Set during a particularly notable scene in Bread and Circuses. Our three boys have been captured by people who have the technology of the 20th century, yet live like the ancient Romans, holding gladiator fights, and killing slaves as entertainment. Kirk is elsewhere, being seduced by a pretty slave girl (as always), while Spock and McCoy are locked up in a cell after a brutal fight with two well-trained gladiators. I have slightly tweaked the end of the scene, though anyone who's watched it will say, it's what should have happened!!! Please refer to the episode if you're unfamiliar with it. You'll know the scene the moment you come to it. ;)

Disclaimer - I own nobody here. Not Spock, not McCoy, not Kirk, not the Enterprise, no one. If someone says otherwise, they're lying! Lying, I say!!!

=^.^=

They had been trapped on this God-forsaken planet for about a day and a half, and nothing had gone right since they beamed down. McCoy's muscles all ached, and he had suffered from a pretty bad head injury. Spock was trying the bars of their cell again. McCoy watched him worrying at the metal. Thinking back, he could have cried over the wasted time they had between each other. McCoy had always held a secret sort of fondness for the man, Vulcan or not. He watched the elegant, broad shoulders flexing with the stress of his work. McCoy shivered, as thoughts of running his hands over those shoulders in ecstasy ran through is mind. He shook it off. He didn't need these distractions, damn it! Not now! "Angry, Spock? Or, frustrated, perhaps?" He smiled a little, trying to bring his thoughts back to the situation at hand. Quarreling always seemed to help. At least, with them it did.

"Such emotions are foreign to me, Doctor." The Vulcan replied coolly. The strain he was putting into trying to pry loose the bars didn't even register in his voice. "Merely testing the strength of the door."

"For the fifteenth time..." The good Doctor stood and walked over to him. In the arena, Spock had broken the rules and come to his rescue. Risked his life for him. This could be the end, and he didn't want to die with questions of their friendship in either of their minds. "Spock... I know we've had our disagreements. Uh, maybe they're jokes, I don't know. As Jim says, we're not often sure ourselves sometimes, but what I'm trying to say is..."

"Doctor, I am seeking a means of escape, would you please be brief." That cool, unbroken voice again.

He shook his head. Trying to distance himself. Of course. "Well, what I'm trying to say is, you saved my life in the arena."

A small emotion shimmered in his eyes, like a desert mirage. Discomfort? Maybe. "Yes... that's quite true."

McCoy couldn't believe it! Such indifference, even in the face of these grim surroundings. He risked his life, and he acted like it was nothing! "I'm trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!" He shouted.

"...Oh, yes. Humans have that emotional need to express gratitude." Spock straightened himself out, and almost sighed. Almost. "You're welcome, I believe, is the correct response." He crossed to the other side of the door frame, passing the Doctor as he went. The smell of his sweat hit the Vulcan's sensitive nose. He had also held a secret fondness for the human. For all his logic, he couldn't explain it. There was something in the terran's explosive attitude, his southern drawl, that was almost intoxicating. "However, Doctor, you must remember that I am entirely motivated by logic." He knelt down to test the bottom of the frame. Really, to do anything that kept his hands busy, and away from that tousled brunette hair. "The loss of our ship's surgeon, whatever I may think of his relative skill, would mean a reduction in the efficiency of the Enterprise, and therefore..." He was cut off as McCoy shoved him against the wall. He pinned Spock with one hand on his shoulder. Spock inhaled sharply, though it was to small a sound for McCoy to have noticed.

"I know why you're not afraid to die, Spock. You're more afraid of living!" The emotion that was pulsing from the Doctor through their physical connection threatened to overwhelm Spock. Anger, annoyance... worry? No, he had to be mistaken. Why would the Doctor worry over such a thought? It wasn't logical. Then again, nothing about Leonard McCoy ever seemed to be logical. "Each day you stay alive is just one more day you -might- slip, and let your human half peek out." His hand was still on Spock's shoulder, and he leaned in as he spoke. Spock looked away. Not from the accusation, but from the intensity in McCoy's eyes. He felt his chest tighten, and his mind grow fuzzy and clouded. He was afraid he was going to slip right then and there. He could smell McCoy's breath, sweet with the slight tinge of whiskey that always seemed to surround him. McCoy took this as something different entirely. "That's it, isn't it. Insecurity. Why, you wouldn't know what to do with a genuine, warm, decent feeling..."

Spock turned to the doctor, an odd look in is eyes. He arched his eyebrow, and his voice grew deeper than usual. "Really, Doctor..." He leaned in slightly, his lips parted. McCoy gasped. His face was as passive as ever, but the barely restrained passion in the Vulcan's eyes sent waves of pleasure through his body. He leaned in the rest of the way, and pressed his lips to Spock's. He didn't know if it was the desperation of the moment, the hopelessness of their surroundings, or if this had been building for all the years they had known each other, but the moment their lips met, something snapped. Spock curled is fingers into McCoy's hair, yanking his head to the side for better access. McCoy wrapped an arm around those powerful shoulders, his other hand sliding from his shoulder to his chest. He delved his tongue into the warm recesses of Spock's mouth, biting at his bottom lip as he pulled back for air. Nervous fog-blue eyes met equally cautious brown. McCoy was panting.

The cell wasn't really fit for privacy, but nobody was watching them. McCoy fought back a blush, and placed his hand over Spock's. He trailed his fingertips up and down the Vulcan's sensitive digits, sending jolts of electricity running down his spine to settle in his groin. Spock shifted on the cold concrete, his eyes closing slightly of their own volition. McCoy grinned. He could probably get him off just like this... He trailed the fingers of his other hand through Spock's silky black hair. "Come on, let's move to the bed... you're gettin' cold." Spock nodded, and let McCoy help him up. They sat side by side on the small, uncomfortable cot. McCoy leaned forward and kissed the Vulcan's slightly swollen lips again, more delicately this time. "Spock... tell me what's going through that logical mind of yours. Why... why didn't you push me off?" He didn't want to ruin the moment, but he had to know. Know what? That this wasn't a dream? That he wasn't going to wake up in the cold and dusty bed they were sitting on, to find himself in a very embarrassing situation?

"Sha'guv-dauk, riolozhikaik, vaksurik komihn... Nash-veh ashau du, Hassu McCoy, heh nash-veh kwon-sum ki'." The corner of Spock's lips turned up slightly, in that usually infuriating barely-smirk of his. "I simply wanted to kiss you."

"That sounded a lot longer than 'I simply wanted to kiss you'..." He looked at him suspiciously, but didn't press further. He had heard his name in that barrage of alien words, but would wait to press him for a translation 'till they were safely back on the ship. For now, he just wanted to find sanctuary in those green-tinted lips. He kissed him deeper, pushing him down onto the bed. Working a knee between Spock's legs, he felt a distinct bulge. Smiling, he reached down to wor his hand under Spock's waist-band. But that damn logic.
"Doctor, we are in danger of being seen. Should one of the guards come to check on us..."

"Oh, shut up!" McCoy bit down on his lower lip, tasting a hint of green blood on his tongue when he shoved it into Spock's waiting mouth. But, again, damn that logic, and damn that pixie's habit of being right all the time. They heard the sound of boots clicking on the floor, and separated immediately. "You best believe we'll be picking this conversation back up later..." McCoy whispered.

"Doctor, we weren't having a conversation. In fact, we were quite unable to talk for the majority of..." McCoy kissed him again, pulling back just before the owner of the boots turned the corner.

"Didn't I just say, 'shut up'?" McCoy smirked. Then, he looked up, shock apparent on his ever-expressive face. "Jim?" The boots they heard had belonged to their captain. He had apparently escaped, and had come to rescue them, bringing a mess of trouble right along with him. God, that man always had had the worst sense of timing...

Note to readers - I know it was a short chapter, but I wanted to get it out of the way. I tweaked it just a bit from the episode Bread and Circuses. Again, please refer to the episode if I have left any blanks. Other than that, I welcome criticism with open arms! I will be getting to the heavier stuff later on, so don't worry(I know, I'm a tease.
Credit for the Vulcan in this, and every other chapter to come, is due to the Vulcan Language Dictionary (VLD) at /vld/. If anyone sees a problem with my Vulcan sentences, now or in the future, please correct me, and I may edit the story just for you. Make such corrections in a message, though, not a comment. Thank you, and I will get the next chapter up ASAP.