Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek XI, never have, never will. Though I do love the idea of Spock/McCoy…

Being the 'wife' of a desert dwelling alien wasn't so bad.

Sure, Leonard could hardly understand what Spock said, wasn't used to living in the desert, and just recently was deemed okay to untie from the bed but…

Ah, hell, who was he trying to kid? It sucked.

Lifting up a hand to shield his eyes as the door to his and Spock's dwelling was swept open, allowing in the harsh heat and light of Vulcan, Leonard watched as the cloaked figure of Spock stepped inside. The tall, thin man brushed aside the fabric protecting his face from the sand and quietly shut the heavy stone door behind him.

Len blinked at the large, olive green decorating the pale expanse of his husband's cheek and though, huh, someone actually had the balls to stand up to the frightening might of Spock?

His well trained eyes traced the perfect contour that only could have been left behind by a fist.

Yes, it seemed so.

Len fought off the urge to stand and go to Spock. The very prominent, very loud doctor in him screamed that he go asses the damage but the other, almost broken part of him said that he'd get The Look and a harsh fucking that night if he stood without being told.

Len swallowed dryly. Maybe he should stay in his seat.

He covered a wince and crossed his arms at the thought of the rough sex his loving mate put him through, barely giving him time to heal in between round, settling to watch as the Vulcan went about hanging his sandy coat, his crocheting forgotten in his lap. He stayed quiet, even when Spock took five slow steps to were Leonard sat at the stone table that jutted from the floor.

Len barely kept his cool. He took slow, even breaths as Spock got closer and closer and then was standing above him. His heart beat loudly in his throat and Len didn't met Spock's dark, glittering eyes preferring to focus on not panicking.

Len flinched when Spock offered him his hand, two fingers extended.

Damn, even if the alien did move slowly for Len he could still startle the hell out of the human with his unpredictability.

Staring at the long, thin fingers Len traced the tiny veins with his eyes before he slowly extended his own hand, first two fingers extended.

He slowly tapped them against Spock's and could see as the other relaxed.

Len almost did too.

He was glad he didn't when Spock hooked his fingers with Len and tugged him to his feet.

Len's shoulders tensed and dread coiled in his gut but he followed the other to the bedroom, a plain room that housed a large fur palate and Spock's fire-pot. Rugs decorated the floor and Len was keen enough to realize that they likely came from Spock's human mother, a woman who he knew was called Amanda.

Spock waved a hand at the neat bed and Len froze, his eyes closing in defeat. Slowly, he made his trembling hands pull his tunic over his head and his fingers undo the tie holding his leggings up. Spock was suddenly before him in only his loin cloth and Len flinched away as Spock grabbed his hands, stopping him from going any further.

Spock made an impatient sigh at the back of his throat and said a few alien words as he pulled Leonard to the bed.

Len blinked when Spock jerked the covers back and climbed in, pulling him with him. Still clothed. What?

Len fidgeted and Spock sighed, pulling the covers up over them and laying his dark head on Len's shoulder, his arms wound tight around Leonard's stomach.

His eyes fluttered shut, his breath coming in hot puffs against Len's collarbone.

Well, Len thought shakily as he fought to calm down from his earlier sex-scare, maybe there was a God after all.