Written for the K/S Valentine Calendar on LJ.
Warnings: This fic features McCoy in a friend/sex buddy context. The physical element is strongly K/Mc, but it's done for the romantic benefit of K/S, if that makes any sense. The title is a hint as to how this works…
Somewhere around his third Long Island iced tea, when he began to feel slightly dissociated from his extremities, Spock wondered if he had made a mistake in joining Jim and McCoy's 'singles commiseration night.' Vulcans could process alcohol approximately two-hundred fifty times more quickly than humans, but even his metabolism had limits, and he suspected he had reached them half a glass ago.
Additionally, the subject of conversation had been overwhelmingly negative and nonproductive. For some humans, there was clearly emotional baggage associated with the human holiday honoring St. Valentine that Spock could not understand from personal experience. He was on civil terms with his former partner, had never been on a terrible date, and did not require sexual congress on a regular basis. He was thus unable to relate to any of the topics that had taken precedence over the course of the evening.
It was interesting at first, as he learned some very personal things about his two friends that would likely never be said without alcohol or the context of a locked rec room. Yet his role was that of a bystander, and over time it seemed unethical to listen without anything to offer in exchange. He was in the midst of planning a discrete exit when the discussion between Jim and McCoy took a bewildering turn.
"I never understood how those hateful things could come out of such a pretty little mouth," McCoy said, referring to his ex-wife. He paused to take another shot of whiskey while Jim waited sympathetically. "That's all I miss about her," he continued with a snort of bitter amusement. "Her mouth. Best damn kisser I ever met, among other things."
"Best? Really?" Jim said, incredulous.
"Absolutely."
"No way."
"I mean it."
A brief silence fell between them. "I'm probably better, you know."
McCoy chuckled and shook his head. "Sure you are."
Suddenly Jim grinned and sat his empty glass down on the table before half-crawling, half-scooting his way toward McCoy across the couch they were sharing. He reminded Spock of a predatory cat, but instead of wide and alert, his eyes were half-lidded in what was possibly a result of intoxication. Bizarrely and inexplicably, he shot Spock a lingering glance on the way to his destination. "Jim, what're you…" was all the doctor managed to get out before Jim straddled his lap and pressed their lips together.
Spock could only watch in disbelief and fascination. McCoy went completely motionless for two point four seconds, then shifted into a more receptive posture, angling his head to mirror the Captain's. His shot glass dropped to the floor and rolled out of sight. He wrapped an arm around Jim's waist, and reached up to press a palm between Jim's shoulder blades. It was difficult for Spock to observe anything further from his vantage point across from them, as Jim curled around McCoy in such a way that precisely what they were doing was hidden from view.
But Spock could still hear them. The harsh sounds of their breathing indicated intense physiological excitement, while slick noises and soft moans suggested the cause. Spock shifted ever so slightly, telling himself he was merely assisting proper circulation in his limbs rather than striving to get a better view. The entire situation felt unreal, more like a holovid than a concrete event taking place in front of him, so he retreated into role of the scientist studying the behavior of an incomprehensible alien species.
His interest was objective. Certainly he was not wondering what it would be like to experience such a gesture from the Captain firsthand.
Then Jim eased off of McCoy and slumped down beside him on the couch, draping an arm around the doctor's shoulder and smirking. McCoy's eyes remained closed for another three point eight seconds, and when he opened them, he blinked at the floor and seemed to have difficulty focusing. His skin had turned an alarming shade of red.
"Well, shut my mouth and call me Lucy," He muttered.
"If that's what you wanted, I was way off base," Jim said lightly.
"Hell, Jim. That was…" McCoy hesitated and cleared his throat. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he hastily brushed it away. "Uh, yeah. You win. Might've lapped her a couple times along the way."
"What can I say? I'm a sex god," Jim shrugged. He leaned conspiratorially closer to McCoy and shot Spock a mischievous glance. The last time Spock had seen him use that expression was right before he called the president of an entire planet out on government corruption. He looked Spock up and down, his gaze almost tangible, and spoke in a low voice. "I bet you I could make our resident Vulcan lose it."
Spock did not doubt his hearing, and there was little room for misinterpretation of the Captain's statement, but nonetheless he had difficulty accepting what had just been said. He should have left a long time ago. Now all he wanted to do was hide from that stare, the brilliant man behind it, and the shameful stirrings he was inspiring in the back of Spock's mind.
McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, that was hotter than blue blazes, but I wouldn't be making bets on a lame horse if I were you."
"Spock isn't lame, he just pretends to be," Jim chuckled. He nodded toward Spock, his expression taking on a distinctly predatory element again. "What, did you think I forgot you were there? Not a chance." He stood and approached Spock's chair, his smile fading with each step. "Can't ever forget you."
Spock hadn't spoken more than a word or two so long that his own voice felt strange to him now. "I do not… Captain, I am…" It wasn't often that he had difficulty expressing himself, and by the time he decided what he wanted to say, Jim was standing over him, blocking his way out. "Captain, I am confused by your behavior."
"Me too. Whiskey does that." Jim's grin was obviously forced. "It just sucks to be alone, you know? Especially today. Sometimes you have to blow off steam," he paused and dropped his gaze, as if he were embarrassed. "And sometimes you get sick of bottling things up."
"I do not understand your colloquialisms."
"Didn't you find that… interesting?" Jim nodded over his shoulder, toward McCoy, who was watching them skeptically. "Aren't you curious?"
Neither the academy nor any of his life experiences had taught Spock how to answer such a question. "I found it unexpected, but your point escapes me."
"What I'm trying to say," Jim murmured, as he leaned over and placed his hands on the arms of Spock's chair, "is that I think you should give me a chance." The heat of his body was pleasant as he settled over Spock, sitting astride his lap, and the gravity of his tone implied he was talking about more than a kiss. His voice dropped into a whisper, and Spock picked up the unmistakable traces of fear. "Please, give me a chance."
Spock's hearing was reduced by approximately twelve point three percent due to the increase in his heart rate. "You are intoxicated," he pointed out hopefully.
"So're you," Jim said, as if that settled the issue, and he brushed his lips against Spock's.
The kiss was gentler than he had expected, undemanding, and so Spock permitted it. He even closed his eyes obligingly, although he remained immobile. What he did not permit was telepathic contact, but the more Jim's lips shifted against his, coaxing and silently pleading, the more Jim's hands outlined his ears and cupped his jaw, the more his determination slipped.
It was as if Jim were a singularity, but even as he felt the pull somewhere deep within his chest, he knew that if he passed the event horizon, he would never come back. Things would never be the same, he would lose the highest aspirations of his father's species forever. So he orbited at a safe distance, behind a wall of inaction, until the pull became worryingly strong. His consciousness started to stretch, reaching toward that unknowable core.
He broke out of the kiss, gasping. "Jim… Jim, please stop. I… I cannot…"
To his credit, the Captain leaned back right away and looked at him sadly, squeezing his shoulders. "I know. I know it's hard for you."
Spock was aware that his behavior was irrational, yet it was difficult to correct himself with the appropriate logic, as his thoughts were sluggish and unclear. A particularly strange one rose from the mire now, something he had to make known. "Jim, if I were not a Vulcan…"
"Shhh. It's ok." Jim brushed a finger across Spock's lips, and his emotions were so intense that Spock could practically taste them, whether he wanted to or not. Lust mingled with concern and disappointment in a confusing, chaotic maelstrom of textures and impressions, memories and pure feeling. "Don't ever wish you were something else."
Jim closed his eyes and was quiet for a few seconds, brow furrowed in thought. He heaved a deep sigh, shook his head minutely. He made no move to get off of Spock, and Spock made no move to encourage him. He did not wish to hurt Jim any more than he already had.
"Told you so," McCoy declared from the couch, breaking the silence, although the typical teasing bite in his voice was absent. Jim lifted his eyes and studied Spock for a brief, discomfiting moment, using much the same expression as when he came up with reckless away mission plots.
"I want to try something," he said abruptly. "C'mere." He pulled Spock from his chair and guided him to sit next to McCoy on the couch, so that their thighs were almost pressed together. Spock could have easily resisted, but he did not, for reasons he couldn't understand. He exchanged a look with McCoy, who seemed equally puzzled.
"Just watch," Jim said. He knelt on the floor before them and pushed McCoy's knees apart, situating himself between them. He reached for the button on the doctor's pants, but was blocked by a pair of clumsy hands.
"Jim, what in God's name–"
"Shut up and enjoy it, Bones." Jim said, pushing McCoy's hands away. "I want you to stop moping, ok?"
"But Jim–"
"I have an idea, but I need your help. You'll like it, I promise."
McCoy made a small, frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and shut his eyes briefly. "Oh, believe me, I don't doubt that." He permitted Jim to pull his hands away from where they covered his groin, and he reached out to comb his fingers through Jim's hair with a begrudging sigh. Two things occurred to Spock at once; the first, that something about this exchange made his body temperature slip from his control, and the second, that he wished to know what the Captain's hair felt like.
Jim smiled gratefully at McCoy, and without further delay, unfastened and unzipped his pants. The human's erection was clearly visible beneath his white briefs, and a spark of jealousy plowed through Spock's destabilized logic. He had not permitted his body such biological independence since he was a child. Not once since those early, awkward days when it had underscored his humanness, not even with Nyota. He watched, captivated and as Jim pushed his palm against the swell of fabric, and McCoy's expression contorted in apparent anguish.
"You ready?"
"To reserve my place in hell? Sure, why not."
"Good. But first…" Jim sat up a bit taller, then took Spock's wrist and lifted his arm, guiding his hand toward McCoy's face. Spock realized abruptly what Jim was trying to facilitate, but due to what was likely a combination of intoxication and intense curiosity, he found that he was not inclined to object.
"Wait just a minute." McCoy flinched a little and leaned away, not quite enough to avoid Spock's fingers settling onto his face. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Mind meld." Jim said, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
"Oh, no. Show-and-tell is one thing, but this is crazy."
"If a little voyeurism is crazy, I don't want to be sane."
"A man has to draw the line somewhere–"
"C'mon, Spock won't bite." Jim urged. Spock found that he wanted to reassure the doctor as well, but that would be taking far too much responsibility for the situation.
McCoy's tone had become progressively less heated, as if now he seemed to doubt rather than outright object. "I just don't know…"
Jim turned serious again, and his voice grew soft. "Please, Bones." He rubbed his palms across the top of McCoy's legs. "Let him in for me. Let him feel it." No sooner had he completed his request when he freed McCoy's erection from his underwear, gave Spock a deliberate glance, and took it into his mouth.
McCoy threw back his head and groaned, and just like that, any trace of the doctor's mental shields collapsed. Spock began to fall inward at the sudden lack of resistance, barely catching himself before the point of no return. He hesitated, jolts of thought teasing the edge of his mind, like lightning strikes in the distance. He could feel a faint, resigned invitation, hovering within the heart of the storm. It wouldn't be succumbing, he told himself, merely the observation of a bystander. Only vicarious.
He closed his eyes, dropped his shields, and sank beneath the surface.
One of the many things Spock found puzzling about humans, with the exception of those well-trained in meditation, was that their conscious and subconscious mixed so freely. The doctor was no exception. His thoughts were interspersed with sharp bursts of pleasure where all coherency dissolved, and it was impossible to tell which pieces he was aware of and which were hidden to him.
Feels so good, where the hell did you learn to do that Jim, I swear, best friend a man could ask for, don't stop, don't stop or I'll chicken out and bolt, oh great don't think about bolting, calm down just relax Leonard, you owe them –
Spock rode the tide of thoughts for a while, astounded by the easy, unrestrained way McCoy handled his emotions, equal parts reluctance and acquiescence. There was nothing stable, nothing solid to cling to except a core of personality and a few principles that bent less beneath the waves. The Hippocratic Oath was a particularly rigid pillar in McCoy's mind, and it helped Spock to settle and accept his situation.
Then he felt McCoy's consciousness acknowledge him in a preoccupied sort of way, ease back, and let him pass through to share the level of sensory neurons.
It was no longer McCoy's body alone. Every sensation became as real to Spock as if were his own skin. Jim's mouth, hot and wet around his cock – yes, that's what I call it you prudish hobgoblin – sent waves of delicious tension rolling through him. It was strange, unsettling yet enjoyable. Overwhelming, yet he did not want the stimulation to stop. Somewhere in the distance, Spock could feel his own body recoil in alarm, trained in self-denial, but there was no such conditioning here. There was only total, uninhibited acceptance.
Good, isn't he? McCoy's telepathic tone was strained.
Spock couldn't bring himself to respond. He was surprised that McCoy could even focus long enough to send a deliberate thought his way. But indeed, it was good, better than good. It was both wrong and wondrous, looking through the doctor's eyes and seeing Jim, kneeling before him, giving him such pleasure.
He relaxed into McCoy's senses by greater and greater degrees. He smelled the tang of sweat through a human nose, heard obscene noises and Jim's soft moans through human ears. Everything seemed to build upon touch; the gentle push of Jim's tongue against the underside of his cock, the tight seal of his lips, the slick loop of his fingers. Strange, alien sweat tickled the back of his neck. External testicles were equally alien to him, and when Jim kneaded them gently, Spock was surprised at how sensitive they were. Even the hand splayed across the side of his face was somehow agreeable. Never would he have guessed that arousal involved every aspect of perception so intimately.
Somewhere back in the physical world, on the other side of the meld, his free hand instinctively reached out to rest on Jim's shoulder, seeking the cause of these sensations. It landed so that his fingertips brushed the hot skin of Jim's neck.
Please let go, please just this once I want to feel you, that's good, let Bones show you how, oh God if I could just make you come, make you understand, love you so much why didn't you kiss me back, I can't take this I can't do this, need you in my bed or out of my life –
Spock felt his/McCoy's entire body shudder as Jim's thoughts roared through them both, as dynamic as the man himself. Overwhelmed, he lost the skin-to-skin contact with Jim and the second connection slammed shut, throwing him back into the physical sensations that McCoy was experiencing. They were intensified now by an order of magnitude, made more urgent than before, the sheer knowledge of Jim's desire igniting them both.
My God, man, I knew you were carrying a torch, but this is ridiculous, McCoy thought weakly.
When Jim stopped, no doubt in response to the unintentional touch, Spock's mind cried out for more. The cessation of pleasure hovered on the edge of pain, and even though Jim's hand still gripped McCoy's erection, it wasn't enough. "Why did he… how's he doing?" Jim glanced nervously in the direction of Spock's still form.
"He likes it," McCoy panted. "Got some serious repression issues, but he likes it."
Jim's shoulders slumped in obvious relief. "Good. Great. How're you holding up?"
"Could be better. He's getting kind of fidgety in here."
"I'll take that as a complement." Jim grinned and pressed closed lips to the tip of McCoy's cock, parting them slowly.
Without quite meaning to, Spock grasped some of McCoy's neuromuscular control, just enough so that it felt like he was easing back into Jim's mouth of his own volition. McCoy was surprised, but he took it in stride, letting Spock have a moment or two in charge of his motor functions. The doctor's mind was open and his telepathic barriers relaxed to such a degree that Spock felt almost completely disconnected from his own body, he was so absorbed in the human one; this body that was free from guilt, free to feel. Here he was allowed to savor Jim's thoughts and the delicious, bittersweet buzz they had left behind. The echo of that telepathic voice, love you so much…
Jim resumed his previous task at an agonizing pace, and Spock's mind drifted on a sea of base instinct and pure fantasy. While he had virtually no actual or applied experience, he was aware of the variety of sexual behaviors. If one knew where to look on official Starfleet databases, the information on such topics was extensive. He had thought about this before, in the dead of night when there was no sound in his quarters except the humming of the ship. He had wondered…
"I think… I think he wants to fuck you, Jim." Just hearing the words aloud, through two sets of ears, sent Spock's nervous system into a frenzy.
Jim released McCoy's cock again with a wet, sucking sound and looked up, pupils blown, hair mussed, voice hazy. "You sure?"
No, Spock thought weakly. Yes, he thought at the same time, and I want, I want, I want. McCoy's mind flinched at the strength of that emotion.
"Pretty sure," McCoy gasped, clenching a hand on the couch cushion beneath him. "You up for it?"
"Hell yes," Jim said earnestly, and stood up to struggle out of his shirt, almost falling over in his haste to kick off his pants and underwear.
This time the loss of sensation was mitigated significantly by distraction. Spock drank in the sight of Jim's body, smooth and muscled, his skin like the Vulcan sky at dawn. He looked uncomfortably hard, his erection flushed and curved toward his body. But it was Jim's face that held his attention the longest; his eyes were black holes, utterly focused as he approached the couch again.
"Condom. Don't argue," McCoy said.
Jim rolled his eyes, picked up his discarded pants, and fumbled in the pocket for a second or two. He produced a small, square package with a jaunty grin, and tore it open with his teeth. The fact that he had one immediately on his person implied a troubling degree of forethought to Spock, but McCoy's mind was not surprised in the least.
"Lube too."
"Don't need it. Enough on this," Jim said between gasps, as he slid the condom into place, the biomaterial adjusting to a perfect fit. "'Sides, I want to feel it."
"When your ass hurts tomorrow, don't come crying to me." McCoy's voice was irritated, but Spock's mind shuddered with lust at Jim's statement, and the spillover made the doctor more complacent.
Jim climbed back onto the couch and situated himself astride McCoy's thighs again. He immediately reached beneath himself, took hold of McCoy's cock, and started to press himself down.
"Jesus, Jim, are you crazy?" McCoy grabbed Jim's waist, trying to hold him in place.
"I know what I'm doing," Jim snapped, batting the doctor's hands away. "Just let me relax, would you?"
Before McCoy could protest again, Jim pushed down and encased them in pressure and heat, centimeter by centimeter. The new sensation was incredible, overpowering, even through the faint, lingering haze of McCoy's disapproval. Spock's need swept away any remaining traces of logic, and he focused his telepathic energy around the muscles of McCoy's legs and back, desperately seeking to drive up, surround himself with Jim's body. He had to have more.
Easy there. McCoy's mind gently pushed Spock aside, holding back enough control to keep still as Jim settled around them, so hot it seemed to defy belief. Let him rest a spell. Don't want to hurt him.
Spock struggled a little against his confinement, but he regained enough sense to obey. Both Jim and McCoy fell into highly irregular respiration rates, and Spock knew he was doing the same thing, because he could hear his harsh gasps through McCoy's ear.
After what felt like forever, Jim took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh God," he groaned, his voice thin and breathless. "Oh God, yes." He finally bowed his head, slung an arm around McCoy's shoulders, and rocked his hips forward. The strange, powerful tension in McCoy's groin escalated rapidly until it was unbearable, and Spock wanted to surrender to it, release himself from this torment.
"Hold on, hold on, both of you. Stop or I'm gonna..." McCoy bit his lip, a distinctly unpleasant sensation, but it did reduce the knot of heat that was threatening to boil over. Jim whined faintly in complaint but listened, and Spock was nearly overcome with frustration. McCoy let out a hiss of breath through his teeth.
"Really, Bones? That quick?"
"Take it up with the Vulcan. He's like a kid who just discovered candy."
"What's he thinking?" There was an edge to Jim's voice, an anxiety and wariness that Spock rarely heard.
Spock knew then that his almost complete mental separation from his own body would cost him dearly now. Exposure to this degree worked both ways, and McCoy had already proven to be surprisingly adept at navigating the meld. His thoughts had infiltrated McCoy's consciousness awhile ago, mingling with the doctor's. He couldn't hide them. He could only hear them given voice.
"He… he really likes your skin," McCoy mumbled. "I think… I think he…" He fell silent and pulled Jim closer, so they were almost chest-to-chest, and licked along the side of his neck. Spock felt far more accountable for the action than McCoy. The salty sweet taste was more destructive to his restraint than the alcohol.
"Mmm." Jim tilted his head back, smiling faintly through his look of concentration. "What else?" As he started to move again, more tentative this time, he reached down and grasped his erection, stroking himself. He made a soft but incredible sound when he squeezed the tip between two fingers.
"He likes that, for starters." McCoy choked out, his hips jerking helplessly a little at Spock's behest. "He likes that a lot."
"Wish I could see him like this," Jim murmured, casting a sidelong glance toward Spock's body, and Spock longed to nod his agreement. Jim closed his eyes and sped up his swaying rhythm, although he still touched himself at a leisurely pace. "Keep going. Please."
"He… oh God, he…" McCoy hesitated, probing deeper into Spock's thoughts, and then he saw it, the disgraceful yearning, the steady ache that haunted Spock every day. He saw the panic Spock felt when Jim was in danger, the contentment that suffused him simply being in Jim's presence, the hunger ignored for so long that he had forgotten he was starving. Spock feebly tried to shut him out, but it was too late. Amusement flickered across his mind, a jarring contrast to the shame.
Thought so.
Spock wanted nothing better than to coil into himself, withdraw from the meld. But Jim was still there, surrounding him, wanting him. Loving him. Doctor, I –
The mental equivalent of a sigh. Go on. Have at it.
That permission obliterated whatever remnants of control Spock had left, freed him from his heritage, and in a fraction of a second, he was lost. He surged forward in both the meld and the physical world, gathering Jim against his borrowed body and thrusting in earnest. Jim's reaction to the sudden outburst of passion was, most pleasingly, to arch his back and release a cry that tapered into moans.
"I am thinking," Spock gasped against the damp skin of Jim's shoulder, in McCoy's gravelly tone, "that hearing your voice inflames my desire."
"Spock?" Jim's eyes widened, thin blue coronas around twin singularities.
"Yes."
Jim laughed once, and his face lit up with joy. "Oh God, I needed this. Needed you. So long, you have no idea."
Spock had a very good idea. He couldn't say it, couldn't express in words what Jim had unwittingly shared with him, but he knew. For now, he simply absorbed all that he could. This body was his, McCoy the passive agent, and Spock relished every second he could spend here. He enjoyed the way Jim's spine felt when it bowed against his hands, the way he clutched Spock's shoulders to steady himself, the way he tightened around Spock with every thrust. They fell into a pattern, perfectly in unison, as instinctive as when they strode side-by-side through the corridors of the ship.
It wasn't long before Spock could sense from his erratic movements that Jim was about to orgasm. What he didn't expect was for Jim to lean away from McCoy and press a gasping, open-mouthed kiss on Spock's cheek the moment it happened. His mind barreled into Spock's once more at the direct contact, but there were no words this time, only a pleasure and adoration so blinding that everything else was drowned out, and he felt only what Jim was experiencing.
Then it was over. For a moment or two, there was nothing but pure satisfaction, but other feelings quickly muddied the high. Spock floundered in the exhaustion that consumed this borrowed human form post-orgasm, quickly losing his grip on muscular control. He let himself fall back, and found that he was being shooed out of McCoy's head, idly but firmly.
Before he could withdraw, McCoy sent one last thought his way.
Careful with him. He's not as tough as he thinks.
Spock broke the meld and let his hand fall away from McCoy's face, trembling. He sat in a daze with his fingers clenched on his knees, slowly recovering the feeling in his limbs, adjusting to his own physiology again. He realized in a surge of shock that the front of his pants was wet, and his chensei ached. That should not have been possible, and yet it had happened all the same.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware of Jim removing himself from McCoy's lap and the two of them cleaning up as best they could. Jim dressed again, his movements slow and careful, bracing himself against the chair.
"Damn." McCoy muttered, as Jim tugged down his shirt. He reached for the almost-empty bottle of whiskey, pants still undone, and took a swig. "Now that was more than a little enjoyable," he said, "but next time you two want to use me as a go-between, warn me first."
Jim laughed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Bones." He said with a touch of sarcasm, clapping a hand onto the doctor's shoulder. "And thanks. I mean it."
"Yeah, yeah." McCoy shook his head as he zipped up his pants and straightened his uniform. He hauled himself to his feet, grunting with the effort. "Now I won't be able to look either of you in the eye for a month."
"You'll get over it, prude."
"Prude? After what I did for you?"
"You heard me. And no complaining about Jocelyn for a whole week, at least."
"Well… she gave better head."
"Whatever you say."
McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbled something about mind melds and headaches, and made a swift exit, one hand on the wall to steady himself. At last Jim turned to Spock, the comfortable attitude he had displayed toward McCoy evaporating. He seemed to have trouble looking Spock in the eye. He hesitated, but took a seat on the couch, flinching slightly as he settled.
Spock wished briefly that he was horrified with himself, or at least still impaired by the alcohol, but his head was quite clear. He considered the low set of Jim's eyebrows, slight downward turn at the corners of his mouth. "Are you all right?"
"I was just about to ask you that." Jim reached for the last dregs of whiskey, but seemed to decide against it, clenching his hand into a fist and withdrawing it halfway. "So, uh, this could get awkward. Clearly." He shifted to face Spock, but fixed his eyes on a distant part of the floor. "Look, I know I pushed you into this, so blame me, not yourself."
Spock realized that without the benefit of a shared meld, Jim was simply assuming the worst. He started to issue a correction. "Jim–"
"I mean, if you want to walk out of here and never talk about this again, I completely understand." Jim's voice wavered on the edge of breaking with his next statement. "Or transfer, whatever you need. I'm a grownup. I'll deal with it. Just say the word and–"
Spock kissed him.
Somewhere between the beginning and the end of this impulsive encounter, Spock had made a resolution. He would learn, and adjust his ideals. He would teach his body to accept pleasure, and his mind to accept love. He had to try. His scientist's nature compelled him, because the singularity had drawn him in, and there was a whole new universe to explore on the other side.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed my twitchy little smut bunny. Also, many thanks to my first beta!