Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spock entered McCoy’s quarters. “You wished to speak with me, Doctor?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Spock. Come in and sit down. Would you like some refreshment?” he asked with a genial smile as he indicated a nearby chair.

But Spock stayed standing, as did McCoy. “This is a social visit then and not work related.”

“That is correct.” McCoy looked flirty. “It is a very social occasion. In fact, it’ll be a personal encounter. If I handle it correctly,” he ended, muttering.

There was a nearly audible sigh out of Spock. “Are you going to try to continue our interrelating session that proved so disastrous because of our language difficulties?”

Instead of answering, McCoy smiled and nodded.

“I do not understand, Doctor. Are we, or are we not?”

Spock held up his hand for silence, but continued to smile.

“Are you experiencing some sort of sudden physical malady, Doctor?” Spock asked with alarm. “Is there something I may do to assist you? Do you need to go to Sickbay? I would be happy to escort you there personally.”

McCoy shook his head back and forth.

“Then you are alright? You do not require medical assistance?”

The smile on McCoy’s closed mouth deepened, and McCoy slowly nodded his head up and down in answer.

“I do not understand,” Spock stated with growing alarm. “Why have you suddenly gone mute?”

McCoy took two steps toward Spock, and the Vulcan jerked with caution and prepared to back away from the advancing man.

Spock saw that McCoy’s hands were not raised in anger, nor did his demeanor seem threatening. But, still, one could not always tell with McCoy. His erratic behavioral patterns caused the man to change direction, both physically and emotionally, quite suddenly. It must be exhausting at times to be McCoy, Spock decided.

McCoy stopped, and the two men studied each other for a moment. Then McCoy held his hand out to Spock.

Spock studied that hand. It wasn’t raised in a fist or outstretched to slap him across the face again. Spock would be on guard for that maneuver if McCoy came at him again to slap him. It had hurt, besides humiliating him.

McCoy motioned toward himself with his hand. He looked like he was pulling invisible water toward himself. Whatever did he want? Water? Why would he want water? Why now?

Spock had no water to hand to McCoy. And something told Spock that he shouldn’t ask McCoy why he wanted water. And why at this time. Although Spock was curious, he felt that he shouldn’t ask those questions. It was probably a lucky thing that their conversation was in pantomime. Otherwise, he might anger McCoy again.

Okay, suppose that Spock had misinterpreted the hand signal. Suppose McCoy did not want water. Did he want something else then?

McCoy’s head was bobbing in a most interesting fashion that was urging Spock onward. Spock thought of those little doggies in the back of car windows that bob up and down. Surely, that was not the effect that McCoy was trying to establish.

Maybe, Spock wondered, could it be? Could McCoy be motioning to Spock himself? Spock was what McCoy was wanting? Dare Spock hope?

Spock held out his hand to McCoy, and McCoy nodded. Ah, yes, that was what the doctor wanted. Spock’s hand. And anybody with any logic at all knew that Spock’s hand was attached to the rest of him. Maybe the doctor had changed his mind about Spock’s offer!

Or maybe, Spock considered, he was simply reading too much into the gesture. He should not assume something that probably was still not true. He decided to be cautious. Maybe McCoy merely wanted to cement their friendship.

Spock extended his hand as if to shake McCoy’s. Why now, after all of these years together, did McCoy want to shake hands as if they were meeting for the first time? Oh, well, Spock could humor the doctor if that was what the doctor was needing from him. It was disappointing, but it was a start, Spock supposed. Friendship with the doctor would he nice, he accepted with a sigh.

Their hands touched, but McCoy did not begin the customary shaking up and down of the two hands. Instead, he simply held Spock’s hand. Whatever for, Spock wondered. If McCoy didn’t want a physical relationship with him, why was McCoy wanting to hold his hand?

And then a strange thing happened. As the two men stood holding hands and quietly looking into each others’ faces, Spock felt a calmness spreading through him. He could even feel a tenseness leaving the doctor’s hand and assumed that the doctor was also experiencing the calming feeling. It seemed to radiate through him, and Spock felt it traveling through his body and thus relaxing him.

Spock gave McCoy a questioning look, but McCoy only nodded in reply. Then Spock felt McCoy’s fingers gently massaging parts of his hand. Spock recognized it as McCoy’s attempt at Vulcan kissing. McCoy had the right idea about Spock‘s sensitive hands, but not the technique. Spock proceeded to teach McCoy by illustration how best to press Spock’s hand to give Spock the greatest amount of pleasure.

McCoy could tell by the look of utter rapture on Spock’s face that he was performing that stimulation correctly. And McCoy found that since he was concentrating on pleasing Spock, he was receiving some gratification, himself, from the hand stroking.

McCoy broke the hold that he had on Spock’s hand and reached up. Spock started to form words, but McCoy laid one of his fingers over Spock’s lips to silence him and shook his head. Then he slid his opened hand along Spock’s face to cup the Vulcan’s greenish cheek in his palm and stroke it with his thumb. This was the spot that McCoy had struck Spock with his slap, but this soft caress shattered Spock’s emotions more than the slap ever could have. The touch set Spock’s cheek to tingling, and Spock wanted to feel McCoy’s touch on other parts of his body. Oh, Dr. McCoy, what your touch is doing to our dear Spock!

Spock gazed in wonder at McCoy as the hand slid behind Spock’s head and gently tugged it forward. At the same time, McCoy leaned into Spock. McCoy softly brushed his lips across the Vulcan’s and glanced up into the dark eyes watching him in utter fascination. Thus encouraged, McCoy pressed his mouth more firmly against Spock’s.

That’s when Spock seemed to wake up. He had learned from Nyota to appreciate the contact between two people on their sensitive lips. He had learned that was the time to become a little uninhibited, and so Spock did.

McCoy felt Spock’s hands sweep up his arms and encircle his back in a demanding hug. Oh, yeah! McCoy snaked his own arms around the Vulcan and deepened the kiss. Meet me halfway, darlin’!

And Spock did. More than halfway, in fact. Nyota Uhura had been a good teacher.

They both came out of that kiss a little breathless. Spock opened his mouth, perhaps to ask something about what they were doing. His question would probably reflect the puzzled expression on his face, but McCoy shook his head again with a wry smile. Then he took Spock’s hand and tugged him forward. Spock did not understand, but McCoy motioned toward his bedroom with his head and smiled.

Spock’s eyes lit up. No words were needed from then on.

Inside the bedroom, McCoy had already set the lights on very dim so he did not have to break the mood by speaking. He simply closed the door, turned to the Vulcan, and engaged him in another kiss. But this one was more soul searching and quickly became more demanding.

McCoy realized that his hands were all over Spock’s back, stroking and squeezing, and that Spock’s hands were busy on his own back. The only problem was that their damn clothes were getting in the way. McCoy wanted to feel Spock’s skin beneath his hands, not the fabric of Spock’s shirt and undershirt. McCoy splayed his fingers low on Spock’s back, then clenched his hands into fists and thereby grabbed great wads of Spock’s clothing in his hands. He raked the mess upward and felt his clothing being raked up his own back. Spock must’ve thought that McCoy had a good idea.

It all got to be a fumbling mess with tousled hair and ripping seams, but finally their annoying clothing was flung in a puddle on the floor. They wasted no time in looking at the prize bodies that they were offering to each other. Not that they weren't appreciative, they had other things on their minds to do besides looking. They simply slid into each others arms and mutually sighed as all of that bare skin came in contact. Now McCoy ran his hands over acres of Spock’s back while Spock did the same to him.

But perhaps what was best in this carnal exploration came as a happy, but electrifying accident. While they were busy enjoying their bodies being pressed together, they brushed their chests across each others erect nipples. A surprised gasp jerked through both of them, and they both felt the abrasive stimulation in their awakening nether regions just north of their knees. In fact, their nether regions jerked with their own acknowledgement, Then the two men realized that their nether regions hadn’t been napping or lying around idly wondering what they could do to get in on all of this exciting action on the bodily areas above them. In fact, their nether regions might be said to be way ahead of the other sections of their bodies. By the pressure in them, they were getting ready for further action.

It was those erect, but ineffective and perhaps sleeping nipples which were apparently slackers until they were asked, rather harshly, to be sure, to join the party. They happily accepted. Nipples might be slow, but they are never stupid. At least the ones on these guys weren’t.

McCoy’s hands strayed below Spock’s waistband onto his buttocks, but there were those damn clothes, again! McCoy felt Spock’s hands on his own buttocks and figured that Spock had been met with similar frustration. Time for it all to go!

McCoy took Spock’s hand and with a smile led him toward the bed. Any supposed embarrassment of disrobing was forgotten in their desire to be able to touch all of the others body. They both simply stared into each others eyes while they hooked their fingers in their own lower garments. With one fluid motion they rid themselves of the garments and stepped out of them before simultaneously lying down on the bed. They lay on their sides and continued to stare into each others eyes.

They shyly reached out and touched each others chest. Feeling all of that naked, warm flesh was a heady experience. No wonder people had been created naked. God wisely knew that was how his children would feel most natural.

They paused and looked into each others eyes again for a few moments. Then they nodded in agreement.

As one, they reached down into the others nether regions. A mutual gasp and sigh went up as they mutually touched and were touched by the other. Then they allowed their hands to learn the landscape of the others body. Smiles slowly crept across their faces as they joyfully discovered all that they hoped had been waiting for them. Their expectations had been miserably inadequate, they discovered.

Then McCoy had another thought. If they were making such headway without speech, how much more could they learn about the others body by touch without sight? He’d heard that method had been used in the Twentieth Century for couples to become more aware of each other. The method had been very successful. Why not for these two?

McCoy held up his hand to indicate a pause, and Spock looked at him with interest. McCoy took two of his fingers and drew down his own eyelids. Then he reached out blindly until his hand collided with Spock’s chest. His fingers began a leisurely amble around Spock’s chest, pausing once to tweak one of Spock’s nipples when he came across it. He let his face reflect the awe and pleasure he was experiencing with his tactile journey.

McCoy opened his eyes and motioned with his hand that he offered Spock to copy what he had done. Spock complied and began blindly to fumble a hand around McCoy’s chest. McCoy closed his eyes and eagerly reached for Spock again.

It was a delicious exploration. McCoy became aware of skin texture and muscle tone, things that he knew about, of course, clinically. But he had never minutely explored either skin or muscle through just touch as someone would in an intimate relationship.

As their hands fumbled around, gaining knowledge, they were also relaxing. More than that, the two men were being stimulated by all of that bare skin.

At long last (mere seconds, maybe, but it seemed longer) their mouths found each other again. Now this was a proper kiss! Involving tongue and mouth exploration, no less. No gentle brushing of lips across lips this time. No, sirree! This kiss made itself felt in the nether regions, that exotic region on the human (and Vulcan) body just south of the belt buckle. Not that either nether region was really needing any more outside stimulation. By its own volition, it was ready for more robust action in its own neighborhood.

McCoy’s eyes popped open at that amazing fact just in time to see Spock’s eyes opening, also. Their eyes softened as gentle grins slowly spread across their faces. Despite what their hands had just been doing so intimately to the other guy, the two men were almost shy to be admitting their base feelings to each other in the light of day, as it were.

Then Spock rolled his hips toward McCoy so that he was lying on his stomach. He reached back, grasped his haunch, and pulled it forward. The advancing air had to be cooling and drying an area that was rarely exposed. A certain wrinkled opening of Spock’s had to be unnaturally stretched open and agape.

McCoy frowned at Spock. He knew what Spock was offering, but he needed confirmation.

Spock released his hip, reached for McCoy’s hand, and placed it on his own hip. Then he pulled his haunch open again and glared at McCoy.

Alright, McCoy thought. You asked for it. Your idea, remember, please, when you’re sore and humiliated and can‘t stand the sight of me. You’re inviting a tiger with unsheathed claws into your innermost sanctuary. It’s messy and brutal, what you‘re proposing. Remember, I warned you. Don’t blame the tiger if you hate the experience.

McCoy laid two fingertips over the puckered entrance to Spock’s body. He felt a heartbeat. A rapid heartbeat. He glanced at Spock, and Spock nodded at him solemnly.

McCoy took his fingers away, and Spock jerked in protest. McCoy held up his hand, then dove under his pillow. He drew out something and showed it to Spock. It was a tube of lubricant. McCoy had shoved it under his pillow earlier, just in case he had a chance to use it later on.

McCoy got on his knees and proceeded with the task before him. He really shouldn’t think of it as a task, he realized as his eyes roamed over that magnificent ass in front of him. He reached out and touched a cheek. Shivers ran over Spock’s back, and Spock rubbed his face against his outstretched hand.

Oh, darlin,’ McCoy thought. I hope I make you do more than shiver.

He did. Spock shivered and moaned and whimpered. Once he even cried out, whether in pain or ecstasy, McCoy did not know. He did not care. That was Spock’s business. McCoy's business was to keep providing Spock with this delicious torment.

When McCoy was buried inside Spock as far as he could go, he noticed that both of them were shivering and sweating, Spock worse than he was. He had no idea whether it was from heat or cold or pain or ecstasy. He did not know. He did not care, except he didn‘t want his little darlin‘ going into shock.

But he intended to do something about it. Or, at least he wanted to use the intense emotion, if that indeed was what it was. If only Spock could take what McCoy had planned next. Now, that McCoy did care about.

When they were both close to release, McCoy proceeded with the special experience that he had planned for him and Spock to share.

Without jiggling his penis any more than he had to, McCoy carefully lay down over Spock’s back. Spock protested the added weight because his whole system was already compromised by that stiff prong shoved up his ass. He had to have felt flattened on the outside, yet unnaturally swollen on the inside from McCoy‘s invading penis. He probably could barely breathe, but that was what McCoy wanted for him.

He wanted Spock to be robbed of most of his breath so that he would feel the release of his mounting orgasm more intensely. And McCoy was going to half smother Spock in order to make it happen.

No, McCoy wasn’t sadistic. No, he didn’t secretly hate the Vulcan and was at last getting his revenge. He just wanted to give Spock something special to remember about their first time. And it was going to be great, if McCoy could only pull it off. And if only he didn't kill the Vulcan while he was doing it.

McCoy was going to use the technique of erotic asphyxiation, except McCoy wouldn’t be strangling Spock, merely keeping his lungs from expanding very far. Most people used a scarf around the neck to create the effect. McCoy had heard of a scarf, or even a girdle, being tightened above the waist to reduce drastically the area in which the lungs could expand. This restriction limited the amount of oxygen allowed into the lungs. This, in turn, reduced the amount of oxygen to reach the brain and resulted in a more intense orgasm. It was the same result as tightening a scarf around the neck or breathing into a paper sack. Eventually, carbon monoxide produced a state of dark euphoria, and the body flowed along in a primitive vegetative reality. Then, finally, the body was sucked up into a vortex of passion emanating from yet another primitive part of the body, the reproductive organs.

Yeah, yeah, McCoy knew. He was a doctor. Doctors don’t practice these types of chancy techniques, especially the first time into a new sexual relationship. But most people don’t have a Vulcan that they are trying to please, and impress, either.

If the Vulcan would only go along with the illusion, then this would result in a great sexual encounter. McCoy wanted so much to do something special with Spock. Part of the plan was for Spock to feel trapped.

Then, to add to the effect, McCoy ran his hands down Spock’s arms, encircled Spock’s wrists, twined their fingers together, and tucked their locked hands firmly against Spock’s sides.

Spock was strong enough that he could have sent McCoy flying at any time, thus probably causing a painful injury to McCoy who would still have his penis completely embedded in Spock’s rectum. If there was a sudden, erratic movement apart, it was not going to be a fun experience for McCoy. As the old song said, something’s gotta give. And McCoy sure as hell didn’t want it to be his penis. He was too old to get used to squatting like a woman.

McCoy felt Spock taking infrequent shallow breaths. It was probably all that the Vulcan could manage to take in the short gasps of air and to stay conscious.

With a tremendous shiver, Spock squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his chin into his neck. Fresh sweat popped onto his forehead. The misery of the inner and outer pressures to his body was more than he could bear. He also struggled to keep his body relaxed so that the penis embedded in him wouldn’t burn so much and add to his delicious torture. But sometimes he would clinch his muscles just to feel the pain shoot through him. Maybe he was a masochist, after all. It did seem to have its pleasures.

McCoy saw Spock’s exposed neck. It looked so tempting, and Spock looked so vulnerable, so defenseless. McCoy sank his teeth into all that unprotected innocence. It was as great as McCoy thought it would be.

And for Spock, it was the culminating invasion. He shivered violently, jerked upright, and tightened all of his muscles, including the ones in his rectum.

It felt like a giant vise had grabbed McCoy’s penis from all sides and was trying to squeeze McCoy‘s member into a tighter area. McCoy couldn't have gotten away from that grasp, even if he had wanted to. For some reason, McCoy pictured a giant boa constrictor, and it was laughing at him. But the worse thing was the knowing gleam in the eyes of the snake. It had McCoy in its grasp and wasn’t releasing him until it was finished with him. Sweat popped out on McCoy’s forehead. The snake could far outlast McCoy. And he and the snake both knew it.

The pressure on McCoy’s penis was brutal, but McCoy knew that any pressure he was feeling was minuscule compared to the torture that Spock was having to endure. Spock was being squeezed from the inside out and the outside in, plus not being able to expand his lungs properly. Not only was he seeing stars flashing, but the darkness at the corners of his vision had to be closing steadily in.

McCoy knew he was on the edge. Spock’s jerk had nearly ended everything. And the snake that had previously been Spock’s rectal wall was continuing the exquisite torture on McCoy. Any moment now, McCoy was going to erupt inside Spock like some pent-up geyser. Well, Spock and the boa constrictor in his ass were right. It was time. Time for the grand finale.

While Spock was still tensed and shivering, McCoy drew his hips back and then slammed into the Vulcan hard. That sent McCoy over the edge, and he felt himself explode inside Spock.

Spock, meanwhile, was thrashing wildly around with his own orgasm trying to manifest itself. But Spock had nowhere to go with it. After all, that mattress was rather firm and didn’t have much give to it. The two men might well get lifted right off the bed by the release of Spock’s orgasm. They might even blow a hole in the mattress.

While that ridiculous thought spun around in McCoy’s brain, McCoy wanted nothing more than to lie back, relax, and laugh until he was exhausted at the absurd image of him and Spock being lifted off the bed by the explosion created by Spock's orgasm. That was absurd enough, but the idea of blowing a hole in the mattress was the image that McCoy knew was going to leave him weak from laughter.

But he had no time for that. He had to rescue the sputtering and gasping Vulcan from the intensity and need for sexual release that was gripping his body. Spock needed to have somewhere to go with the wad that was threatening to cause major damage to his nether region, and maybe McCoy's mattress.

McCoy grabbed Spock by the arms and rolled with him until the Vulcan was lying atop him and gasping for air from the asphyxiation and the orgasm that was roaring through him. McCoy ran his arms up through Spock’s armpits, locked his hands onto his own shoulders, and held the Vulcan down upon himself. All that Spock could do was lie there gasping and trembling as his terrible release shuddered through him. He had to have looked like a fountain erupting, or maybe Old Faithful being faithful again.

McCoy would have loved to have been watching to see how far that Spock’s cum flew upward. He would know later how far it had spattered when he had to clean up the messy room. It might look like a flock of nervous pigeons with the shits had gotten loose in his quarters. Hard telling what would have to be pitched.

McCoy moved one of his feet outward. Dampness. A sticky dampness. Yep, new sheets for sure, McCoy decided. That mess had to have spewed everywhere. And it was starting to stink of male animals recently rutting in here. The place would need to be hosed out.

Or repainted.

Or fumigated.

Or sandblasted.

And McCoy was thrilled. He could’ve crowed. He didn’t care how messy the place got, or would get in the future. He and Spock had done the Big Nasty, and McCoy couldn’t have been happier!

But, McCoy had to remind himself that he and Spock were still doing the Big Nasty. At least, the afterglow part of it still lay ahead for them. And McCoy intended that neither he nor Spock would miss out on any segment of lovemaking. They’d nearly hadn’t gotten down to doing anything, and it had been their own damn faults!

McCoy was going to make damn sure they didn’t mess up again. But he couldn’t guarantee anything, though. He and Spock didn’t exactly have a good track record when it came to relationship issues. McCoy hoped that all of the kinkiness hadn’t given Spock any reservations about future encounters between them.

But he couldn’t be thinking of those matters now. First things first. Right now, he had a nearly comatose Vulcan collapsed over him. He was certain that Spock’s memory of their lovemaking wasn’t all that wonderful. Gentle sex hadn’t transpired between them, but damn it, the Vulcan hadn’t backed away. He must’ve been as willing and as eager as McCoy had been for whatever happened. And 'whatever' had sure as hell happened!

McCoy was now also experiencing what Spock had endured when McCoy was plastered on top of him, weighing him down. And McCoy didn‘t have an erect penis shoved up his backside creating a pressure of its own. No wonder Spock now lay exhausted on top of McCoy. Spock was like a rag doll, a rag doll that was all dead weight.

The Vulcan deserved to know that he had performed well, and that McCoy was pleased with him. McCoy ran his hands soothingly across Spock’s chest. He didn’t get anywhere near Spock’s nether region. That had to be a mess, just as McCoy’s bed had to be. Oh, well, a new pair of sheets would be worth the price of what these two had just experienced together.

When he felt his penis sliding out of Spock, he adjusted the two of them to lie side by side. McCoy had wanted to make an impression on Spock. That, he felt he had gotten done. Or hoped he had. As he looked at the exhausted, yet sated and thoroughly satisfied Vulcan, he felt he had succeeded.

At first McCoy had been skeptical when the idea for erotic asphyxiation had come to his attention. That’s what late night surfing the net for obscure sexual techniques and watching poorly filmed, poorly produced, and poorly acted skin flicks would do for you. But when he’d actually been choking Spock (well, really, not allowing him to breathe), he’d felt the heady control of life and death that he had over another person. What made it greater yet, was that this was a person he loved.

Of course, as a doctor, he felt that same power of life and death over his patients on a daily basis. Of course, that control dealt with abstracts, while, this, this was so damn personal. The medical situation pitted him against God and Mother Nature, while this confrontation pitted him against himself and his own value system. How much did he actually love the Vulcan, and how much did he hate him?

For both love and hate exist, side by side, in any intimate relationship. Just like worship and jealousy do.

McCoy could understand abuse. He didn’t want to practice it, but he certainly understood it. It dealt with placing a loved one on a pedestal and expecting that person to be content with simply sitting there, to be ready at a moment’s notice to be admired, much as a work of Modern Art is adulated, or a hot house flower is frozen in place and waiting to be petted. The trouble with that is that the object of that refined affection is still a flawed, breathing person with its own agenda and wants and desires. That person still has free will, with the right to make his own choices. That’s what an abuser ignores and tries to make his victim forget. That’s what pisses off an abuser. The fact that he isn’t the God Incarnate, at least to one other person than himself.

No, McCoy wanted to mean the world to the Vulcan, but he didn’t want to became the whole world to Spock. As much as he would like that, he knew he couldn’t. And shouldn’t. They had to stay their own persons so that their relationship would be ever fresh and true.

The Vulcan was going to need to be cleaned up, too. Hell, probably himself, also, McCoy decided. He brightened. Maybe they could shower together!

But right now, all he wanted was to pull a dirty, smelly sheet up around them, cradle Spock in his arms so he would feel safe and loved, and take a well deserved nap.

So that’s what he did. He gently gathered his sweet darlin’ into his protecting arms, shut the rest of the whole universe away from them, and surrendered himself into an all consuming sleep. His work was done. For now.

Later, after they’d silently taken the world’s longest shower and silently remade the bed, they lay on their sides on that same bed and faced each other again.

They slowly ran their hands over each others chests and shoulders. But they did so at this time not out of passion, but out of wonder. How could they be finding so much fulfillment and joy in such a simple act of mutual stimulation and pleasure as touching each other?

They still hadn’t spoken, but that was alright. Words would have just ruined whatever they were feeling. Besides, they’d discovered a new language. Jim Kirk had finally hit on the right advice for them. And was it a doozy!

Spock took one of McCoy’s hands and raised it to his lips. Then he painstakingly kissed each knuckle, weaving in and out of the fingers and taking care not to miss any surface with his lips, whether it was on the back of the hand or on the inside of the palm. McCoy knew that Spock would prefer using his hands on McCoy’s hand, but was combining human kissing and Vulcan kissing for the benefit of both.

McCoy could do that, also. He took Spock’s other hand and popped the Vulcan’s long fingers into his mouth, one by one, and suckled them. Spock’s eyes gleamed. Yep, McCoy had gotten that right.

Then Spock placed his hand on McCoy’s face to make sure that the good doctor was looking at him. Spock’s face and especially those dark, dark eyes got a wistful, pleading look. McCoy understood what Spock wanted to know as clearly as if Spock had spoken.

Am I enough?

Was Spock enough for McCoy? At this place and time, yes. McCoy did not know if he could always swear that Spock’s simple, sustaining love would be enough to keep McCoy from being plagued by his unnamed demons somewhere in the future. But for now, yes.

McCoy also knew that if Spock’s earnest love wasn’t enough for him to face his demons, it would be because of a failure in McCoy and not in Spock.

McCoy let his eyes grow mellow as he looked into that earnest, trusting face in front of him. Spock asked nothing for himself, only for McCoy. McCoy hoped he could stay appreciative and deserving of such devotion.

McCoy cupped Spock’s greenish cheek with his own hand and let a warm smile slowly spread across his face. No words were needed as he made his own pledge that spoke to Spock‘s wildly beating heart. It was a pledge that came from McCoy’s own wildly beating heart.

Yes, darlin,’ you are.

Spock smiled as he understood what McCoy was telling him.

Yes, it would be enough, what they had. For now. That’s all either of them expected.

Or wanted.