, it’s a romantic or sexual thing. For us, it’s usually confined to religious and other sacred contexts. And maybe sometimes, some of us feel it when we’re listening to music. A sense of connectedness with the other people around us, I s’pose. Something you can feel on the skin, maybe in the gut.”
“Fascinating,” he said. “What did it evoke in you?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Same thing I’d feel listening to a virtuoso play the violin, I guess. Certainly not sexual or romantic.”
“That would, in any case, be logical, considering what you’ve just told me about how humans respond to that type of experience.”
“And you could feel my soul?” I asked.
“Your energy is quite reserved. It was difficult to get a sense,” he replied. “A more human approach may be required to gain the insight we require.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
He considered. “May I kiss you?” He asked the question in the exact tone of voice another man might use to ask me to pass the salt.
I nodded. “Yeah, alright, so long as it stays in this room and you’re not weird about it later.”
“It will, and I will not be,” he assured me.
He moved closer to me, then balked for a second, stuck on the awkwardness of it.
“Look, Spock. Between you, me, and the bulkhead, I’ve engaged in much more intimate acts with people I wasn’t attracted to for far less reason. I still think this is absurd, but there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
He blinked with surprise. “Why would you do that?” He almost sounded concerned for me.
“Aesthetic or sensual enjoyment? Artistic expression? Power exchange? Service to the community?” I chuckled a little, enjoying how absolutely scandalized he seemed. I shrugged and grinned at him. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
He nodded. Then, he raised a hand to my face. He leaned in, and I closed my eyes. I felt his lips brush against mine, ever so softly, then he wrapped his powerful, sinewy arms around me, and tangled his fingers in my hair, pressing more deeply with his lips and tongue. Everywhere his skin touched mine was lit up somehow in a way I couldn’t describe. It was passionate. Something I hadn’t imagined possible for him. And more, the man clearly knew what he was doing.
Finally, he pulled away, and I opened my eyes. He held me in his arms, studying me like a specimen in a jar. Then, he nodded, and let me go.
I slid away, and offered my palm to him.
He nodded, and touched his hand to mine, perceiving, considering. “What I perceive from you might be described as sensual enjoyment, but not sexual attraction, is that accurate?”
I considered. “I think that’s accurate, yes.”
“I do not think it will be problematic,” he said, “touch can be pleasurable without being sexual.”
“Certainly.” I agreed. “You certain that was all it was for you? That seemed… more involved than I was expecting”
He nodded. “I do not, myself, have very much experience with the matter. I drew upon that part of my mind that is James Kirk. It is, I suppose, much as he would have done, under similar circumstances.”
I chuckled. I could picture Jim hamming up a kiss to impress a girl. “Yeah, ok.” But now I had a different concern. “There’s another thing. My Esper rating is 089. I had it expunged from my record years back because I was tired of people bugging me to do the training for it, and I didn’t want my soul being weaponized.”
“I did not know that.” Spock said, looking genuinely intrigued.
I nodded. “I guess my concern is that I know untapped psionic potential, acted on by an outside force, can do some creepy stuff. I don’t want to go all Gary Mitchell on you.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’m surprised that you were neither killed nor catalyzed by the energy field we encountered.”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m grateful, at any rate. Both that I’m not dead, and that I didn’t turn into a raging silver-eyed asshole.”
“It is possible that my ‘katra-related nonsense’ would indeed change how your psionic potential manifested,” he conceded, “however, the changes which would occur in your life force would make you more likely to express that potential in a Vulcan way. We do not, as you say, ‘go Gary Mitchell’ but instead evidence other abilities, such as touch telepathy, and the ability to heal one another.”
“Well, that’s probably good,” I said.
“You should also consider,” he said, “That since the Captain is also bound to my katra, any concealed feelings held by one of you will be known by the other. You will live with the possibility of either of us wondering what your feelings are, and us immediately knowing the answer, no matter how far away you may be from us, for the rest of your considerably extended life.”
“Don’t think I have anything to hide on that front,” I said.
“It is possible that you will no longer enjoy antagonizing me nearly as much,” he said. “I will grieve the loss of that banter, but I reason that the benefits will outweigh the costs.”
“Yeah, ok, how do we do this thing?” I asked.
He raised his eyebrows and blinked at me a few times. I think he expected me to go and think about it for a few days, and maybe that would have been what a sane man would have done.
“I have all of the relevant information.” I told him, “I’m not getting any younger, and I can’t leave you knuckleheads alone for three centuries. He’d tear the universe apart, and you’d probably do some fool thing to injure yourself. So, Mr. Spock, how do we proceed?”
“It is much like the Koon-ut bonding you witnessed on Vulcan,” Spock explained, “But the intentions are different. We touch one another’s katra points, as in a meld, with the intention to solidify our relationship through it.”
I pointed at the ground, and raised an eyebrow at him. As in, are we doing this now? He got off the couch and knelt in front of it. I knelt in front of him. He placed my fingers on his katra points, which took some fumbling around. And he reached out and touched mine. He had no trouble with that at all.
There was a shiver that spread across my scalp and it moved down my shoulders. I felt it settle into my heart. The outside world faded to a pinpoint and then disappeared from my awareness.
Then, I felt a rush of powerful feelings -- not mine. It was hard to make sense of. My mind opened, and I could hear his thoughts. It was only then that the meaning of those emotions resolved into something sensible. It was respect, concern, loyalty. Then it shifted ...to awe and appreciation.
Your mind, he was thinking in astonishment, I never knew. I never expected anything so…
… elegant. Pain, yes. But pain reminiscent of music: beauty, balance, and harmony, expressing melancholy with incomparable eloquence where words would utterly fail. A paradox of mathematical perfection expressing ineffable emotional reality. And behind the words, there was more, a love of words and their meaning, an appreciation for that ‘mathematical perfection’ which went far beyond dry numbers.
You’re a bit of a poet. I thought. More than a bit. The whole natural world is like a symphony to you, isn’t it? And everything in it is suffused with meaning.
You are a deep thinking man with a profound appreciation for the inherent value of all life. And you detest violence. What came into focus now was his inner strength, and disciplined serenity.
I’m a Doctor.
The same cannot be said of all people in your profession. For many, the oath to ‘first do no harm’ is a professional creed. For you, it would seem to be… almost a driving force in your spiritual existence.
Speaking of life. Why in the hell did you go and nearly get yourself killed during Pon Farr?
I attempted to make my intentions known to Jim, and I failed. I did not wish to marry T’Pring. By delaying, I gave her the opportunity and excuse to find a suitable replacement, and I gave Jim a chance to understand the gravity of the situation. I planned on arriving in the eleventh hour. Either Jim would act, or he would not -- If he did, even if T’Pring had not consummated Pon Farr with another, she would be too weak to defeat him.
And if he didn’t?
Then I did not wish to live. And either the Plak Tow would kill me, or T’Pring’s intended would. The chance that she would delay so long under the influence of the Plak Tow seemed minimal.
Didn’t you think I’d care?
That consideration did not enter my mind.
Well, it should have.
You are too frequently in physical pain. He thought suddenly, and very sternly, and there was a feeling like… tugging, somehow. You should avoid alcohol and caffeine. And you should drink more water.
Would you also like me to avoid oxygen?
Inside of his mind, I could hear the amusement, plain as day, and affection.
There was another rush of energy that silenced my thoughts and seemed to fill the entirety of my perception. And then, in his mind, I felt other presences.
There’s someone here that feels like fire and steel. I observed.
My sister, Michael. He explained.
And one that feels like a snowy Winter day.
Indeed. How else do you imagine I knew exactly what he wanted? Why else would I be willing to sacrifice my career for him?
That one feels like sunshine and liquid gold-- it’s Jim!
It is. Love. His love for Jim. Equal parts devotion, commitment, loyalty, appreciation, desire… and fear. Fear that someone or something would take him away, or hurt him. Then I felt him pack all of that away.
Wow. That’s a lot of emotion. And an incredible amount of internal control.
I am a Vulcan. Consider what my inner state would be if I did not suppress a great deal of what I felt.
His mood shifted to something light and almost joyful. Do you like Indian food?
Indian food? I thought Vulcans were obligated to drink plomeek and eat nutritional styrofoam.
Indeed. A pure blooded Vulcan possesses a much more sensitive palette and sense of smell. Mine are much more like a human’s.
Human hair, soap and shampoo, aftershave and warm skin. Spock was remembering exactly what Jim smelled like. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I was even less sure how I felt about him sensing my reaction to it.
I apologize, Doctor. Stray thoughts are unavoidable during a longer meld. But we need to reach a sufficient depth before solidifying the connection.
I do like Indian food. I thought. And just then, I had a vivid, dreamlike experience of eating a samosa. But it’s not me eating it. It’s Spock. I could feel what it was like, having his teeth. It was surreal.
The boundaries of what was my mind and what was his were getting a little fuzzy, and with that fuzziness, there was a murmur of contentment, though I couldn’t say if it was me or him. Then, we both leaned in further, without really deciding to, and got lost in a moment of absolute blissful serenity.
This is sufficient. Somewhere among our feelings for one another, there is a common chord. When we find it, we should focus on it, and work to make the two sentiments as one.
There was a flash of concern on his part, about having kissed me. Sensual enjoyment, I assured him. Nothing more. Yes, he agreed, definitely nothing more than that. Although with that thought, our collective mind supplied, unbidden, everything that was pleasant about it. We should not dwell here.
Mutual concern. Neither of us wanted anything to happen to the other.
We both loved Jim. And there, we struck a much stronger chord. Just on the love part. We both adored his determination, his friendly demeanor, his loyalty, his ferocity and courage. How much he cared for his crew. How physically affectionate he was. And there we parted ways. Leo was thinking about working late in Sick Bay, being tired beyond description, and a random, friendly, much appreciated shoulder rub. Spock was thinking about running a tongue up a tender, sensitive place along the inside of one of his thighs, and a breathy, deeply gratifying moan that it drew from him, the radiant heat of human flesh, and his scent. This isn’t a good place to dwell either. Definitely, definitely not this.
Arguing. Not the aggression, or satisfaction at getting a rise out of each other, though we both loved it. No, rather, we focused on the affection behind it. We worked to merge those two sentiments into one. There was a feeling of wrestling, as though we were jockeying for position somehow, and then focus, and finally surrender. There was something like a deep sigh. Then harmony. And from Spock in particular, immense satisfaction.
I don’t really remember the contact being broken. I kind of came to lying on my side on the floor feeling like I had been hit by a bus, but in the best possible way. Based on my medical and psych background, it was an oxytocin bus. The main casualties seemed to be my anxiety and depression. It was really something, not having that dark cloud hanging over my head. It’d be back, but right now, everything was tingly, including my mind. Spock was lying on the floor beside me, his large dark eyes staring deeply into mine, looking concerned and thunderstruck.
Then I heard his thoughts, clear as day: that did not feel as I expected it to.
Not what I was expecting, either. I replied in the same direction I heard him from.
He was so startled, so surprised, that his eyes popped open and his jaw dropped ever so slightly. “Astonishing. You are projecting thoughts into my mind without a meld, without us touching.” He shook his head, unable to formulate the vaguest idea of how such a thing could have happened. “Vulcans are touch telepaths.” He explained. “What is sent over a bond ambiently is typically emotion, or sentiment. Not ideas. Not thoughts and words. That would typically require physical contact, or deep meditation.”
“Must be how that Esper rating is manifesting,” I conjectured.
He reached up just to stroke my jaw with the back of an index finger. “You are full of surprises, Leonard McCoy.”
“Call me Leo. Only my ex-wife calls me Leonard.”
The next three days brought greater than the usual number of tiny emergencies. Burns, breaks, torn tendons, fevers, inexplicable leaps in psychic acuity coupled with crippling migraines due to messing around with inter-phasic something-something (goddamn science division is going to be the death of me, I swear), a woman going into labor a whole month early with the usual cascade of interventions.
Each morning I got in, I noted, there was Spock. Just dropping off a bottle of water for me, and leaving without a word. 101 ounces. That’d be enough for a man of my exact weight and age, assuming I had a regular habit of knocking back two shots of bourbon in the evening. Which I did.
At the end of the shift on that third day, M’Benga just looked at me, exhaustion written all over his handsome, chiseled face, made perhaps just a little more handsome with a hint of sweat that made his dark brown complexion seem to glow, a bit of five-o’clock shadow, and the fact his hair wasn’t nearly as close-shaved as usual, showing a bit of its natural texture, and said, “No one died. Three days of emergencies, and no fatalities.”
“Small Goddamn miracle,” I said, and we knocked our shoulders together in lieu of a fist-bump, like you often do in medical, when you don’t want to get your hands germy, or maybe if you’re already covered in blood.
“Let’s turn this over to auxiliary medical, huh?” Jeff suggested. “If we know what’s good for us, we’ll both take a personal day tomorrow.”
“Do we know what’s good for us?” I asked.
He chuckled bitterly. “No. Not in the slightest. I’ll see you in the morning, Leo.”
“Good night, Jeff.”
I got back, took a shower, changed into some sweat pants and a t-shirt, and settled into my armchair with some bourbon. I figured I’d earned it. That, and I was sore all over.
“Kirk to McCoy,” a familiar voice came over the com.
“You busy, Bones?”
“Naw, I just got cleaned up.”
“Join us for dinner in my quarters?” Jim asked.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” I said.
“Far from an intrusion. You can help us settle an argument about what to have. I need a swing vote, or I’m going to wind up eating Pok Tar for dinner.”
“Spock hates Pok Tar,” I said. And I shook my head a little. How did I know that?
“I know! And so do I!” Jim exclaimed. “But it’s got a ‘superior nutritional profile’. Somewhere between pancakes for dinner and Pok Tar lies a compromise, I’m sure.”
“Damnit Jim, don’t eat pancakes for dinner,” I said. “You’ll spend all tomorrow moping about it.”
“I told him as much,” I heard Spock’s voice in the background.
“As you can see,” Jim said, “your presence is required --urgently required-- to resolve this tense diplomatic negotiation.”
“I’m on my way, then.”
It was a short walk, and when I rang, Jim asked me to come in. The two of them were standing, facing each other.
“Adding the words ‘for dinner’ to the end of a word does not change the nutritional profile of the corresponding object,” Spock was saying. He sounded stern, but I could tell he was having fun arguing with his husband.
“How about Chinese-American food?” I asked. “Very vegetable heavy, we could get something with seitan or tofu, both of which are high quality proteins and Vulcan-friendly. Spock, I’m given to understand that you like spicy. Jim, you can get your sugar fix in modernation with something like a General Tsao or orange sauce. And I’m going to make a recommendation that we do riced cauliflower as opposed to white or brown rice, since our bodies can’t make efficient use of starches this late in the day.”
“That sounds like an excellent compromise,” Spock said. For a very brief moment, he was thinking about vanilla custard. No. It was more specific. There was the idea of breaking the crust of lightly toasted sugar with a spoon. A shiver of pleasure at the idea. There is no logical purpose for eating dessert.
You like creme brulee?
He felt ashamed. I do.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Jim asked Spock.
“Doctor McCoy and I have developed ambient telepathy with one another. Possibly a result of his psionic potential being catalyzed by my katra. He overheard a particularly embarrassing thought.”
“Oof,” Jim said with a wince. “That’s gotta be rough for both of you.”
“I’m not judging you, Spock,” I said. “I’m more concerned with what a man is doing than what he’s thinking.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock returned blandly.
I don’t understand what’s so embarrassing about custard. I projected.
The only purpose for dessert is emotional gratification. It is not the custard, but what it represents. A self-indulgent nature which I still have not successfully conquered. Then he looked me over with satisfaction and a brief moment of… not guilt. Something like it, though. Funny how I could hear some of his thoughts and feel his feelings and still not fully understand the man.
“So,” said Jim, “Shall we sit down? I can argue with the replicator.”
I realized that Spock and I had just been standing there, staring at each other.
I made my way to the dining table. “Yeah,” I said, “Sorry Jim. The telepathy thing is really sort of distracting.”
“I can only imagine,” Jim said, and he went over to the replicator which was next to the table. “Computer. Vegan Chinese-American. Cauliflower rice. One order of General Tsao’s tofu. One order of char siew style seitan. One order of Kung Pao vegetables with extra nuts. Make up the rest. Three people are eating.”
Spock watched him place the order before coming over to sit down. Love. Stark as a full moon in a cloudless night sky. Love and gratitude. And then he was looking at Jim’s ass. Not with lust, not perse. But there was definitely a visceral appreciation. So much for Vulcans not feeling attraction based on physical appearance! But I suppose a man was entitled to be physically attracted to his spouse. One hoped, anyway. He realized I could hear it, and cut it off abruptly, suppressing those feelings and turning his focus to the process of sitting at the table and preparing to eat.
Jim put the food on the table and sat down. It smelled pretty good. Replicating food wholesale wasn’t nearly as good as cooking food, even from replicated ingredients, but the Una Matrix was a decided improvement over the replicators we suffered back in the Academy.
A few bites in, Jim put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. I looked over and he smiled at me. “This was a good idea, Bones. Thank you.”
And like someone dialing a staticky radio, his thoughts suddenly crystalized in my mind.
Pancakes… and… he woulda hated… I suppose Spock and I could have gotten separate dinners. But this is better. And it really is nice having Bones here.
The look on my face probably said volumes.
Jim kept his hand exactly where it was, studying my face with concern. “You ok?”
“Jim, I can hear what you’re thinking.” I told him.
Poor Bones. I hope it’s only words and not images, because I’m 70% sure he doesn’t want to know what Spock’s dick looks like.
Only 70%? I asked telepathically, only to realize he couldn’t hear me. “Seriously, Jim?”
I could tell right away that Spock was only getting my side of the conversation. He was wondering ‘70% of what?’ Honestly, he didn’t need to know.
And Jim just grinned at me. Then he took his hand back.
Well, if anyone can read my thoughts, I’m glad it’s you. I love you, Bones. And I could tell he didn’t mean the kind of love Spock had for him. It had nothing to do with my body. He just loved me as a friend. It was warm and loyal, and my heart melted. And I loved him too, in just the same way. Just… maybe I didn’t want to say it aloud. But he knew. He had to, right? After fifteen years, surely, he had to.
Spock felt smug... maybe not smug. He could feel what both of us were feeling. And maybe, just maybe, he was pleased with himself for having assured that Jim and I would have just a little longer to spend together than we would have otherwise. He’d said that was his objective. He’d achieved it. And maybe he deserved to take a little pleasure in it.
The day after that, I took a stroll up to the bridge. Things were quiet in sickbay, and I wanted to see my friends. Spock didn’t look up from his bullshit microscope thing, but his heart reached out to mine in acknowledgement, and I went to go stand beside Jim Kirk, as I have on many an occasion.
Just like he always did, he looked up at me fondly with one of those warm, uncomplicated smiles, and said, “Doctor McCoy”
“Just checking on things up here, Captain. Everything’s quiet in Sick Bay. Thought I’d take a moment to enjoy the bridge while we’re not in the middle of some crisis.”
“Of course, Bones.”
A blonde yeoman wearing a skant and a complicated hairdo came and brought him a report on a PADD and a cup of coffee, two creams, two sugars, just how he likes it.
She’s really pretty, he was thinking, and she looks great in red. She turned to leave and he appreciated the rear view. It’s not like you’re thinking. He wasn’t sitting there thinking about what he wanted to do to her, or anything. It was the same sort of appreciation a person might have for a pretty flower, or a sunset, and maybe there was just a faint hint of arousal. But then he glanced over at Spock, almost in spite of himself, and it was a whole different story.
His head was flooded, just for a second, with a sense of awe and appreciation for his strength, and how incredibly soft his skin was. Then the remembered feeling of gentle fingertips trailing along flesh and--
He suddenly realized that I could hear what he was thinking, and turned his full attention to the viewscreen, counting the stars.
We looked at eachother. Then we looked away. Then we looked back and both started giggling.
Sulu, our navigator, a very gangly ethnically Japanese man with a particularly wide face and a wider than average mouth, making all of his facial expressions somewhat cartoonish, swivelled around, trying to figure out what we’re laughing at. Then, he gave us both a look that might have come from a grade school teacher looking at two naughty students, shook his head with a smile and turned back to the helm.
“Where we headed, Captain?” I asked.
“New star system.” Jim said. “Long range sensors indicate it might have a Minshara class planet in orbit, as well as a potentially methanogene-bearing ice-moon in orbit around it’s outermost gas giant.”
“I’d like a sample from the ice-moon, provided that it’s not sentient, of course,” I say.
“Why, Bones. I didn’t know you were interested in exobiology.” He said, pleased as punch that there was something I was interested in, rather than just grousing about.
I shrug. “I’m a Doctor. Biology’s in my wheelhouse, right? Seems it might be fun to learn about something new.”
“Sure,” said Jim, “You might even say... fascinating.” There was a slight teasing tone in his voice, but in his heart, there was nothing but affection.
Calling all Admirals and Cadets, it’s that time of year again! Author sign-ups for 2022’s Star Trek Valentine’s Bang are now live!
The STVB is an 18+ pan-series traditional bang in which authors write fic centered around our theme - romance and the many forms of love - and are paired with interested Beta Readers and an Artist (or Artists) who will illustrate their fic. In any series and in any universe, our event aims to celebrate Infinite Love in Infinite Combinations.
Sign-ups will run from today, October the 22nd, until November the 20th. The Star Trek Valentine’s Bang will follow a traditional Bang format (Artists and Betas assigned to Authors). This year we’re introducing word count categories, meaning each author will choose one of three word counts they’d like to reach or work around - 10k, 15k, or 25k+. Upon signing up for the Bang, Authors must submit a basic summary of their fic concept and any warnings and tags that are applicable. Explain the basics in 500 words or less. Authors must also answer the questionnaire attached to the Sign Up forms. This serves as both an Author’s sign-up period and a first check-in. If you’re unsure what you’d like to write yet but know you’d like to participate please let the mod team know.
As always, we’re willing to be flexible with those who would like to participate but have a busy schedule or complications.
Additionally, all those who participated in 2021’s STVB will be receiving an Email containing a link to the Sign-up form and Info Doc (including our rules, schedule, and FAQ) in case they are interested in participating again this year. Those who sign up using the form will also be added to our regular Emailing list, as well as our Discord Server (if applicable), so keep a look out for invitations in the coming days!
We can’t wait to get started, and we hope to see you on board!
> Rules, FAQ, and Schedule
> Author’s Sign-up form
Today’s practice drawings! reference photos vv
Pre-Surak!Spock meets strandard Captain Kirk.
(based on the Princess Mononoke scene)