Disclaimer: I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.
Authors Note: I want to thank all my reviewers so far. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advise, and indeed praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this next chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer!
Also: I would like to thank Kamyan! My brand spanking new Beta! This is her second chapter of editing; any further mistakes are mine and mine alone. Give her a hand folks, she is awesome!
What A Hand Towel Can't Hide – Peach Cobbler and Old Guitar Strings
A muffled thump and a scathing curse from the quarters next to McCoy's woke him suddenly, his habitually light sleep cycle coming back to haunt him once again as his brain became instantly alert. An old habit tempered through too many years of being the doctor on-call, ready to respond to any emergency that could be possibly thrown at him in a matter of mere seconds, usually something quite unique and obscure if Spock and Jim had anything to do with it. Sometimes he swore those two got into trouble on purpose. Vulcans and Captains! Sometimes he couldn't tell which was worse!
Cracking open a tired lid he noted the dimmed lights and the soft hum of the heating unit. The computer must have automatically lowered the lighting and switched the temperature to his preferred heat setting when it had registered his lowered vitals. It must have because he certainly didn't remember even having fallen asleep. A computer with common courtesy? What's next? He snorted in derision.
Cursing soundly, he levelled himself stiffly off the couch, sleepily stretching his sore muscles, and wincing as his bones popped and groaned, adamantly protesting the strange positions he had somehow contorted himself into during his admittedly refreshing cat-nap. 'Blast it! I should have known I would hit the hay if I sat back down again..' He thought tiredly as he tugged the waist band of his pants back around his hips.
"Damn." He muttered, bending backwards as he arched his back, wiggling his toes into the carpet as he stretched. 'I really need to send a strongly worded letter to Fleet command about these infernal couches!' He thought with a grimace. They were akin to medieval torture devices! And it would be just his luck if the damn things gave him muscle spasms.
Eying the chronometer he was vaguely surprised to realize that despite the uncomfortable couch he had slept for over six hours. But, when he thought about it, he figured he likely had the soothing effects of Kentucky's finest to thank for that. 'Just what the doctor ordered indeed.' He thought with a chuckle.
Rolling the stiffness out of his neck he crossed the room, still only in his trousers, as he ordered a glass of water and a sandwich from the small replicator, attacking his long awaited meal with gusto, for once not noticing the lack of crispness in the lettuce, or how the replicator didn't quite get the texture of the tomato innards just right. He was hungry damnit, and when you were that hungry even computer synthesized cuisine tasted nearly as good as Mama's home-cooked grub.
After a few moments of internal debate he gave into temptation and ordered a generous dish of peach cobbler as well. He was a good old fashioned Georgian boy after all! He nearly hummed in pleasure as the sweet desert delighted his taste buds, the taste making him grin as he remembered the first time he had conned Spock into trying a bite of his favourite desert. He had thought the Vulcan's pointy ears would pop clear off!
It had been at the cultural diversity themed celebration Uhura had thrown for the crew a while back, another well meant attempt to raise crew moral during the mission. And in fact, like virtually all her parties, the entire thing had been a smashing success. Nearly all the crew had gotten into the spirit of things, all coming together to pitch in and help her with the food, music, and decorations that herald from virtually every earth and Vulcan culture that the Communications beauty could think of. And while Spock had never let on, he knew the so-called 'unfeeling' Vulcan had been secretly 'pleased', or however the computerized goblin would choose describe it, at being included.
He himself had done his own part gladly, actually sending her his mothers own home-made recipe for Peach Cobbler, a renown McCoy family dish. His mother had always joked that it was due to that recipe alone that she had lassoed his father, through his stomach. Even he had to admit, that if he knew his mother, it had probably not been that subtle either.
In fact, as it happened, he had ended up doing far more then his fair part for the little gathering! He still wasn't exactly sure how, but somehow he had been duped into performing a soft guitar-style duet with Yeoman Rishka. Her sweet Californian accent somehow melding in perfectly with his soft Georgian purr, as they treated the crew to a good old fashioned southern folk-song.
The whole fiasco had only served to further strengthen his belief that it was virtually impossible to hide anything from a Communications officer as thorough as Uhura. Because lord knew it had been over four years since he had even so much as picked up a guitar, let alone played one. However, despite the length of time he had been away from the strings and knobs of his old piece, he had ended up surprising even himself when his fingers had instantly remembered. Even Spock had seemed impressed... high praise indeed.
Afterwards while everyone was mingling, sampling all the different selections of goodies available, he in true fashion had managed to wheedle Spock into sampling some of the cobbler. From the other side of the room, he had spied the solitary Vulcan sulking in a far corner, nearly hidden amidst the elaborate South African themed section, inspecting the intricate bead-work of a particularly festive native arm-band. Flashing the man a grin, he had crossed the room to join him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in good humour, two small dishes of the delectable treat his hand.
"Spock! Fancy meeting you here." He drawled in greeting, sending him an amused wink as he joined him at the display pedestal. For a moment, he could have sworn the man looked positively indignant. His hands posed stoically behind his back as he turned to face him, his eyebrow raised just a fraction of a millimetre higher then usual. "I find your apparent surprise to see me rather difficult to believe Doctor. As it was purely due to your...insistence that I attended this gathering." He replied, eying the two dishes he held with a guarded expression.
"Well it worked didn't it?" He had retorted smugly, pressing a dish of cobbler into the Vulcan's nearest hand. "Here! I saved you a bowl, they are being gobbled up faster then Uhrura can replicate them." He responded, not giving the man a chance to refuse it.
"It's Peach Cobbler Spock! Not poison!" He sighed long sufferingly, rolling his eyes as the man silently inspected it, his eyebrow once again in serious danger of disappearing into his hair line. "Of that I have no doubt Doctor...However, I do not ingest such...food so high in sugar content. No doubt as a Doctor you can see the logic behind such an action." He responded firmly, holding back the dish at him.
His ire piked he hadn't been able to suppress another exaggerated roll of his eyes, half wanting to take the difficult man in a strangle-hold and knock some sense into that thick Vulcan skull of his! "Spock, as your physician I would no doubt ENCOURAGE it, you need some more meat on those bones of yours anyway. Besides, this is a celebration of Cultural diversity is it not? Where is your sense of adventure you green-blooded robot?!" He snapped challengingly, his soft smirk taking the sting out of his words.
Spock had only just opened his mouth to reply when he was saved from answering as they were pointedly interrupted by a fake cough as Jim sashayed past their corner, leading Christine in a rather flamboyant waltz, his coat-tails fluttering behind him as he blew past. "Play nice gentlemen!" He cautioned with a grin, no doubt sensing their argument on the wind as he twirled, dipping the blond nurse expertly as he swung by.
They both stayed silent for a moment, watching the Captain's progress as he reached the center floor and gracefully handed her off to M'Benga who had smoothly cut in, his humorously exaggerated bow delighting Christine to laughter as they set off across the room together, her champagne curls glinting in the bright light as he led their movements.
Finally however Spock slowly retracted his hand, and with a calculating look he turned back to face him. "Indeed doctor, your logic is, for once, surprisingly sound..." He replied, pausing for a split second to let the jibe sink in before continuing. "However, then since this is a gathering to celebrate our differing cultures, I must insist you try one of my preferred Vulcan dishes." He replied, something akin to amusement reflecting back in his dark brown eyes.
Who ever said that Vulcans don't engage in such petty things as revenge had certainly lied out of their ass. He still hadn't forgiven Spock for those T'Thian grey-backed blood worms! At least his selection hadn't been...moving! Who would have thought Spock would dislike something as delishous as peaches anyway?!
Shuddering at the mere memory he placed his dishes in the recycler, crossing to the bathroom as he gathered his shaving kit. Splashing water on his face, he shivered slightly as the cool water shocked his skin. Mixing up the lather he couldn't stop his mind from wandering, unable to summon up the energy to be distressed when his body remembered the feel of the other man atop him. His scent filling his nostrils, invading his senses till he had sworn he could literally taste the Vulcan man on his tongue.
God damn him for it, but he loved that annoying son of a Vulcan. Logic, pointed ears, green blood and all! Despite how he knew it was wrong...how it felt to know that it was all one sided...That it was all an unrequited love. It was even tragic in it's own messed up way.. 'Let it not be said that he wasn't a hopeless romantic at heart.' He thought with a despairing snort, switching on his plasma razor with a loud click, running it across his cheeks in steady, even strokes.
When he reckoned he looked human enough again he finished up, running a hand across his smoothly soft skin, checking for any missed spots as he did so before switching on the water shower and dialling up the water to as hot as he could stand. Finally shucking off the rest of his filthy clothes he gratefully stepped in, groaning aloud in pleasure as the hot water began to pound all the sore tension of the past few days from his limbs. 'A good old fashioned water shower sure had nothing on those new fangled sonic units.' He thought with a pleased smile, drooping his head so the spray could better reach his tight neck.
'God, that feels sooo good.' He thought with a barely suppressed moan, letting the water and the steam work it's magic on his tired muscles. Leaning back against the stall he closed his eyes against the stingingly hot water, massaging a generous dollop of shampoo into his scalp, his nose twitching at the strong, but pleasantly scented pine odour.
'Boy, did it feel good to be clean again!' He mused with a smile, rubbing the suds into the light brown hairs the smattered the expanse of his chest, traveling down his lightly toned stomach muscles to arrow down past his navel, proudly leading the way to his groin where the color subtly changed to a darker shade of brown that softly crowned his admittedly impressive erection.
'Like I really needed your opinion.' He muttered darkly, eying his traitorous organ in annoyance. Washing himself quickly he attempted to ignore his turgid member, trying in vain to purge the frustratingly erotic images of the Vulcan from his mind, imaging despite himself what the taller man might feel like under him. Even in the shower with him, his skin soaked and slick under his fingers as he might finally draw a pleasured moan from those 'oh so tempting' lips...and feel the mans arousal as the Vulcan could not resist an impassioned thrust against him, bringing their twin erections rubbing together in a brilliantly white-flared burst of sensation...
"Oh get a grip!" He whispered, resting his head in the crook of his arm as he leaned fully into the spray, turning the dial till the comfortingly warm water turned frigid, hoping the chill would serve to kill his arousal, and dampen the sizzling burn of passion from his blood.
Shaking his head, he let himself lament for a moment on his dilemma. In love with a pointed-eared Vulcan of all things...'Why! Why do you always make things so difficult on yourself Leonard old boy?' He asked himself half disbelievingly, turning to let the cooling spray hit him at all sides. After a few minutes he slowly turned off the water, shivering slightly as he ran his hands through his water-soaked hair, wiping the water from his eyes as he did so.
'Why me? Why him!' He couldn't help but wonder, a frown wrinkling his handsome features when his searching hand met only air, his towel annoyingly absent from it's place on his towel rack. 'Damn, I must have sent it to laundry.' He fumed, squinting through the water coursing down his face as he grabbed for the only other cloth in sight, a dark brown hand towel...
Cursing he stepped out of the shower, using the minuscule towel as best he could, rubbing his hair thoroughly to dry it as he dripped across the slick tiles, heading out of the bathroom for his linen closet, rubbing the towel across his face even as he walked, his toes curling slightly against the chilly decking underfoot.
He was so utterly intent on his course that he never even noticed the small popping noise as the distortion wave caught him, causing him to disappear from the arch of the bathroom door with a rippling shift of light, with only a few splattering drops trailing about his wet foot prints to the door serving as the only marker he had even been there at all...