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It was the Gamma shift aboard the Enterprise, and most of the crew was in bed. Spock found himself alone in the dimly lit halls, save for the company of the ship’s machinery and computers occasionally pushing out beeps or quiet whirrs.
It had been a hard few days. Pon Farr had consumed his senses and destroyed his logic. He’d made a fool of himself and acted irrationally– he’d behaved so differently from the steady Vulcan the crew had grown to know.
But today– today was the worst of all. Perhaps, Spock thought, it had been the worst day of his life.
He’d almost killed Jim.
He thought he did kill him.
His captain– the best captain Starfleet had ever seen. Jim, with his easy smile and undying loyalty. His charm. His bravery.
“Live long and prosper, Spock,” T’Pau had said to him.
“I shall do neither. I killed my captain and my friend.”
And he had meant it with every fiber of his being.
“Spock!”
Spock paused, the thoughts shaken out of his head as he turned to see Jim, lightly jogging to catch up with him.
Jim, lifeless and limp, the ahn-woon still tight around his neck. Spock felt his mind coming back to him. As his vision cleared, the gravity of what he had done hit him all at once.
Jim was dead. He had killed him.
Something inside of Spock had died in that moment, along with Jim. He knew he would never be whole again.
“I will be resigning my commission immediately.
“Don’t you think you’d better check with me first?”
His voice– a voice he thought he’d never hear again. The sound had filled him with hope– an emotion he’d typically find too illogical to pursue. When he’d turned to see Jim, alive and well, he’d felt light, like he could fly if he wanted to. His heart had leapt as if it wanted to fly away with him.
It had taken him a moment to register the feeling as pure joy.
Jim was alive. Smirking at him, like this had all been some elaborate human joke. Like Spock hadn’t been holding up his corpse just moments ago. Like Spock’s world hadn’t shattered and come back together in a matter of minutes.
“Blame McCoy. That was no tri-ox compound he shot me with. He slipped in a neural paralyzer. Knocked me out, simulated death.”
It had been the doctor that had saved Jim. His quick thinking, his resourcefulness, his calm mind.
Spock owed him everything.
Now, there was a grin on Jim’s face, and it soothed the ache in Spock’s heart.
How lucky was he, that he had tried to kill Jim– had thought he had succeeded– and the captain could still smile at him like that? Spock felt broken from the shame, like he could never redeem himself for what he had done. And yet Jim was looking at him like he always did, with a hint of admiration.
No, luck was illogical. That Jim still felt joy when he saw him was nothing less than a show of his good character.
“Spock,” Jim said excitedly. His hands rested on his hips. “What are you doing, wandering around the halls at this late hour?”
Spock looked at Jim’s chest rising and falling, feeling relief that his heart beat so strongly, and remorse at knowing that just below the fabric of his clean shirt was a wound he had carved.
If it bothered Jim now, he showed no sign of it.
He hesitated, for a moment. It wasn’t that what Spock was doing was shameful, necessarily. But it was more emotional– more direct– than he tended to be. But, as he had confirmed out loud earlier that day, Dr. McCoy was one of his two closest friends. And he now owed him a great debt.
As reluctant as he may be, this was Jim, and Spock had no hope of keeping anything from him. “I was making my way to the doctor’s quarters,” he offered after a moment, as matter-of-fact as ever. “I hoped to thank him personally for saving your life.”
“You hoped to thank him? Personally?” There was a quiver of a smile on the captain’s lips, a light in his eyes.
Spock studied Jim. it was as if there were another joke here that he wasn’t understanding. “Is everything alright, Jim?”
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. I was actually on my way to do the same thing, is all. ” Jim reached up and clasped Spock on the shoulder. His grin had returned wholeheartedly. But then he averted his gaze, in a way that was almost bashful. “I think I’d enjoy myself more if you were there. Shall we go together?”
The thought of expressing his gratitude to Dr. McCoy had been hard enough to swallow. The idea of thanking him with someone else there made it harder. The thought of saying what needed to be said with Jim watching made it almost unbearable.
But Jim still wanted his company, and Spock was too selfish to be the source of a denied joy. Besides– the doctor would be more palatable to be around with the captain there.
“I see no reason why not.”
They started back down the hall, towards McCoy’s room. Spock wondered if the doctor would even be awake at this late hour– he was only making his way there now because he’d been unable to quiet his mind even with deep meditation. He’d spent the last few hours sitting restlessly, thinking about what would have happened if not for McCoy’s quick thinking.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they knocked on the door and nobody answered.
Beside him, Jim seemed unbothered. Happy, even. As if he hadn’t had a brush against death. As if Spock had done nothing wrong.
They reached the door, and Jim raised a hand to punch in the entry code. He caught Spock’s scolding gaze, and his hand lowered back to the side. They held each other’s eyes for a moment, silently, before Spock turned away and knocked at the door.
There was only a brief moment of hesitation before the door slid open. There stood McCoy, in his undershirt and slacks. Looking tired. His arm rested against the doorframe. “Jim,” he blinked, the surprise apparent in his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“Oh, I’m feeling alright.” Another warm smile from the captain. “You fixed me up just fine.”
McCoy’s gaze turned to Spock, his eyebrows raising. “And Spock?”
Spock kept his hands firmly behind his back. “May we come in, Doctor?”
McCoy studied both of them, bewildered. And then he relented, stepping aside and opening up the doorway so they could step through. “Be my guest.”
“Thank you, Bones.” Jim entered first, his movements loose and relaxed. Spock followed stiffly behind.
McCoy’s room was, save for a few decorations, sparse. It was far from the plentiful adornments of Spock’s own quarter walls. The standard issue bed, a chair, a small desk. McCoy had the lights turned down low, as if he had also been trying and failing to sleep.
The door slid shut, and McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. When he spoke, his voice was gruff with impatience. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Spock turned to face him better. His arms were still firmly behind his back, as if this were some sort of professional interaction and not a deeply personal one. He suppressed the flutter of embarrassment he felt at Jim witnessing such an emotional display. “We came to express our gratitude for saving the captain’s life.”
McCoy snorted, uncrossing his arms. A smirk twitched on his mouth. “Well finally, a little bit of recognition around here.”
Spock shifted, and Jim made his way over to McCoy’s liquor stash. He pulled out McCoy’s bottle of Saurian brandy and set out three glasses. He swirled the bottle before pouring, filling each cup generously. Balancing two in one hand and one in the other, he offered one first to McCoy and then to Spock.
Spock stared down at the drink. “Captain, you know I don’t–”
“Take it,” he stage-whispered, “It’ll make Bones less anxious.”
Spock took it wordlessly, now repressing his own anxiety.
“Less anxious about what?” McCoy barked. He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Don’t waste my good brandy. Spock’s not even gonna drink it!”
“Oh, no, of course he is,” Jim responded innocently. He took a long drink and then motioned back at Spock with his glass. “Aren’t you, Spock?”
Spock shook his head slightly. “I had no intention of doing so.”
Jim smacked Spock’s side lightly with the back of his hand.
Spock sighed minutely before raising it to his lips and taking the smallest sip he could manage.
Jim turned back to McCoy. He was mid-sip, already halfway through his drink. “See?”
“Mm.” McCoy downed the last of his brandy and set the empty glass down on the desk before leaning against it. A leg kicked out aimlessly, his foot rocking left and right against the floor. But despite his relaxed posture, his voice dropped to a more serious tone. “So why are you really here, Jim?”
Jim smiled, as bright and radiant as ever. He stepped closer to McCoy, his body moving lightly as if he were dancing to a song Spock couldn’t hear. “Like Spock said, we’re here to… express our gratitude.”
McCoy narrowed his eyes. His foot stilled.
Jim stepped even closer, until they were practically touching. He reached around McCoy to set his drink on the desk. Their faces were mere inches apart, and McCoy tilted his head slightly to keep it away. Jim’s hand pulled away, but his hips tilted and pressed his leg closer into McCoy’s space. “C’mon, Bones. Don’t you want to let loose after a hard day’s work?”
McCoy scowled, but even Spock could see the twinkle in his eye. He pushed Jim lightly away. Spock could see there was no real effort behind the movement, but Jim’s chest followed his hand regardless. “I’ve got better things to do than mess around with you hooligans.”
Spock was skilled at analyzing many things. Raw data, field samples, strategic situations. One thing he couldn’t analyze well was human insinuation.
Yet even he could tell there was something he was missing here.
McCoy hopped up on the desk, casually reclined with his legs spread as he supported himself with one hand. Jim immediately moved to fill the space as he leaned forward.
“Oh, you don’t mean that.” Jim was looking up at McCoy through his eyelashes now. They were closer than Spock had ever seen them get. Spock could feel a burning in his throat, an emptiness in his abdomen. “You’d love to mess around for a while. Let loose. You work so hard, Bones.”
“Damn right I do,” the doctor mumbled.
“And I think you’re right.” Jim’s head cocked slightly as he eyed McCoy closely, his lips parted slightly. His free hand settled on the desk between McCoy's legs. “I think you deserve some proper recognition around here.”
McCoy leaned in towards Jim’s upturned ear and began to mutter something Spock chose not to overhear. He understood what was happening now– a conversation in a language he couldn't understand. Their movements, their touches, all flowed together so easily. So uncalculated.
Spock ached to be involved. Whether he wanted to take Jim or McCoy’s place, he wasn’t sure. But he did know that there was no place for him here. His mind wasn't capable of navigating these sorts of situations.
McCoy and Jim were practically pressed together by the time Spock collected himself enough to cross the room and set his drink gently on the desk. The other two men jumped in surprise, quickly pulling away from each other to look at Spock.
Perhaps they had forgotten he was there.
Spock was grateful for his training as a Vulcan. It was the years of learning mastery over his emotions that kept him together now.
He turned to leave, but Jim’s hand shot out to grab the fabric of his shirt. “Spock! Where are you going?”
Spock couldn't bring himself to look at his captain. Instead, he kept his eyes on the door. “With all due respect, Captain, I know where I am not needed. As I see no reason for me to be here, I will be returning to my quarters.”
“Not needed?” Jim's brow furrowed. “Spock, what are you talking about?”
McCoy's face was flushed red as his eyes grew wide. “Jim, I don't think he understands.”
“Of course he understands.” Jim looked back and forth between McCoy and Spock, his brow knitted and his voice rushed. “I confirmed with him on the way here. Isn’t that right, Spock?”
Spock hesitated. Did they not want him to leave?
“What exactly did you confirm? What did he tell you?” McCoy had straightened up, though he still sat on the desk. He cast a scolding glare at Jim.
“He told me… he was coming to thank you. Personally.” Jim said it with a slight shrug, looking sheepish.
McCoy's face fell into disbelief. “And you're telling me you took that to mean—”
“Well, yes, as I was on my way to do the same thing–”
McCoy rubbed a hand over his eyes and pinched his nose. “Damn it, Jim!”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Doctor, if you’d be kind enough to enlighten me–”
“He was talking about a threesome.”
Spock’s gaze scanned the ceiling as he processed the information. The discomfort he felt had shifted, from his fear of not being involved to being too included.
The reality of the situation was that he was in a room alone with the two people he trusted most in the galaxy. One, his captain: who had almost died at his hand. The other, the prickly, quick-witted doctor who had saved him, and his closest friend. And while Spock had been trying to ignore it, plak tow had not entirely erased the effects of pon farr from his system. There was a lingering primal hunger, burning in his blood that had yet to be sated. A buzzing in the back of his head he was just barely able to ignore.
Especially when it came to the man he’d forbidden himself from wanting.
Spock turned to face them again. Jim kept a delicate grasp on his shirt sleeve, as if he were afraid of letting him go, and Spock made no effort to pull away. His gaze shifted from Jim’s fingers to Jim’s pleading face. “I am not necessarily opposed to the idea.”
Jim straightened up, the brightness returning to his face. “Spock–”
“Though I must warn you,” Spock continued levelly, “this is not something that comes naturally to me.”
McCoy blinked, catching Jim’s eye. “Oh, we know, Spock.”
Jim released Spock’s sleeve to reach up and pat him heartily on the shoulder. “Just do what feels natural. You’ll be alright.”
“And listen Spock–” McCoy set his hand back down and leaned into it. “If you don't wanna do it, there's no pressure.”
“On the contrary, Doctor, I quite want to.” Spock swallowed, knowing that if there were any moment he needed to be as transparent as he could be, it was now. “I am still feeling some of the effects of my earlier condition.”
McCoy tensed, but Jim stayed where he was.
“Spock,” McCoy warned, “If you’re going to go off the deep end–”
Spock cut him off with a shake of his head. “I assure you, I am no longer dangerous. I simply still have some needs that need to be met.”
Jim looked between Spock and McCoy. His smile was gentle, pleased. “Well, gentlemen,” he patted Spock's shoulder again. “It sounds like we're all in agreement. Shall we continue?”
McCoy reached across himself to grab Spock's drink from where he reclined. He brought it to his lips and drained it in one long, slow sip. He motioned with the empty glass. “Go ahead.”
Jim slipped the glass gently from his hand. “Did you want me to get you some more?”
McCoy’s body looked like it had relaxed fully again. He leaned on one arm, and his legs kicked gently. “No, I'd better not. I'd like to keep my wits about me as long as you’re sticking around.”
Jim chuckled softly. Now that Spock knew the game they were playing, the sound was a delight.
Jim tugged Spock closer to McCoy before repositioning himself so the three of them were in a tight circle. Spock could feel McCoy’s knee brushing against his hip.
So they hadn't wanted him to leave after all. Spock should have known– there was no place he belonged other than at the side of these two. It had been foolish of him to doubt that.
“Nonsense. I'm just trying to make sure you're comfortable, is all. Isn't that right, Spock?”
McCoy and Jim both turned their gazes from each other to him, and Spock stuttered, “Comfort is important, Captain.”
Jim nodded his agreement.
McCoy seemed to consider this as he turned to grab the glass Jim had set down. He lifted it to his lips, just as he had Spock's– but this time, instead of drinking, he pushed it towards Jim. “You're the one who needs to drink. I keep telling you to stop wasting my good brandy!”
Jim feigned a guilty look as he took the glass and sipped off the top. He only held it for a moment before setting it back on the desk and leaning towards McCoy. “You know, on second thought, I can think of something I'd prefer to do over drinking.”
“You're unbelievable,” McCoy said flatly. A smirk played on his lips, and he shoved Jim's shoulder lightly. Just as before, Jim followed the movement, but wasted no time leaning right back in.
“Oh, you know you love it, Bones.”
McCoy chuckled. “Love is a strong word. I'm not sure I'm ready to commit.”
Fascinating. The back and forth was relentless. Each time a response made the other laugh, Spock felt a familiar pang. That was something he knew he wouldn’t be able to achieve. This was these two at their best, their most natural. There was something so human about them. And while Spock loathed the humanity in himself, it was Jim and McCoy’s most endearing trait.
Jim leaned back, his head cocked playfully, and looked to Spock. “Spock! Don't you think we ought to show the doctor a good time? After all he's done?”
Both sets of eyes were on him. “Certainly,” he managed after a moment. “I believe I owe the doctor a great deal for what he's done today.”
McCoy lowered his gaze to the desk, his feet still kicking lazily. “Now, I don't know about owing me anything.” His voice was soft, cautious. “I was just doing my job.”
“That's the thing, Bones.” Jim's hand lifted from the desk and slid up McCoy’s thigh, resting on the fabric of his pants. Rubbing slow circles. “You're the best doctor Starfleet has. No one else could have done what you did today.” His lips had moved to right by McCoy's ear, though he spoke loudly enough that Spock knew he was also supposed to hear. “Right, Spock?”
“I'm inclined to agree.” Spock realized his arms were crossed behind his back, and he made a conscious effort to relax them at his sides. “Most humans would not have been able to piece together a plan so quickly.”
McCoy rolled his eyes, though it lacked anything malicious. “But a Vulcan could have?”
“On the contrary,” Spock was too aware of both sets of eyes on him. His tone lowered a touch– just barely enough to be audible. “I believe any Vulcan would have been impressed by your display of sound reasoning and logic.”
McCoy's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed, so slightly that Spock wouldn't have noticed if their faces hadn't been so close. Had Spock ever had that effect on him before? “Why, Spock, I think that's the greatest compliment you've ever given me.”
“It is well-deserved, Doctor.”
Jim’s head moved to rest on McCoy's shoulder. “You hear that, Bones? Even Spock thinks you did a good job.” His hand gripped lightly at McCoy's thigh. Spock couldn't keep his eyes off of them; the way they were touching was so casual and so intimate and so alien. He ached to be a part of it.
“Well he's right, for once.” McCoy’s fingers carded through Jim's hair, traced the back of his head, and pulled forward along his jaw. Their faces were maybe an inch apart now, their eyes focused only on each other. “It feels good to be finally getting some recognition.”
Jim tilted his own chin, just enough for his lips to brush against McCoy’s. McCoy chased after him, and within seconds they were kissing in earnest. Spock took a half-step back as Jim slotted himself between McCoy’s legs.
They were beautiful. Tongues trailing each other’s lips, eyes fluttering shut, hands running along the other’s body. Spock wanted that– wanted to be involved, wanted them– but he had no idea where he fit in.
Jim nipped at McCoy’s lip, pulling out a quiet gasp. And then he was kissing along his jaw, down his neck. McCoy hummed his appreciation as he turned his head to give Jim better access.
The heaviness in Spock's gut returned. Fire hummed in his veins. His fingers twitched as he longed to reach out, but stopped himself for fear of interfering.
McCoy's eyes opened and he frowned, pushing Jim away firmly but gently.
“Spock.” His breathing was already heavier than it had been just a few moments prior. His voice was gruff but not unkind. “There's no way in hell I'm gonna let you sit there and stare at me.”
Spock felt so far from his element. Just like usual, he was on the edge of a world he wanted to fit into but didn't quite know how.
“What would you rather I do, Doctor?” He was tense, his shoulders pulled back tight. His arms plastered at his side. It felt uncomfortable, and he wasn't fitting in any better. As soon as attention was drawn to him, he clasped his hands behind his back again.
McCoy looked to Jim. He raised an eyebrow before nodding slightly in Spock’s direction. “You know, I think there's too much attention on me. You two go ahead for a minute. Focus on each other. I'll join back in when I'm ready.”
Jim turned to face Spock, a light in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Spock found himself worrying he'd come up and press their bodies together and it would be too much, but Jim stayed a good foot away. Eying him.
“Captain.”
Jim ducked his head, chuckling. He looked up at Spock through his long lashes. “It's alright, Spock. We'll take things slow.” His hand reached out and grasped loosely onto Spock’s arm. The only thing that separated them was the fabric of his shirt.
“I’ve always admired you, Mr. Spock.” His hand slid up and down his sleeve, unrushed. Jim kept his eyes on Spock’s chest as if avoiding his gaze.
The captain looked so soft, so vulnerable. Spock took him all in– the curve of his long lashes, the way his tousled hair fell against his forehead. The quiet sound of his breathing. “And I you, Captain.”
Jim looked up at him again, his expression warm. Behind him, Spock could see McCoy, leaning against one hand and sipping on the last of the brandy with the other. His own face was relaxed, and his eyes traced along the shape of the two of them.
“You’re so intelligent, Spock. I value your insight immensely.” Jim’s fingers moved down Spock’s arm and worried at the hem of his sleeve. “I know I can always depend on you to be the voice of logic. Reason.”
Spock could feel the slightest heat rising to his cheeks. His captain had complimented him dozens of times before. And yet this time felt different. More personal. Spock was all too aware of the pressure on his sleeve, of the way Jim’s hand was nearly brushing against his skin.
“I certainly do my best,” he managed.
“You certainly do a good job, I couldn’t ask for a better First Officer. A better friend. A better… partner.”
Jim’s fingers released Spock’s sleeve and fell to his wrist. All at once, it hit him– everything Jim was feeling. Gratitude for the doctor, surely. Beyond that, a deep and powerful need that mirrored Spock's own, stirring in his gut.
But more than anything, affection. It sat warmly where Jim felt it: in his chest, beating with his human heart. So strong it almost felt blinding.
Then Spock became aware of the touch itself, of the pads of Jim’s fingers pressing gently into his skin.
Spock gasped. His head was swimming. He struggled to control the leap in his heartbeat.
Jim was looking at him, his head tilted cautiously. His hand paused, touching Spock lightly. “Is this alright, Spock?”
Spock nodded. “Yes.”
The hesitation melted away from Jim’s face, and his hand shifted again– this time, his fingers curled lightly around Spock’s wrist. Spock couldn’t handle the sight of it and had to look away, only to find McCoy’s eyes on him. He was watching closely, with his brow knitted in concentration. Studying them, perhaps.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, Spock? Wanted you?” Jim began to stroke his wrist with his thumb. His touch was delicate. His voice was the same.
Spock could feel any apprehension ebbing away, little by little. He should have known to just trust Jim– should have trusted that Jim would know how to take care of him. “I can’t say that I do.” The tremble in Spock’s voice shocked even him.
“Mm.” Jim’s head tilted again, to the other side. Spock was very aware of his thumb’s path tracing lower, closer to his hand. “A long time. A very long time.”
“Is that so?” His touch was intoxicating. His emotions, even moreso.
“Oh, yes.” Jim was touching the meat of his palm with his thumb, now; his fingers had slipped to the back of his hand. “I’ve spent plenty of evenings dreaming about being here, doing exactly this.”
Jim lifted Spock's hand to his lips and kissed his wrist gently. Spock shivered. “Jim,” Spock whispered shakily, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Jim paused to look at him, smiling lips still brushing his skin as he spoke.
"Is this too much?"
"No," Spock said. "It is just that for Vulcans--"
"Hand touches are very intimate," McCoy finished softly. Jim glanced at him, but Spock couldn't keep his eyes off Jim, on his mouth. He could feel each quiet breath.
Spock felt almost dizzy. "Yes. That is correct."
"Yes, well." Jim smiled brightly. "I've done my research."
Of course Jim knew what he was doing. Spock had been foolish to ever doubt him. The two of them were doing a dance, one that was unique only to them. The way Jim had tangoed with McCoy was so different from the way he waltzed with Spock now. Jim was leading the steps, and Spock was eagerly following along.
Tenderly, Jim lowered Spock’s hand and turned it until his palm was facing up, level with their waists. Spock felt exposed in a way only a Vulcan could.
Jim was taking him apart so easily. So effortlessly. Already, Spock fought the urge to shiver. His body leaned into each touch as if seeking more. He wanted to throw down the barriers he so meticulously kept up and pull JIm close. He wanted whatever Jim would give him. He could imagine he already looked undone: wide pupils, a slight shake to his hands.
When Jim released Spock’s hand, Spock kept it anchored in place. Jim shifted his fingers to touch at Spock’s palm, and they traced gentle circles along its edge. “In fact,” Jim was saying, “I’ve thought about doing many things with you. Grabbing you from across the chess board during one of our games. Pulling you close.”
Spock was entranced. He was living for each touch, for the path of Jim’s fingers. “That would not be very conducive for our game,” he breathed shakily. It took effort to speak; he struggled to find words in the sea of Jim’s touch.
Jim chuckled. His fingers began to drag up Spock’s palm, up his fingers. Painfully slow. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. And I quite enjoy our games, Mr. Spock.”
Spock nodded. The rest of the room had melted away, save for their points of contact. “Yes, well, you are quite a formidable opponent. It is not often I feel challenged.”
Jim’s fingers brushed against the tips of Spock’s. It felt like electricity and heat, swirling with the need that consumed both of them.
And then Jim pulled away. Spock gasped quietly before he could stop it– the impact of the touch didn’t reside until a few moments after Jim’s hand was gone. He could still feel the tickle of Jim’s fingers on his. Could still feel his heated emotions stirring within himself.
“Jim–”
“I like seeing you like this. You’re beautiful, Spock.” Jim shifted their hands so he could press their palms together. His fingers spread before intertwining with Spock’s, and it drew another quick breath out of Spock. Jim’s hands were so warm. His emotions were so strong. Spock was all too aware of every place they were touching, his sensitive skin tingling.
“May I kiss you?”
Spock felt unsteady on his feet. Any sense of logic and reason was quickly fading away. This was all that mattered. “By Vulcan standards,” he breathed as Jim inched closer, “I would say you already have.”
Jim kept their fingers twisted together, but his other hand moved up to the back of Spock’s head and tangled lightly in his dark hair. Gently, he guided Spock down to his lips.
Doing anything with Jim came easily, and so Spock should not have been surprised to discover that kissing him was the same. Jim and McCoy had kissed eagerly earlier, quickly gaining momentum. But now, with Spock, Jim was taking his time. Their lips pressed softly together, but there was still a distance between their bodies. They were connected only by their hands– two pushed together, the hand in Spock’s hair, and Spock’s hand on Jim’s waist.
Jim’s kisses were soft, but not without enthusiasm. Each time their lips met, he’d make an almost inaudible sound. His tongue pushed out and felt along the shape of Spock’s mouth, unrushed and unhurried. It was Spock that pushed things forward, grabbing Jim’s hip and pulling him in so they were pressed close.
Humming his approval, Jim pushed his tongue into Spock’s mouth. It was warm, in a way that was distinctly human, and it was easy for Spock to melt into it. Any hesitation he may have felt had long since gone away. He knew, without a doubt, that he was known and wanted here. That he belonged here, if nowhere else.
Spock’s eyes wandered up, back to McCoy. He’d reclined further, and one leg had been pulled up on the desk. He was watching them closely and palming himself lightly over his pants. Spock noted the deep red flush to his cheeks, the way he looked at them with lidded eyes.
Jim broke the kiss to follow Spock’s gaze, and Spock felt the jolt of pleased excitement as Jim caught sight of McCoy. He pulled away completely, and Spock was left with an aching emptiness where Jim’s touch had been. Eagerly, Jim kicked off his boots and tugged off his shirt. He grinned, radiant. “That’s the spirit, Bones.”
He turned back to Spock as he tossed his shirt back towards the door. Though Spock had seen him shirtless dozens of times before, he was still struck with the beauty of the man in front of him. His skin gleamed delicately with sweat, and his broad chest fluctuated with gentle breaths. Spock’s eyes trailed upwards, up his body, determined to take him all in–
And then he caught sight of the horizontal scar across his chest. Faded, but still visible.
Spock could feel the slight frown on his mouth as he stepped closer to Jim. His thumb ran tenderly across the line of scar tissue.
Spock swept the lirpa forward, and it sliced open Jim’s chest effortlessly. Jim’s eyes widened in fear–true fear. He glanced down at the wound and then back up at Spock.
It was that moment that Jim realized this wasn’t a game– that Spock was serious, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill even his dearest friend.
Spock had noticed the fear. He had reveled in it, at the time. He hadn’t recognized Jim as anything other than an opponent that needed to be defeated, to be killed, and he’d delighted in bringing terror into his enemy’s heart.
“Just one more pass of the dermal should take care of it,” Jim hummed. Spock could feel him watching him, though he dared not look up to catch his eye. “Wouldn’t you agree, Bones?”
“I would say so,” McCoy answered softly.
“See?” Jim reached up to touch Spock’s face gingerly.
“That being said,” McCoy shifted until his feet were hovering off the ground and hopped off the desk. Jim’s hand fell uselessly back to his side. “You could've been killed, Jim.”
Jim caught Spock’s gaze, his face muddled in confusion. Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Now, I don't blame Spock for that. He was acting under instinct. He wasn't in his right mind.” McCoy strolled a step closer. “But it was still a close call. You have to be more careful.”
Jim sighed, turning his gaze upward and past Spock. “What would you rather I have done? Spock needed me.”
“I don’t know, Jim. But what would we have done if we lost you today?” McCoy touched Jim’s cheek gently, guiding his face up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “What would Spock have done?”
Jim’s eyes shifted to Spock, though his head didn’t move. Jim’s posture softened, and Spock could see a sadness in his eyes.
“Alright,” Jim said quietly. “I’ll be more careful.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” McCoy’s hand dropped. He stepped away and tugged his black shirt over his head, tossing it aimlessly aside. It draped across the computer. “Now, where were we?”
“I believe you were about to kiss me,” Jim smirked.
McCoy snorted. “Oh, was I, now?”
“Mm. Something like that, anyway.”
“Yeah. Something like that.” McCoy’s eyes flicked back up to Spock, who realized he had once again taken a step back to observe. “Spock, stop being a prude and take your shirt off already.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“You’re more demanding than I anticipated you would be,” Spock answered, the lack of amusement clear in his tone.
“Are you really that surprised?” McCoy scowled, waving Spock over with his hand. “Now c’mon.”
Spock opened his mouth, ready to tell the doctor that he was in no way obliged to obey his orders, and then swallowed his comment down. Wordlessly, he peeled off the top of his uniform and set it down gently on the floor. McCoy shuffled forward and kicked it away. His eyes drifted up from the ground as he began scanning along the shape of Spock. They hovered close to each other, not quite touching.
And then, in sync, both Spock and McCoy turned to look at Jim. He almost seemed to glow in the dim lights of the room, a bronze silhouette against the pale walls of McCoy’s quarters. He was here– alive and breathing and wanting.
McCoy and Spock moved towards him together, like they had fallen under the same spell. It had hit them at the same time– Jim was here, but he almost wasn’t. They’d almost lost him. The crooked grin he held now, as McCoy ran a hand up his chest and Spock stepped behind him, had almost been gone from the world forever. And what a terrible loss that would have been.
There was no life worth living without Jim Kirk.
Spock ran a hand down Jim’s arm and tangled their fingers together. Among all Jim’s other emotions was a clear sense of delight. Delight that McCoy and Spock were both here, that they were choosing to spend their time with him in this way. Spock hadn’t anticipated this happiness. To Jim, the rest of the day hadn’t mattered. What mattered was that they were all together now.
Spock pressed his lips to Jim’s neck. He could feel himself getting hungrier. The fire in his veins was burning in a controlled blaze, but it was burning nonetheless. Just like Jim, what mattered to him was that the three of them were together. Without Jim, or without McCoy, something would be missing. The final piece that made them whole.
Spock wouldn’t have wanted things to go any other way.
Jim gasped as Spock nipped gently at his neck. Through half-closed eyes, Spock saw McCoy lean down to kiss Jim on the lips, his hands working to undo Jim’s pants.
“Gentlemen,” Jim sighed, turning his head only enough to speak. “This isn't supposed to be about me. What about the doctor?” His tone had no force behind it, no real desire for change.
“Nonsense,” McCoy muttered. He raised a hand just long enough to turn Jim's mouth back towards him.
Anticipation spiked from Jim and fueled Spock’s own need. He could feel how slick and wet he had gotten. He yearned to be touched. But more than that, he yearned for Jim to get the relief he so desperately needed.
McCoy pushed Jim’s pants and briefs down his knees hurriedly, like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. But while his initial movements were rough and needy, he slowed down as soon as he wrapped a hand around Jim’s erect cock. His touch was gentle– not enough– and Jim’s body immediately screamed for more. McCoy stroked slowly and Jim bucked into his hand.
Spock watched, his face still buried in Jim’s neck and their fingers still tangled together. He smelled like cedarwood mixed with a sharp citrus– a scent Spock had smelled in passing, whenever Jim walked by or patted his shoulder. Now, he took in as much of it as he could.
Jim’s desperation grew hotter with each lazy stroke of McCoy’s hand. Spock could feel his thoughts muddling, the pressure building. “At least touch me properly, Bones,” Jim breathed against McCoy’s lips.
McCoy shifted as he prepared to kneel. Spock straightened up. “Doctor, what are you doing?”
McCoy motioned to Jim’s cock with a casual hand. “I was gonna suck Jim’s dick. Is that a problem?”
Spock dropped Jim’s hand. “I assumed I would–”
“You?” McCoy snorted. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I fail to see the humor in that proposal.” Spock’s back straightened, as if this were a normal argument he and McCoy were having on the bridge.
McCoy jutted out his chin and crossed his arms. “I’m the doctor that saved his life. I should get to decide–”
“Gentlemen.” Jim’s voice was harsh and breathy. His hips shifted. “It makes no difference to me who does it, but I do need someone to touch me.”
McCoy glared at Spock. Spock relaxed, defeated. “Carry on, Doctor.”
McCoy nodded definitively. “That’s what I thought.” He dropped to his knees, and Spock took a step away, back towards the desk, as he prepared to take a more observational role. The hollowness he had felt at watching Jim and McCoy together earlier had returned at full force.
Jim’s hand shot out and wrapped around Spock’s wrist, anchoring him where he was. “Spock. I need you here.”
Need. Spock felt another wave of heat push through him, mixing with Jim’s arousal. He’d been ignoring it until now, but he realized his own cock had started to slide from its sheath, and his pants were starting to feel too tight.
He nodded and took his place behind Jim, his bare chest pressed against his back. McCoy braced a hand on Jim’s leg and took the tip of his cock into his mouth. Jim exhaled shakily, then inhaled sharply as Spock resumed kissing his neck. His hips rolled, and he pushed himself deeper into McCoy’s mouth. Spock could feel Jim's shiver of pleasure. He focused on that, letting the emptiness in his heart fade away.
Spock rested one hand on Jim’s waist, holding him gently but firmly in place. McCoy hummed. Jim tried to squirm.
“Spock–”
He cut off Jim with a grind of his hips against his ass. Jim moaned, trapped between Spock behind him and McCoy in front of him. His head lolled to the side and his breathing quickened.
Spock's hips rolled again, and again. His cock was fully erect now, and the friction was a welcome relief. Each movement pulled another quiet, delicious sound from Jim.
McCoy took Jim into his mouth completely, and Jim twitched against Spock's hand.
“Wait, Spock–” Jim’s voice was airy. “Spock, I want to feel you.”
Spock pulled his hand away immediately to free himself from his pants, and Jim took the opportunity to rock his hips forward. McCoy pushed him back with a firm hand as Spock shoved his own pants down to his ankles and stepped free of them.
Immediately, Spock's hand grabbed back at Jim's hip. He ground forward slowly, his cock rubbing against Jim's ass.
Jim moaned. “You're so wet, Spock. You feel so good.”
McCoy reached up and pinched Jim's leg just enough for him to startle. Jim chuckled. He ran a hand through McCoy's hair. “Your mouth feels incredible, Bones. You're doing such a good job.”
McCoy did something with his mouth that made Jim’s hand tighten around a fistful of hair. It sent a shudder of Jim's pleasure through Spock. McCoy hummed his satisfaction.
Spock continued to grind against Jim as he kissed his neck. He dragged his free hand up Jim's chest, back down his stomach, and then up and along the rough tissue of his new scar. Jim reached up and grasped Spock’s hand. Wordlessly, he lifted it to his mouth and ran his tongue along the tips of Spock's fingers.
Spock shuddered, his hips stuttering. There was a trickle of pride and satisfaction from Jim at eliciting such a response so easily.
And then Jim hummed and took Spock’s pointer finger into his mouth.
Jim sucked gently, running his tongue along the shape of it, swirling along the tip of his finger. Spock could feel a buzzing in his head– a building pleasure that made it hard to think. He rested his head on Jim's shoulder. Only three things mattered: Jim, McCoy, and the pleasure flowing between the three of them.
Jim pulled Spock's hand back, and Spock couldn't stop the desperate sound that pushed from his throat. He felt a rumble of a chuckle from Jim, cut off with a gasp as McCoy took all of him in.
“Just like that, Bones,” Jim breathed. He chased after Spock's hand, now. This time, he took both the pointer and middle finger into his mouth.
The trace of Jim’s tongue on his fingers, the friction of Jim’s ass on his cock, the growing pleasure filtering from Jim into Spock– there was no existing outside of Jim and his influence.
Spock kept his composure just enough to kiss roughly at Jim's neck. Jim's hips rocked desperately into McCoy's mouth. The pressure in his gut was growing, mingling with Spock's, making it hard to tell what feeling belonged to who.
Spock pushed that feeling back into Jim. And that was enough– Jim thrust his cock hard down McCoy's throat. The tight heat became uncoiled and shot through Jim's veins and into Spock. And then Spock was coming, too; white-hot fire burned through him, amplified by everything Jim was feeling. And the intertwining of their pleasure fed back into Jim, creating an echo chamber of overstimulation and satisfaction.
McCoy pulled off of Jim and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Spock's fingers slipped from Jim's mouth. Belatedly, Spock realized he was holding Jim up, with one arm wrapped around Jim's heaving chest.
For a moment, Spock could only focus on getting his body back to baseline– slowing his heart rate, controlling his breathing. “That was–”
“Incredible,” Jim finished. He tried to get his feet underneath him, and Spock slackened his hold.
“Well I'm glad you two had such a nice time,” McCoy said from his place on the ground, his voice filled with an artificial venom. Spock could see his hips shifting minutely as his hard cock searched for contact.
Jim smiled softly. “C'mere, Bones.” He held out a still-shaking hand. McCoy eyed it suspiciously.
“Jim, you're barely holding yourself upright. How can I expect you to support me, too?”
As Jim considered this, Spock reached around him to offer his own hand. “Here, Doctor.”
McCoy took his hand without hesitation, and Spock immediately felt a strong wave of emotions crash into him. While the emotions themselves were similar to what Jim had been feeling– affection, arousal– the way they were felt was so distinctly McCoy. Jim’s had been smooth and defined; there had been a specific start and end to each feeling. But McCoy’s were both rough and burning, swirling together in a way that made it hard to define where one emotion ended and another began.
McCoy climbed to his feet, but Spock couldn't make himself let go of his hand. The gentle pressure of the doctor’s mind felt right on his.
Spock tugged McCoy forward. He stumbled and caught himself a few inches from Spock, who pulled him even closer. Once their chests were flush together, Spock sought out McCoy's lips hungrily.
McCoy’s shoulders tensed for a split second before he melted. The hand not holding Spock's went to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. His body vibrated with happiness.
Spock broke the kiss but kept their bodies close. McCoy had a dazed look in his eyes.
“You wanted to kiss me that bad, huh, Spock? Couldn't help yourself?”
“Not necessarily, Doctor.” A smile quirked on Spock's lips. “I was simply fulfilling your wish to kiss me.”
McCoy averted his gaze, his cheeks darkening. “What makes you think I'd want to kiss you?”
Behind them, Jim shifted over to the desk and weakly pulled himself to sit on it.
“Well, Doctor.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “I felt it.”
McCoy's eyes widened before he snapped his head away. “God damn touch telepathy.”
“So you admit it, then? That you wished for me to kiss you?”
Spock could see a soft grin on Jim's face. He watched the two of them with apt interest.
McCoy's avoidance turned into a pointed glare. “You green-blooded bastard. Of course I want to kiss you.”
And so Spock kissed him again. McCoy's lips were more chapped where Jim's had been soft, but it made no difference to Spock. He pushed his tongue into McCoy’s mouth, and McCoy released a long exhale. Gently, Spock nudged him backwards– their lips still locked together– until McCoy bumped against Jim's knees. Jim spread his legs, and McCoy settled between them.
Spock pulled away again, and this time McCoy was too busy breathing to scold him for It. He reached down for McCoy's pants, rushing to push them down past his waist.
At the same time, Jim leaned forward. His arms wrapped around McCoy's bare chest, and his lips settled right next to McCoy's ear.
“You take such good care of everyone else, Bones,” Jim said through a smile. “I think it's time for you to be properly taken care of.”
As Spock freed McCoy from his pants, he could feel eyes on him. When he looked up, Jim's gaze was solidly on McCoy. But McCoy's blown pupils were focused solely on him.
“Do you know how important you are, Bones?” Jim’s arms trailed down McCoy's abdomen and back up to his chest, then back down. “To me? To us?”
Spock wrapped a hand around McCoy’s cock and began pumping back and forth gently. Even that was enough for McCoy to start to squirm, but Jim tightened his embrace to keep him in place.
“Fuck,” McCoy hissed.
Jim chuckled. “There you go. You deserve this, Bones. You deserve to feel good.” He pressed kiss after kiss to McCoy's neck; McCoy tilted his head to give him better access.
“Spock,” McCoy hissed, “If you don't start going faster, I swear–”
Spock sped up his hand, and McCoy's words were cut off with a gasp. His hips rocked. Spock leaned into that reaction, keeping his speed until McCoy closed his eyes. He could feel McCoy getting lost in it, and it was hard for Spock not to do the same.
And then, Spock let his hand stop.
McCoy groaned this time. “Spock, what the hell are you doing?”
“I was simply pausing to ask if my speed was sufficient.”
By now, McCoy's hair was a mess, his eyes were dark, and his breathing was shallow. His hips squirmed, but Spock's hand remained still.
“You–”
“Gentlemen,” Jim interrupted, his tone light and unbothered. “Is now truly the time?”
Spock's hand began to move again, and McCoy's head fell backwards onto Jim’s shoulder.
“Is that better, Doctor?” Spock asked flatly.
McCoy nodded weakly.
Jim returned to his place by McCoy’s ear. “You look good, Bones. I'm the luckiest man alive to see the two of you like this.”
McCoy's eyes were closed, his head turned in towards Jim’s neck.
“Are you close?” Jim whispered. McCoy answered with another weak nod.
“I want you to look at Spock. Can you do that for me?”
McCoy buried his face deeper into Jim's neck. Jim brought a hand up to his shoulder and gently pointed him in the right direction.
Spock didn't realize how closely he'd been watching the two of them until McCoy's eyes fluttered open. There was another wave of arousal as McCoy caught him staring.
“Jim is correct, Doctor,” Spock rumbled. “You are indeed a sight to behold.”
“Fuck,” McCoy hissed again.
“Come on, Bones. Come for us.” Jim’s hands continued to explore McCoy’s chest. “I’d say you've earned it.”
McCoy bucked his hips. He buried his face back in Jim’s neck to muffle a moan. Spock felt the burst of heat and pleasure and electricity as McCoy came onto Spock’s hand.
“There you go.” Jim continued to stroke McCoy’s chest even after he went limp and Spock pulled away. “You did so well.”
Spock straightened up as McCoy lifted his head from Jim’s shoulder. McCoy scanned him with bleary eyes. “Not bad, Spock.”
“On the contrary, Doctor, you seemed to enjoy yourself quite thoroughly.”
McCoy’s lips twitched into a smile. He’d made no move to pull away from Jim’s embrace. “Yeah. I'd say I did.”
“How about you, Spock?” Jim was smiling too, softly and warmly. “You seemed to have a nice time.”
Spock paused.
“--my captain and my friend.”
“You can’t tell me that when you first saw Jim alive that you weren’t on the verge of giving us an emotional scene that would have brought the house down.”
He studied Jim and McCoy, still wrapped closely together. He studied the warmth with which they watched him.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, Spock? Wanted you?”
“You green-blooded bastard. Of course I want to kiss you.”
He had found where he belonged. The emptiness and loneliness he’d felt when he’d entered the doctor’s quarters had dissipated completely.
“Yes, Jim. I would say that is an accurate assessment.”
Now, Spock only felt whole.