25: Connection

When the tumult of McCoy’s emotions had settled down, there was a new kind of quietness between them. Words were no longer necessary; it was far easier for McCoy to communicate to Spock the awe, amazement, and gratitude he felt over Spock’s acceptance of him by pressing his lips to his skin. He knew Spock could read him loud and clear because Spock was sending back his own feelings — tentatively at first, so as to not overwhelm him with the intensity of raw Vulcan passion — through the contact with his psi points. Spock deflected McCoy’s gratitude with his own, insisting on the Human’s intrinsic worth, and revealed the all-pervading attraction/obsession that had drawn him inexorably to him. Spock felt McCoy’s breath hitch as though it were his own body’s reaction.

“Ashayam,” Spock confided in his mind, “I have never yearned for anyone else as I yearn for you.”

McCoy was staggered by the sentiment but replied in like kind, layering it with remembered moments from the past five years in which he had longed to be the one closest to Spock: little moments, such as when he had noticed a twitch in Spock’s forehead and knew the Vulcan was stressed, which made him want to massage his temples to relieve at least its physical effects; the occasions when he’d sensed the tension between Spock and Uhura as they worked side-by-side at their stations on the bridge, wondering if they’d had a lovers’ spat or had broken up for good, only to scold himself for wishing the latter, telling himself that there was no hope for him to take Uhura’s place anyway; the many times he had listened in on Spock and Jim’s conversations, feeling like an outsider and ashamed of his jealousy though unable to control it. All of this he could tell Spock in the blink of an eye without the cumbersome medium of speech — and Spock could understand it all far better since he experienced it through McCoy’s eyes and heart.

When McCoy’s lips reached Spock’s, the affection they each felt for the other became mingled, intertwining like their tongues, until it pulsed back and forth as one emotion between them with increasing resonance like an endless feedback loop, growing more powerful with each pass. It was underscored by the beat of McCoy’s heart, which seemed to throb MINE-MINE-MINE but to Spock’s newly attuned ears also declared HOME-HOME-HOME. It was not so much about possession as it was about belonging, equal parts desire and the craving to be desired, to be nourished as well as to nurture. It traveled through Spock like lightning, setting his nerves on fire with warmth and excitement. It was all that McCoy had ever wanted; it was what Spock wanted too. He welcomed it and reciprocated, spreading the light to infuse McCoy as well.

After an eternity or a moment, something new crept into their shared consciousness: embarrassment. Surprised, Spock untangled his thoughts from McCoy’s to decipher that his lover was embarrassed about his physical response — he was aroused again and worried that Spock would despise him for being so horny. Spock laughed into his mind, allowing McCoy to feel his humor, and pressed their bodies even closer together.

“I will never not be pleased to be desired, Ashayam,” he assured him with a smile. The brilliance of it blinded McCoy for a second, but he quickly recovered and moved to action.

As McCoy slid his hands up and down Spock’s back in a decidedly more seductive manner, Spock felt the familiar tingling of energy focus on the areas where the doctor was touching him. When McCoy kissed down his throat and chest, tasting his skin as though it were an aphrodisiac, Spock could sense how his own body felt and tasted to his lover. However, for now he tried to block it — drawing on all of his mental discipline — in order to fully appreciate the sensations of his own body: how the heat of McCoy’s broad chest warmed him; how the glide of his deft fingers seemed to make something deep in Spock’s gut melt and churn; how the powerful thighs he was straddling lifted him when they moved; and how the growing hardness pressing against his belly made his empty passage ache to be filled again.

“Spock…” McCoy whispered into his ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive organ.

Spock saw an impression of what his lover wanted and, although it was torture to pull himself away, he shifted over on the couch so that his elbows were resting on the back, spreading his knees wide in invitation. McCoy groaned before coming up behind him to plant kisses on his shoulders, then dashed away to retrieve the lubricant from the table. In that brief time, Spock realized he could still feel the thrumming of McCoy’s lust and his single-minded determination to not only avoid hurting Spock but also ensure that Spock enjoyed their next joining. Although they were not in physical contact, he could sense his lover’s feelings and intentions as though they were — something unprecedented, to his knowledge, between even touch empaths, therefore inconceivable in a case where one of them did not possess any empathic or telepathic abilities.

“Unless Leonard has some latent ability that he has never realized or developed,” Spock thought. He filed it away in his mind to pursue later since right now he wanted to concentrate on McCoy’s fingers entering him and slicking him in preparation for intercourse. They rubbed his prostate and testes a few times, causing him to whine out loud and arch his back, eager to be penetrated by McCoy’s penis. His own penis grew erect as it was pressed against the fabric of the couch, which was slightly scratchy but, to his surprise, provided satisfying friction for his male organ. He began to back away from it, not wanting to soil it with his semen when he would eventually ejaculate, but McCoy would not let him move.

“No, it’s all right,” he murmured into Spock’s ear. “I want you to christen the couch too.”

“Oh!” Spock gasped in understanding. McCoy liked to see the physical evidence of their act — later, when the heat of the moment had passed — so despite his own aversion to uncleanliness, Spock acquiesced and leaned forward against the couch again. McCoy chuckled his approval as he reached down to fondle Spock’s penis with one hand. A moment later he positioned his own with the other.

“Ready?”

“Of course,” Spock answered, his voice husky with desire.

The thickness and length of McCoy’s shaft entered easily in one smooth stroke, filling Spock with brilliant flames of white-hot passion. McCoy held it there, balls-deep, for several minutes while he kissed Spock’s ears, neck, and cheeks. Spock rested his head against his lover’s shoulder, trying to kiss him back, but for some reason McCoy would not engage with his mouth.

“Why?” Spock queried, reaching over to touch McCoy’s face and reestablish their mind-link.

“I wanna hear you whimper,” came the reply. Even before Spock opened his eyes, he could see the wicked smirk on McCoy’s face.

“Uhhnnnggghhh,” Spock moaned deliberately, a half-smile forming as he watched McCoy’s eyes widen in response.

“God, Spock, what you do to me!” McCoy thought at him since his lips were occupied with nibbling the shell of Spock’s ear. When Spock began making mewling sounds, McCoy sucked on his earlobe so hard that it was painful. “Dammit, Spock! Why’d’you have to be so fucking perfect?”

“Perfection is… a subjective thing,” Spock objected, retreating a little into his rational mind. “I am pleased to know you find me attractive, but I highly doubt that I fulfill any quantifiable standard of beauty.”

“Oh, yeah?” McCoy verbally retorted. “I’ll bet you dimes to doughnuts there’s a mathematical algorithm that proves your ass is a thing of beauty!”

Spock laughed aloud. “Perhaps,” he conceded. He turned McCoy’s face and asked, “If I promise to vocalize my pleasure later, will you kiss me now?”

“Well… since you asked so nicely,” McCoy mumbled before granting his request.

Spock could sense how much his lover wanted to cut loose and rut into his body — a need that only increased as they slid their tongues together and tasted each other’s mouths — but still McCoy did not move.

“What is it, Ashayam? Why are you holding back?”

“I… don’t want this moment to end….”

The shadow of WORRY-WORRY-FEAR was hiding in the depths of his consciousness yet, Spock realized; it had not been banished or destroyed, merely subdued.

“There will be other moments like this. There will always be more moments like this,” he assured him.

“I know…. I just…”

“Let go, my Beloved. I will always be yours.”

Slowly, McCoy withdrew enough to thrust back up into him again. Spock let out a guttural sound as he felt the heft of McCoy’s penis dominate his body in that powerful stroke.

“You… like that?”

“Yesss,” Spock hissed, then moaned, “More!”

McCoy planted his lips on Spock’s shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, and pulled his penis all the way out. The following thrust made Spock’s feet curl while he cried out in ecstasy. McCoy kept repeating the movement, pulling out all the way before shoving hard, holding Spock’s torso so that every thrust rubbed against his prostate and became seated as deeply as possible. It was a long, slow process, as though he were trying to drag out the act of sex — to extract as much pleasure from it as possible. But regardless of how much Spock wanted to accommodate his lover, it was excruciatingly frustrating. The next time McCoy began to withdraw, Spock clenched his muscles around him, not wanting to let him go. McCoy shuddered and gasped.

“God! Spock, what the hell…?”

“Please don’t disconnect our bodies,” Spock requested.

“All right, all right,” McCoy agreed. “So tight! Oh, God!” he swore out loud again when Spock pressed down against him.

“Please… more!”

You want more?” McCoy asked before shoving up suddenly, almost lifting Spock off his knees. “Like this?”

“Yes! Please, Ashayam, faster… harder…!” Spock begged.

McCoy complied, withdrawing only far enough that the return stroke would hit Spock’s prostate; since the Vulcan organ was higher up than its Human counterpart, he remained seated deep inside Spock’s body while he rolled his hips in a circular pattern, stimulating Spock over and over until he was whining helplessly.

“Ah! Ahh! Ahhhnnn… anngghhh… ngaaahhh!”

As Spock’s voice rose in pitch, McCoy’s arousal built up in the pit of his belly, driving him to plunge into Spock with abandon. The slapping noises of his hips hitting Spock’s soft buttocks were accentuated by the lube that had spread across their skin over the course of the day, echoing obscenely off the walls, windows, and kitchen cupboards. McCoy clamped his hand tighter around Spock’s penis, unable to stroke it because he was too intently focused on pounding into Spock’s ass, but he did manage to rub his thumb over its sensitive head a few more times. Spock could no longer assist by pressing down, either, since McCoy’s movements were too fast, but he braced himself with both hands to keep his body steady against the onslaught of the Human’s lust. He also tried to clench at the right moments, in which he seemed to succeed.

“God! Oh, God… Spooock!” McCoy yelled when he started to come. His frenetic movements stuttered but continued until he had completely emptied his reserves of semen deep inside his lover. When his body stilled at last, he noticed that his hand was covered in warm greenish slime — as well as the back of the couch.

“Have I adequately christened your furniture?” Spock asked through the mind-link, touching McCoy’s psi points again since he was panting too hard to speak.

“Works for me,” McCoy answered with a grin before kissing him.

Spock rested limply against McCoy, happy and content to be held by him with his penis still lodged within. The tidal wave of McCoy’s climax had carried him along again — Spock had never experienced so many orgasms in so short a time before, and he had to admit that it was more fulfilling than anything else he had ever experienced.

“This could become habit-forming,” he quipped at his lover.

“Damn! It better be,” McCoy shot back.

When Spock laughed at that, there was a brief moment of worry in the doctor; however, reassured by the surge of pleasure Spock was telegraphing to him, McCoy smiled in wonder and rocked him gently in his arms.

“You’re mine now, huh? All mine?”

“All yours, Ashayam… forever.”

McCoy tried to hide his goofy grin by burying his face in Spock’s hair, even though his feelings of HAPPY-HAPPY-UNBELIEVABLE were pounding like waves against Spock’s consciousness. Spock turned around to kiss him and lowered his hands to McCoy’s chest, idly playing with his pendant.

“Hey, you chilly?” McCoy asked, startling Spock with the clarity of his projection.

“No… I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, stunned.

“Well, your skin is beginning to feel clammy,” McCoy continued while running his hands up and down Spock’s back. “What say we take a hot shower, then go out for dinner?”

Spock agreed, so McCoy stood up and led him to the bathroom, one arm wrapped affectionately across his shoulders. But Spock was somewhat distracted by the fact that they were now able to communicate — with specific, identifiable words — even without any contact of their psi points.

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