PART TWO

THE OTHER ONE
TOS S/Mc, h/c
[NC17, for m/m and violence]

Morning, on the bridge of the Enterprise. Outbound from the Halkan system, on course for the Neutral Zone. Spock was bent over his viewer, hands racing across the keyboard. He was deep in calculations.

Were the existence of the mirror universe not certain to be declared restricted information, it would have made an interesting paper for the Journal of Temporal Physics. Instead, his results would rest in the Fleet Archives, and the Restricted-to-Instructors files at the Vulcan Science Academy. Rather a pity, in Spock's opinion. The equations were elegantly simple...

On the other hand, were it not for his service in StarFleet, he might never have had the chance to make these observations at all. They were, in the abstract, quite fascinating.

In this way, he had already filled several hours.

*Just keep busy, and the time will pass.*

He had not slept well, even safe in his quarters. After a few hours he had given up, and simply tried to meditate. He had not succeeded in completely clearing his mind, but he had at least reached the second meditative level, managed to restore some of his strength. For now, that would have to suffice.

"...said, are you listening, Mr. Spock?"

Spock blinked. Obviously, he had not been. "I beg your pardon, Captain -- I was... distracted. What did you say?"

"Oh, that's all right. Nothing important. But you've been very quiet today. Anything I need to know about?" There was only concern on that face, in that voice.

That was Jim. He didn't miss much. Spock only just managed not to flinch at the question. Instead he forced his voice and face into careful neutrality. Forced his mind away from the memory of this face, screaming obscenities at him through the force field in the brig. "No, sir. I am merely completing my calculations, for my report on your... displacement."

The human nodded, smiling, diverted for now. "Ah, well. In that case carry on, Science Officer."

"Yes, Captain." Spock bent over his viewer again, resisting the impulse to turn and see whether Jim was still watching him. *Control. I am Vulcan...*

Ordinarily, he would have confided in this man. But he could not imagine sitting down and explaining, even to *Jim,* what had happened. What had been done to himself and also to Leonard. Far less could he imagine telling anyone else. No. He appreciated Jim's concern, even though Vulcan tradition meant he could not say it. But he couldn't tell him about *that.*

Spock immersed himself in his work again. *Control.*

It took all the control he had not to jump when the turbolift opened and McCoy sauntered onto the bridge. Never mind that it was the doctor's routine to visit the bridge at least once in a shift. Even so, it was hard to look at him. Hard not to look at him. Distracted again, he miskeyed a command, and the computer beeped at him to back up and try it again... Unwanted memories kept trying to surface as he struggled to maintain his control. It was the first time he'd seen the doctor since he'd used a meld to help heal the damage that the other Spock had caused. It was illogical that he should be so affected now -but it was true, nonetheless.

Bones fidgeted nervously, standing next to the command chair. Though his back was turned, he was intensely aware of Spock's brooding presence at the Science station. *Sorry, Spock -- I won't be long, I hope...*

He'd debated not coming up here today -- he knew it would be hard on Spock as well as himself. But in the end, he'd decided that was too likely to arouse Jim's suspicions. Jim Kirk had mighty sharp instincts, and it wouldn't do to set 'em off right now. No sir, it wouldn't do at all. He sure didn't want to be the one who had to explain all this.

"...Earth to Bones -- anybody there?" *Oh, yeah -- way to go, McCoy. Real smooth...*

"What? Oh, sorry, Jim -- guess I was woolgatherin' there, for a minute or two."

Kirk grinned. "Huh. You and Spock -- must be the day for that. It'd better not be anything catching, Doctor." But he smiled, to remove any sting from the words.

Bones shook his head. "No, no. Nothin' like that. I just... didn't sleep real well last night." He frowned, looked at his friend's concerned hazel eyes. "I dunno -- did you ever get *too* tired to sleep, Jim? Like that. Some of what I saw on that ship..." He shivered; so did Jim.

"Yeah. I, ah, think I know what you mean, Bones." Once more Kirk saw the other Chekov, so like their own, screaming in the agony booth. Saw the sleepy, sated look of pleasure on the mirror Spock's bearded face, as he watched. *There, but for the grace of god...* Jim shivered. "Let's just say it's *good* to be home."

"Oh, yeah. I'll second that, any time."

There. Now that hadn't been too bad, Bones thought. Pretty soon now he could make his excuses and leave, routine having been satisfied. Spock had finally unfrozen and was once more busy at his computer. Nope. That really hadn't been too bad at all.

Of course, if he really wanted to do this right, Bones knew he ought to go over and hassle Spock for a while. But if he tried, he knew the panic would overwhelm him. God only knew what would happen then. Just being in the same room with the Vulcan, even this far away, was intensely disturbing. No. Some other time, maybe. But not today.

Spock allowed his eyes to close for a moment in relief, when the doctor turned to enter the turbolift. He'd been hoping McCoy wouldn't come and speak to him; in all honesty he was not at all sure what he might do -- assault the man, flee, stand his ground... The hot rage of his warrior ancestors still roiled within him, shaming him. He feared that he might simply snap and strike the doctor -- and if he did, Vulcan strength would almost certainly kill him. Even though he knew that this man was not his assailant. It didn't seem to matter. The face was the same. The voice was the same. Even the scent of him was the same.

Spock had never experienced actual hatred before. He found it most distasteful as well as alarming to be so surrendered to his emotions. *No. I am a Vulcan. I must... control.*

And somehow, in the end, he managed. He never knew how. But he managed.



-----///-----



The next two days were fairly uneventful. They were still in transit; it would be another day yet before they actually reached the Neutral Zone. In the meantime, those who'd been involved in the incident wrote and filed their reports, while the rest used the time to catch up on routine maintenance. Kirk had ordered full readiness by the time they reached their destination, so there was no shortage of work to be done.

Both Spock and McCoy still flinched, internally, when they met by chance in the messhall or on the bridge. But it was gradually getting easier for both men to remember. *No. This isn't -him-. That was the -other- one.* And so far, to both men's relief, no-one else seemed to have noticed that anything was wrong.

They were slowly becoming more comfortable around each other. It was just going to take some time, in Bones' opinion. Inwardly, Spock was not so sure. He still had not been able to clear and order his thoughts. He sat each night in front of the Watcher, trying to meditate -- but clarity continued to elude him.

Plus, he was having bad dreams. On awakening he could not recall them, only the emotions the dreams had left behind. Finally he decided to give up on meditating and try the gym instead. That evening, after a very light supper, he made his way down there and put himself through a grueling 2G workout. And it did help, a little.

Just the same, if he could not resolve this unaided, he would have to take some leave time and go to Vulcan to consult a Healer. To continue on as he had been doing was unacceptable.

McCoy was somewhat more fortunate. Whatever Spock had done for him in the healing meld had made all the difference. He had an odd, almost empty feeling, from time to time, but nothing he did seemed to make any difference either in bringing it on or dispelling it afterwards. Bones refused to dwell on it. He was a doctor, not a psych case. He had too much work to do to fool around sitting in front of some counselor half his age.

After his workout, Spock showered and accepted Jim's invitation to a game of chess. Playing chess with Jim was always satisfying. The grateful Vulcan was able to fill several more hours quite pleasantly.

Hopefully he had not given the captain too much cause for concern with his recent behaviour on the bridge. The human was his best friend, though as a rule Vulcans did not use that particular phrase. It was simply the closest he could come in Standard to naming what the other meant to him. But to have to explain, even to Jim, what he had experienced... No. He did not want to do that. Hence his presence here tonight -- chess was almost a nightly routine, for these two.

And in truth it was good to see him, as it always was. The chess games were a familiar thing, a comfort. Here alone, nothing had changed. He could indulge himself in the illusion that he was unaffected. That it had never happened...

Spock had only made one visit to the brig after Sulu had discovered and imprisoned the impostors. It had been... unnerving. His control had not failed him, but he had found the impostors disconcerting. Not just McCoy, either. The look on that Kirk's face, the things he had said... Most unpleasant.

A great relief to see, tonight, that *this* friend at least was unharmed, unchanged.

The problem came when it was time to bid the captain a good night and return to his own quarters. Here, in the dimly-lit warmth, he tried once more to compose himself for meditation. He showered and donned a soft black robe.

It seemed so strange, standing in the fresher, looking down at his unmarked skin. Somehow it seemed as though what had happened to him should be visible -- but it was not.

Spock sat cross-legged in front of the Watcher for hours that night, but he still was not able to properly order his thoughts. When he finally gave up and went to bed, his sleep was restless, haunted once more by nightmares.

Try though he might to forget, in his dreams, he *remembered.*



-----///-----



He is lying on his stomach and he cannot move. Straps, tight-cinched, hold him down, hold his wrists at his sides, his legs apart. He is in Sickbay, in one of the examining rooms. He tries to break the straps -- as he knows he has done before -- and he finds that his strength is gone. He is as weak as a newborn sehlat cub. He does not understand what is happening to him, why this has been done. He does not remember coming here. He was on the bridge...

The ion storm -- the alert! He wills adrenaline to pour into his bloodstream, but it has no effect.

He hears the door swish open behind him. With some effort he manages to turn his head -- and sees McCoy, leaning against the now-closed door. Smiling at him. It is not a smile he has ever seen on the doctor's face before.

"So, you're awake now, huh? *Good.* That saves some time, don't you think?" That flat, cold voice is not one he's heard, either. Not from McCoy. Not before.

"Dr. McCoy?" he asks. "I do not understand..."

"Oh, I think you'll figure it out, Spock. You always were a bright boy." And the doctor laughs, a cold, hard laugh unlike any Spock has ever heard him use. There is cold fear, now, in the pit of his belly. He ignores it and tries again to snap even one of the restraints -- and he cannot. Dizziness flares, tries to sweep him away. He feels as if he is going to be sick... That other laughs again.

Fingers run lightly down the Vulcan's back; he has to force himself not to flinch.

"You gettin' the idea now, my too-proud friend? I love this. This is *great.* Back home, *my* Spock would have *killed* me by now." The doctor sniggers. "Hey, what do you know, for once Kirk was right. You're all nothing but sheep, on this side. Even *you.*"

Spock says nothing. It does not seem as though it would help, and he does not wish to give this creature the satisfaction. He still does not understand why this is happening. What does the other mean, "back home", "on this side"? This side of what? With an effort he turns his thoughts aside, concentrates on his breathing, his pulse. Slow. Steady. *Hold on. Wait...*

Blue eyes flash contemptuously. "You think I don't know what's goin' on in that head of yours right now? Hah!" Hands grip his face on either side. Spock is still only half awake, still unshielded -- and his Gift throws him, unguarded, into the abyss. He is unprepared for the contact, for the rough intrusion of that other's thoughts and wants. He cannot help the sound that escapes him. Were he free, he would throw this monster from him.

For it *is* McCoy -- and it is not. He has touched the doctor's mind, before. He has never touched this mind, though it seems to know his all too well. This one, and himself, are bonded... Only, it is not *he* who is this doctor's bondmate...

There is another Spock. Another Enterprise. Another universe, like to theirs, but different. So very different. And what he sees, in this man's mind... He shivers, slightly, unable to control. The room seems almost to be spinning, though he knows that it is not.

"El'n kha-etakh..." he whispers... *Delighter-in-pain.* "Ah khir t'chah-ikhol'iyous..." *Poisoner-of-wells.* The words are ancient, Old High Vulcan from before the Reformation. Modern Vulcan does not contain the concepts. But this one knows what he means.

The monster simply laughs. "Oh, you better *believe it,* Spock. But hell, I couldn't resist. I'm never gonna get a better chance to pay you back, you bastard." Spock is silent again. He knows, as the other knows, that it is not him this man would punish if he could. But it makes no difference to this one. An available target is just as good as the desired one.

Small metallic noises; the clinking of steel instruments on a cloth-covered tray. Tap of fingers on keypad, as he locks and encrypts the exam-room door. Then the tiniest touch of cold steel at the back of Spock's neck. Tuneless whistling, the way Chekov does when he's hunting down a sensor ghost. A giggle. "Now, don't move. I'd hate to cut you too soon..."

Spock holds himself still, as very delicately his tunic is cut from him, his trousers cut open, pulled away. Then he feels those cool fingers once more, against his bare skin, and this time he cannot keep himself from shivering. He feels dizzy, disoriented. Weak. He knows he has been drugged. His efforts to control prove futile. Touching him, feeling his reactions, the human laughs again.

"Mmm, boy -- you just can't wait, can you?"

Spock closes his eyes, tries to pull his mind away. *What is done to the flesh is unimportant...* -- these are the words of Tradition. He holds to that, as this twisted mockery of his friend lays hands upon him once more...

*...no...*



"Spock -- wake up! You hear me? Wake up, right *now!* None of this is real -- you're dreamin', man. Now wake *up,* dammit!"

Spock gasped; his eyes flew open even as his hands assumed charash'va'at, the posture for defense. For one dizzying moment of pain and confusion he could not tell where he was, or who was speaking to him. His heart hammered madly in his side. He could hardly breathe... And then he realized. He was in his quarters. It was Bones talking to him -- and not the monster. This man, he knew. This one was his friend.

He drew a deep breath, and somehow schooled his face to calmness once more. "Thank you..." he managed to say, in something close to his normal tones. What was Bones doing here, in his quarters? He did not understand, and he thought that he should.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Spock. I, ah..." and here the human looked away, seeming embarrassed. "I, um -- well, I was dreaming with you, I think. I don't know how, but I was..." He didn't describe his frantic race to get here, from Sickbay. Somehow, he had *known* Spock needed him. It had surprised him that the door just opened at his approach. He hadn't known that Spock didn't lock his quarters, but it was just as well. It had saved him using his over-ride code, which would have shown up in the Operations log in the morning, inviting questions he didn't think either of them would want to answer.

Spock shivered; though it was not particularly cold in here, his control seemed to have deserted him again. Slowly, he gathered his composure. "It is... a remnant, I believe," he said, very quietly, "an artefact... of the meld we shared in Sickbay after your return. He lowered his eyes, fought for control. "I must apologize, Leonard. I did not intend --"

"Aw, hell, Spock, ain't nothin' needin' an apology. You're the one always tellin' *me* not to worry. So, it's my turn now." The doctor ran the ubiquitous scanner over him for a moment, frowned at the readout. "Hmm. Well, that's a bit better. Looks like your system finally threw off the last of that witches' brew he gave you. Ribs look good. How do you feel?"

"I am... better. Thank you." There did not seem to be much else he could say. He found himself oddly grateful for the friendship he could feel in every touch, every word. He could not find words for it, but the gratitude was real. That other had touched him too -- but there had been only hate and triumph in that one's mind, a twisted joy at the chance for revenge. He had seen in that one's thoughts what the two of them were to one another, on *that* Enterprise. How, when his Time had come upon him, that other Spock had simply reached out and *taken* what he needed, had bound that universe's McCoy to him, in hatred and in pain.

Even now, the memory of it made him feel ill, ashamed. To bind oneself forever to one who hated you, who would kill you if he could... On Vulcan, no-one had done such a thing for more than three thousand years -- at least, not on the Vulcan that *he* knew.

But this man here now was not his enemy. In this one's hands was only concern, caring, a certain rather wistful curiousity. And above all else, respect. The anger in this man's mind was not for him, but for his assailant, who was now a universe away.

To his relief, Spock realized that he could no longer feel the monster in his mind. The other was really and truly *gone.* The gap between their worlds must have finally closed. He bowed his head, grateful that he was not standing, for he did not know if he could have kept his feet unaided.

"Hey," came the soft voice again, "don't worry about it, Spock. The bastard's *gone.* With any luck at all we'll never see any of those assholes again." The Vulcan looked up, and saw in the mournful blue eyes the mirror of his own confusion, his own pain. Somehow he managed to sit up straight. To hold up his head again, tired and shaken though he still was. When the human reached out, it seemed only natural to return the gesture, to draw that thin blue-clad form closer; to accept the comfort the other was offering. To offer the same, in return.

Yes. For once he could admit this need, for it was fully echoed in the mind of his friend. Both of them had been affected -- wounded inside, where it didn't show, by the mirror universe encounter -- and no-one else could possibly understand how it felt, what it had been like. He could never have explained this to someone who hadn't been through it. He could never have found the right words. But with this man, no explanations were necessary.

They sat quietly together, each feeling safer, more comfortable, than he had alone. Slowly, the dream-created fear dissolved. Slowly, Vulcan and human heartbeats slowed, grew steadier. Sweat dried on skin, the salts of two very different oceans, somehow all the same. Together they were at peace, as neither had been since the nightmare first began, three days ago.

It was Leonard who finally blinked and sat up. "Listen, Spock-- I wanted to thank you for what you did for me. You helped me out a lot, you know." As he spoke his hands kept moving as they had been, softly tracing the bones of the Vulcan's back and shoulders. So thin, this friend of his. So tense... *So warm.*

Another shiver ran through the thin, hot frame. "Spock? What's wrong? Are you all right?" The sound of a swallow, in a dry, dry throat. Then...

"I am... well enough, Leonard." The Vulcan sighed, very softly, then continued.

"No thanks are needed. I could not let that pass, what he did to you. I *could not.* And you... have also been helpful... to me. It is I who should thank you, perhaps..." And he allowed his hands to return the other's touches, very gently, saying in that way what he did not have the words to express. *Please... don't go.*

It was the first time since the incident that he'd actually been comfortable touching anyone, much less allowing himself to be touched. If the truth were known, it was the first time in years. There was silence again, for a time. Then the sound of a throat being cleared; a nervous human chuckle. "Ah, Spock -- mebbe I should -- ah, that is, maybe it'd be better if I..." Bones stopped, seemingly unable to finish the sentence or to still his hands, now moving even more softly. Circling the straight spare form of his friend. Savouring the warmth of Vulcan skin...

Slender warm fingers under his chin, tilting his face so those bottomless black eyes could see him more clearly. And in those eyes there was only warmth. Acceptance. What could almost be called a smile, on that lean face. "Leonard -- you are not disturbing me. You do not have to leave, if you do not wish to."

Silence, again. *Did he mean what I think he meant?* McCoy's pulse skipped, started to race again. No. Surely, he was confused. This was *Spock,* for god's sake--

That warm, deep voice, right beside his ear. "Yes. This is me. And you. And I am not confused, Leonard. Not any more. Nor are you." Warm hands wrapped themselves around him, drawing him in close. Warm skin, close to his. Bones sighed, feeling the last of his tension and fear trickle away. Of all the possible consequences to that day, he hadn't guessed at this one. But oh, how very much he wanted this to be true.

He'd finally realized it over there, in that madman's grasp. He'd understood, to his dismay, that what had made this so much harder to for him to bear was the knowledge, never before admitted, of just how deeply he cared for his friend, whose face his enemy had worn. Remembering that, his breath caught in his throat.

"Shh," came Spock's voice again, softer than ever. "I know... It was the same... for me."

The Vulcan blinked in surprise at himself, as he said it. But it was no less than the truth, after all. There would be no logic in pretending otherwise. He had simply never considered it before. He had been too busy watching Jim and dreaming...

Only here, now, the body he held was not his enemy's. Not the monster. This was Bones, who knew him better than anyone except possibly Jim. And in this human's warm touch and open thoughts, he saw only his own thoughts reflected, his own wants mirrored. And accepted. And welcomed... *Oh yes.*

He sighed, very faintly, and allowed himself to relax further into those arms, allowed his head to find the other's shoulder. He settled until the two of them sat curled together, like cats on a hot sunny window-ledge. Ahh... It came to him then that he could sit like this for a very long time, and not grow tired of it.

"Mmm..." murmured the human. "Mmmm. This is nice..."

"Indeed..." His voice was only a hoarse whisper -- but the other understood.

"Yeah -- it's the same for you, isn't it?"

Spock made no answer beyond that which his hands had already expressed; he could feel, somehow, that none was needed.

He was not surprised, a short time later, to feel soft lips nibbling gently at the side of his neck -- but the jolt of electricity he felt then ran through them both. Both froze, for a time. Then the caress began again, and this time he relaxed into it, stretched his neck to allow the other greater freedom. He bent to brush his cheek against that soft dark hair, so like and yet unlike his own. He lifted his hand, traced the smooth rounded curve of one ear. Also like, and unlike, his own. He reached out, to taste the salt-sharp tang of human skin.

"Mmmm..." came the soft voice against his cheek. And Spock could feel the other's thoughts, the same as his own -- welcome and peace, a stirring of something more than that. Although the actual healing meld had been some days ago, some lingering trace of contact yet connected them. And so he knew, as he reached to turn that other face toward him, that this was something both of them wanted -- no; *needed.* Blue eyes met his; bottomless, guileless, familiar blue eyes. Eyes which held no harm nor hate; the same eyes he had seen smiling down at him so many times when he awakened in Sickbay -- eyes always warm with concern, or bright with joy. Greeting him, whenever he came back from the darkness.

Warm slender fingers met shorter cooler ones, twined together. Somewhere between worlds, McCoy's beard repressor had worn off. Now a stubbled human cheek rubbed against a smoother Vulcan one.

"Ahh..." Neither knew which one had sighed. It didn't matter. What each felt now, both felt; the contact between them was opening up again as they touched and held one another. Bones reached over and fumbled for a moment, until he found and unsealed the seam in the black Vulcan robe, helped the other shrug it off his shoulders. Pale olive skin, once more unmarked; tangle of soft black fur on the lean chest, surrounding the darker bronze-green of small flat nipples. *Oh my god. He's gorgeous -- I never noticed...* He leaned down and took one in his mouth, and was rewarded with a soft gasp and a shiver. He nibbled on it, sucked it, brought it to an aching hardness that he could feel within his own flesh. Then he took the other warm green nub and did likewise. Spock's hands tightened on his shoulders -- he might have bruises there, by morning. He didn't care.

Then those hands -- *so warm* -- were pulling at him, lifting him into a fierce warm hug, sliding up under his shirt to pinch and caress at his own nipples... "...oh..." Spock's tongue was *hot!* That tongue, licking at the side of his neck; stopping to taste behind his ear... Finally those marvellous hands drew him in close, wrapped around him, stroking him, petting him...

Soft brush of lips against lips, and again that jolt, that spark leapt between them -- and this time it did not subside.

"...ahh..." The deep voice was almost purring, now. Bones opened his eyes and was struck silent by what he saw -- that lean angular face, black eyes hooded, smouldering; a faint flush of green on those cheekbones, those ears. *For me. It's me, I brought him to this...* He bent to taste that mouth again -- salty like his own, but sweet, too. Different. Not human -- but a brother, just the same. No. Closer than a brother. Spock.

*Oh yes... Oh, please.*

*Please, make the shadows go away.*

With all that other had done to him, only this man had thought to kiss him.

"...Ahhh..." Now it was his turn to moan, as warm Vulcan hands eased his shirt from him, drew him down to lie beside the slim, furred body. He could feel his own arousal growing; the tight uniform pants merely adding to the pleasant ache between his legs. He sent one hand casually wandering, to find and cup the other, to stroke the growing length -- and smiled, to feel it pulse against his hand, to see the black eyes slitted closed in pleasure for a moment. That face -- so close, unguarded now, open to him, even as he was in return. He reached for another kiss, and this time found the other just as hungry and as eager as himself. "Mmmm...." *So good... So warm.* Held like this he felt safe, protected. Held like this he was free to just let it all go for a while, to relax...

Sharp white teeth nipped at a cool human ear. McCoy groaned and lifted his hips. He rolled over, pulling the Vulcan with him till he lay on his back, with Spock draped over him like a blanket. They kissed again, and time went away for a while.

They moved together, rubbed against one another, skin against skin, cloth-bound flesh against cloth-bound flesh. Agile human fingers worked between them, unsnapping, unfastening. Soft voice, against his ear. "Spock..."

"Yes... ah!" Those hands about his waist, loosening, sliding the bunched cloth of his robe downward. "...Leonard..." Brushing against him again... "...ahh!"

Two sets of hands, now, working together, until finally they could push their clothes aside, turn and slide out of their confining grasp. Those cool human hands again, about his waist, stroking his ass, pulling him close until they lay side by side, their cocks pressed together. It was exquisite.

That voice again, so warm. So very different, from the other one...

"Mmm... you're *warm,* Spock. You feel *good.*"

He bent his head for another kiss. "You, also, my friend. You are cool." He took one of those skilled, clever hands in his own; bent and licked the salt from the human's palm. The other gasped and arched against him, his erection sliding across Spock's belly... "To touch you..." the Vulcan purred, "to touch you is like a drink of cool water, in the heat of the desert..." He looked up, then, and what he saw in the familiar blue eyes nearly took his breath away.

"Spock... please, let me..." And those hands reached down to touch him, to stroke him, to press the two of them together, length for length.

"...ahh..." He couldn't speak. And it didn't matter -- they both knew. They both felt it. Hot electric tingles ran through them both, a pleasant aching tightness, in bellies and in balls. Spock was lost and he didn't care at all. So different, this, from what he had imagined. From what that other had done to him. This -- ah, this felt good. It felt *right...*

He turned his head again, to kiss the other, to lick and suck at the side of his neck, his ear. And all the while, those cool human hands were wrapped around him, squeezing and stroking, holding them both together, working them as one. He lifted his hips, thrust himself deeper into that tight, smooth grasp. Felt himself beginning to slick, to slide even more easily. *So good...*

And then Leonard reached out, took Spock's hand and drew it to his face. Pressed it to his temples, to the meld points there. "...please, Spock. Touch me again... please..." Spock could feel the human's desire, the mirror of his own. Very gently, his mouth curling up in just the faintest hint of a smile, he spread his fingers out. Lowered his shields; opened up his mind, and gathered his lover in...

Sensations doubled, now. He could feel the tension building, inside them both; his body settling into an ancient, instinctive rhythm. Both of them, moving together. Those hands on his cock, the slick silken feel of them sliding together, rubbing against each other. Both of them wet, now. Gasping for air. Trembling, whimpering, hard as silk-covered steel... *So good.*

"...ah! Ahh... *yes*..." Faster, now. A moan. He didn't know whose. It didn't matter. They were between each other's legs, now, pressed tightly between dark-furred thighs, hands desperately grasping at each other's hips. Sliding, rubbing, thrusting together... *Oh yes -- so hot; so -good-.* Faster, harder... Building inside them both, that tightness, that tension. Breathless, tingling, electric anticipation...

And suddenly, it took him. Gasping, shuddering, head thrown back, teeth clenched, Spock came, a hot flood of seed pouring from his flesh, bathing them both. And he felt it, felt the echo in himself, as the human writhed and bucked against him; more wetness, more heat, splashing over them both...

Waves of pleasure, pouring through them; they were tossed and shaken, wrung dry by the force of it. When at last it began to subside, it left them exhausted, trembling -- but contented. Sated. All tangled up, together. Human, Vulcan, furred skin, less furred -- it made no difference. They lay there like that, in silence, wrapped around each other, body and mind. Together.

Only when Spock began to shiver did either of them move. They pulled the blankets up to cover their shoulders, and McCoy scooted down to spoon himself against the Vulcan's back, hands about the slim, furred waist, chin tucked under one elegantly pointed, green-flushed ear. Under his hands, he could feel Spock's heart racing, almost too fast to count.

"Spock," he whispered, very softly. "What is 't'hy'la'?"

Warm, slender hands clasped about his own. "Where... did you hear that word?"

"I saw it in your mind..." His hand was drawn up, kissed.

"T'hy'la -- is a Vulcan word. It means... it means lover, brother, friend -- all three." And Spock turned, then, reached hungrily for the human's mouth. Devoured him in a kiss. Only then, as he leaned back for air, did he say the rest of it. "It means... you, t'hy'la. What you are, now, to me. With me..."

"Mmmm... I like that. 'T'hy'la'..."

"Yes. You." More kisses, then, sleepy and relaxed. No shadows, now. No fear. Only this; the two of them, and the pleasure they had found together. The healing...

"Mmmm... Spock -- you sleepy?"

"I -- yes." Surprise, in that deep velvet voice.

Bones laughed, gently. "Well, hell, what do you expect?" One last kiss. "We really should try and get some sleep. Can I stay with you?"

"Yes. Please, stay -- I do not wish you to leave."

"Mmm. That settles that. I don't wanna leave you, either." One more last kiss. A stretch, a sigh. "Computer: lock this door, my voice only, or Commander Spock's. Lights out. Set alarm for 0530. Execute."

A certain quiet interval, then, of gentle touching. Sated smiles. Wriggles, adjustments. Contented sighs...

And finally, sleep came and took them both. No dreams, this time. No nightmares. Just two dark heads, nestled together on a pillow. Two lean forms, curled up together.

Peace.

-----/end/-----