17: Living a Fantasy

“So damn adorable,” Spock thought he heard McCoy say, although it sounded muffled and faint. “So cute when he’s sleeping… those perfect lips just hanging open…. He’s even drooling, dammit! Wonder if I could kiss him without waking him up?”

Spock twitched and stirred, a smile forming on his face before he knew it. “I am awake now,” he murmured.

“What?” came McCoy’s startled reply from above him. “Did you actually just hear me?”

“Yes,” Spock told him, opening his eyes to take in McCoy’s expression of surprise. “I believe you were contemplating a kiss. I would not be averse to it,” he prompted.

“Well… damn! All right,” McCoy said before complying. His thoughts were too obscured by his emotions to read while the kiss lasted, but Spock realized this was a significant development — he could sense a trace of fear in the Human at the notion that Spock could read his thoughts.

“Mmm…” Spock hummed appreciatively as their lips parted. “I had no idea you were so adept at this, Leonard.”

“Yeah?” McCoy said with some hesitance. “I might be a bit rusty….”

“Not that I can perceive,” Spock told him, then touched his face. “Do you find it… disagreeable… that I can hear your thoughts?”

“Well…” McCoy began while his emotions became a jumble of WORRY-EMBARRASSMENT-HONESTY-FEAR. “I mean… I thought you couldn’t unless you were, y’know, doing your special thing?”

“Ordinarily that would be true,” Spock agreed. “However, we are in… a great deal of physical contact, which makes the transference easier. And I suspect we have formed a bond — a type of telepathic link — after our shared time together. The fact that we have now become intimate… will only strengthen that bond.”

“So… how much can you make out?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps we should test it.”

“Okay, uh….” McCoy closed his eyes. “I want to fuck you,” he thought, loud and clear.

“You want to… I believe it is a vulgar term for sexual intercourse,” Spock responded, “although it does not accurately describe the experience I had earlier. It was much more… transcendental.”

“Really? That good?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Spock slid his hands down McCoy’s thick chest, the pendant dangling and swaying between them hypnotically. “I have never experienced anything quite so… powerful before.”

“You sounded like you were having a good time,” McCoy said with a pleased smile. “I couldn’t make out what you were saying — I think you were talking in Vulcan — but when you came so hard around me, I sorta lost it too…. I just hope I didn’t hurt you. It got a little rough toward the end….”

“I feel fine, Leonard. In fact… better than fine,” Spock assured him, returning his smile. “As I mentioned before, my Vulcan physiology is much more robust than that of a Human’s. You do not need to be concerned about injuring me.”

“All right. I just… I don’t wanna mess this up,” McCoy confessed. His emotions of WORRY-WORRY-WANT backed up his words.

“You won’t,” Spock said, then pulled him down for another kiss. It swiftly grew heated as they pressed their naked bodies together and McCoy’s penis became fully engorged. WANT-LUST-NEED echoed through Spock’s senses and a mental image took shape in his mind. It was crude in that it lacked details but effective in conveying the desired impression.

Spock disengaged his mouth and looked up at his lover in fascination. “You imagined me on the bed, facedown, with my posterior elevated.” Spock flushed but added, “If that is what you wish, I can accommodate you.”

“Seriously? You don’t mind?” McCoy asked, disbelief mixed with excitement.

“Mind? Why would I mind? Your attentions have all been… quite pleasurable.”

“Damn,” McCoy breathed before eagerly planting kisses down Spock’s neck to his chest, spreading flashes of buzzing lightning as he went. “I’m the luckiest… son of a bitch… that ever lived!”

Spock had to chuckle at his enthusiasm. “I hardly think such effusion is called for, Leonard, but I am glad to find how easy it is to please you.”

McCoy groaned and sucked hard on his nipple, sending a bolt of energy through Spock. “Easy? You think I’m easy? You have no idea… how long… I’ve dreamed… fantasized… of doing this to you!”

Spock gasped at each kiss his lover used to punctuate his progress down Spock’s abdomen, feeling thrills travel through his nervous system that stimulated his own penis. “I had… no idea,” he panted out.

“Of course not — I made sure to keep it that way,” McCoy said, sitting back on his legs to give Spock a break. “Sorry if I got a bit… gruff with you sometimes, but it was damn hard… seeing you with Uhura all the time.” His gaze turned pensive. “Are you sure this is all right? I mean… you’ve broken up with her before, but you always got back together….”

“Not this time,” Spock stated with finality. “I am certain she understands. As much as I regret the pain it must cause her… I cannot… reengage with her in that manner.” He reached out to touch McCoy’s arms. “Not after discovering… what it is like… to be with you.”

The flood of HAPPY-HAPPY-PRECIOUS-WANT that swept over Spock left him physically breathless even before McCoy bent down to kiss him again. As McCoy’s lips and tongue engaged his in a vigorous wrestling game, the charm of the pendant bumped against Spock’s jaw in time to their movements. The crackling energy was back in full force as well, filling him inside and out with a humming sensation that vibrated with the light. Having so many different things assaulting his senses, it took Spock a moment to realize that McCoy was trying to move him, to flip him over onto his stomach or at least onto all fours. Spock caught his breath and managed to turn over as McCoy had imagined, his head low to the bed and supported on his elbows.

“Oh, God! That cute little ass… so perfect!” McCoy declared, then scrambled to grab the lubricant. “Tell me if it gets too rough, all right? I’m gonna fucking ream your ass, but promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much!”

“I will, Leonard,” Spock said. He willed his anus to relax and was glad to feel it respond almost immediately. McCoy inserted two fingers, which slid around with enough room to spare for a third, but he slathered the inside carefully with lubricant first. When he touched Spock’s prostate, Spock cried out, seeing stars burst into view where there should have been none.

“You doing okay?” McCoy checked.

“F—Fine,” Spock answered. He might have been affected by the lust coursing through McCoy and flowing out of him; he was pushing back against the doctor’s fingers in a most wanton way, begging for more.

“Aww, damn! So hot!” McCoy gasped as he added a third finger and rewarded Spock’s movements by probing deeper. His efforts were repaid when Spock started whimpering in a high-pitched nasal tone with every stroke against his inner sex organs. McCoy shuddered, trying to restrain himself from ejaculating too soon, then withdrew his hand and moved to replace it with his penis. Spock whined when he was left empty, but he was quickly filled again with what he wanted most.

“Oh! Ah! Ahhh!” he cried as McCoy pushed it in balls-deep in one smooth motion. When the doctor backed up slightly and slammed it in again, he hit Spock’s prostate and made his senses explode.

“You like it… right there?” McCoy demanded, though not expecting an answer. “Right there? Yeah, right here isn’t it? Here and here and here,” he said while aiming for Spock’s sweet spot. “Hot damn! You’re so fucking perfect! So tight and hot!

McCoy was gripping Spock’s hips with both hands and pulling him closer with each thrust, making their union as deep as physically possible. Spock was still pushing back against McCoy’s sex, but the white fire that ran through him and sizzled across his nerves was taking a toll on his concentration. He could not focus on anything but simply reacted to the pleasure, seeking more and more of it — which McCoy was only too happy to supply.

There was one word that Spock could hear, however, with every blinding pulse of energy: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

He did not fight it; he accepted it, internalized it, and sent the mutual feeling back to McCoy’s consciousness.

“Yeah, mine,” McCoy panted, sweating freely now in the warmer temperature he had set for Spock’s comfort. “Mineminemine,” he repeated as he asserted it with every stroke of his shaft, each plunging thrust hammering a stake in his claim. The thought was hypnotic — he was drunk on it, intoxicated by the sight of Spock taking him so deep inside, allowing him to touch him in this most intimate manner, even wanting him to possess him and own him and love him and fuck him. McCoy’s movements grew erratic, then in a frantic flurry of short jabs he reached the crest of his pleasure and moved beyond it, pumping his semen into Spock in the ultimate manifestation of satisfied desire. He could not stop moving for a while; his hips seemed to be on autopilot, intent on continuing their mission until all power was completely exhausted.

When he finally recovered enough to be aware of his surroundings, he was draped over Spock’s backside, his penis slipping out due to the slickness of the mixed lubricant, semen, and sweat. Spock was still braced on his arms and knees but was breathing slowly as though asleep. McCoy reached around to check Spock’s dangling penis and was relieved to find it soft; he was even more relieved to feel Spock’s semen striping the sheet beneath. He had always tried to make sex enjoyable for his partners but after having such a long dry spell, he was worried that he might have lost his touch. He was glad that Spock had found at least some measure of satisfaction despite McCoy losing all control and simply taking what he needed.

He stepped off the bed and indulged himself a moment to admire the view. He had not been exaggerating about having fantasized this exact scenario. The fact that Spock had willingly submitted to being fucked like this (although McCoy had no idea whether it would be considered demeaning in Vulcan culture or not) was something he had dreamed of but never considered possible.

“Damn,” was all he could think in response. After committing the sight of Spock — spent and unconscious, huddled on his bed with his head resting on his arms and his ass in the air — to memory, McCoy fetched a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom and wiped him off, then spread a towel over the damp spot on the sheet and gently rolled him over to lie on his side.

“Damn… you’re so precious! And I can’t believe you’re actually mine,” McCoy thought as he ruffled Spock’s hair with overflowing affection. Spock smiled in his sleep. McCoy lay down facing him so he could drink in that smile for a while longer.


The next time Spock woke, it was to the aroma of coffee and a repeated smacking noise. He furrowed his brow, trying to place the familiar sound, and the image that came to his mind was his mother in the kitchen — in their house on Vulcan, which no longer existed — chopping vegetables on her favorite cutting board. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, taking stock of his surroundings.

He was not in his own room, he was naked, but his clothes were folded and stacked on a chair, with a bathroom door left invitingly open. “Leonard!” he remembered, surprised that it had taken him so long. He found a towel on the bed under him and blushed, realizing what its purpose must have been, but wrapped it around his middle before taking a few cautious steps toward the open doorway of the bedroom. McCoy was in the small section of his living space that served as a kitchenette, cutting up something colorful.

“Leonard,” Spock called, still feeling somewhat hazy.

“Oh, hey — you’re up!” McCoy cheerfully returned. “I was gonna wake you up in a bit. I figured you’d wanna shower before breakfast… or brunch, as it’s turning out to be.”

“Oh… I see,” Spock said with a nod. “In that case I will… avail myself of your facilities.”

“Spock?” McCoy asked, wiping his hands and coming over as Spock stepped into the bathroom. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine, Leonard,” he hurried to reply. The WORRY-WORRY-CONCERN had hit him when McCoy drew near. “I’m just… slightly slow in my reactions for some reason.”

“You need protein,” the doctor affirmed, caressing the side of Spock’s face. “We both do… after last night.”

Spock blushed again, though with distinct pleasure. “Indeed.”

“I’ll have it ready by the time you get cleaned up,” McCoy promised, then delayed him by kissing him. “Damn!” he exclaimed when their lips parted. “I can’t believe you’re real… that you’re really here.”

Spock pressed his forehead against his lover’s and did not break eye contact when he said, “I had also not expected you to return my affections, Leonard… and yet you do not hear me doubting the fact that you do.”

“Ahh… I know. Bad habit. Jim gets on my case all the time….”

“Perhaps you should trust the empirical evidence more.” Spock slid his right hand into McCoy’s and intertwined their fingers. “I wish you could see yourself as I do, Leonard: strong… handsome… capable… kind… intelligent… compassionate… gentle… knowledgeable… attractive….”

With each word Spock felt the WORRY-DOUBT-UNSURE turn to HAPPY-EMBARRASSED-GLAD. McCoy’s internal monologue went from “Does he really mean that? He’s just being nice. But maybe he does mean it. Could it be? Maybe… just a little bit…. Ah, who cares — he’s here and he’s not running away….” Spock pressed kisses to McCoy’s face until he no longer had a coherent train of thought and his emotions were purely HAPPY-HAPPY-HAPPY. They might have stayed that way for longer if something did not chime in the kitchen.

“Oh! Biscuits,” McCoy explained, almost apologetically.

“They smell delicious,” Spock told him with a smile. “I will hurry to… ‘get cleaned up.’ But I am not going anywhere, Leonard… not unless you want me to.”

“Okay,” McCoy answered, still happy in spite of the nagging doubt that crept back in. “I’d better get the quiche in the oven, then.”

They kissed one more time before pulling themselves apart.

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