FIRST KISS
Acidqueen was wondering about Spock & McCoy's first kiss.
That is an odd
coincidence, as it so happens that on the first anniversary of the
first time they'd…well, whatever the current euphemism is
for that act
is, McCoy'd been wondering the exact same thing.
Long
past the end of their official shift, Spock and McCoy were still at
work at a bench in the biolab, McCoy performing the fairly automatic
task of adding reagents one drop at a time and swirling until the
precipitation point. At his elbow, Spock dictated notes on the trials
into a biocomp. Not the most exciting anniversary McCoy had ever
had--not that he expected otherwise. If Vulcans paid any attention to
anniversary dates--which seemed unlikely--they probably thought of it
in Vulcan years which would put it several months from now. Still,
McCoy was hoping for a nice dinner together, toasting the past year
over a nice sippin' whiskey, a little lovin', and a whole lot o' sex.
A little conversation would be nice, too. He glanced to Spock, who
droned on--oblivious--into the biocomp.
Aside from bored, McCoy was feeling a little nostalgic, more than a
little romantic and a whole lot of that overwhelming sense of
near-suffocating joy that one gets when found unexpectedly by love when
one had pretty much written off that possibility forever.
As McCoy's hands dropped and swirled, his mind wandered to his hopes
for how the night would end. He reviewed the possibilities including
all the things they'd done already and the even more things they had
talked about but not gotten around to yet. This made him significantly
more than a little horny, which being both uncomfortable and
distracting, is not a good thing when working with chemicals even in a
rote and mindless way.
Forcing his mind away from… well, from whatever you care to
call that stuff he'd been thinking about--it doesn't matter; actions
not only speak louder than words; they can be a lot more fun-- he tried
the marginally safer subject of trying to recall the first time they'd
kissed
It wasn't the first time they'd made love. That had been tentative and
awkward (at least until near the end, when it had just been plain
mind-blowing!) enough for the both of them without McCoy presuming to
press that kind of intimacy on Spock as well. And as for what Spock was
thinking at the time, who knew? Lying together afterward, McCoy felt it
would be childish to ask for it or to press his desire for something so
banal considering how close to perfect he felt otherwise.
It wasn't the next few times they'd made love either. While it may not
be true that you can't teach an old dog new tricks, it is true that
after certain age most creatures fall rapidly into habits and routine.
So McCoy got it in his head that Vulcans--or at least Spock--didn't
kiss like Humans did and that wasn't going to happen, which was
disappointing, but far from his biggest disappointment in
life…or even that week. God knows what Spock was thinking,
but the end result was that at the beginning they didn't mouth
kiss--during sex or any other time.
When things changed and they did, McCoy realized the difference between
feeling close to perfect and feeling perfect.
And Spock did too.
So there on their first anniversary, McCoy was feeling all warm and
squishy trying to remember when was the first time they kissed, but the
past year had kind of all blended together into a warm, squishy mix,
and he discovered that he couldn't recall.
So he asked Mr. Know-It-All.
Spock replied that he couldn't remember either, which led to a
smart-ass remark about green-blooded people who claim to have such
superior mental faculties, which led to an aloof rejoinder about his
faculties being reserved for important things, which ordinarily would
have led to a colorful string of expletives leaving anyone within
earshot (except for one, who would be smiling on the inside, though
only one other person would know it) trying not to crack-up. But on
this anniversary day with McCoy feeling all goofy and about fifteen
years old, the remark actually stung, and instead it led to a real
fight right there in the middle of the biolab which left the bystanders
confused about what the hell was going on with them now.
Heaven only knows what Spock was thinking.
McCoy stomped off to their quarters. By the time he arrived he'd
already cooled off and was a quite embarrassed and still more than a
little hurt--but that's an occupational hazard of falling for Vulcans:
Even the half-Human ones aren't Human, and it's a mistake to interpret
their reactions and responses in a Human light. But mostly he was
horny, uncomfortable and pissed-off that it didn't look like he was
going to be getting any tonight. The frustration of thinking about what
he apparently wasn't going to get made him even more horny: Wasn't it
just like that bloody hobgoblin to manage to piss him off from half-way
across the ship?
Trying to turn his resources to something more useful, he sat down at
the computer. Soon he decided that there was nothing that couldn't
wait--although there was something in front of the computer (down and
in front of the computer…down and in front of the computer
and inside his trousers) that didn't want to wait, so he shut off the
machine and headed back to the biolab to eat crow. Never any fun, but
the quickest route to getting other things eaten and getting to eat
other things, so…
Just before he reached the door sensor, it opened and Spock strode in.
"Spock--"
McCoy smiled, but Spock didn't. Ignoring the fly and fastener, with one
motion he stripped McCoy's pants down to mid-thigh (to the regrettable
detriment of said pants) and shoved him face-first flat against the
bulkhead, barely giving McCoy enough time to arrange his necessaries so
as not to be squashed. Restraining McCoy's wrists easily with one hand
and using the other to unseal his own trousers, Spock nudged
purposefully up against McCoy's ass.
McCoy squirmed against the bulkhead, but Spock pressed his body weight
full against him and held them both still.
"Yes?" Spock breathed hot into the crook of McCoy's neck
At Spock's tone, McCoy's dick pulsed even harder. He tried to get a
little friction going against the wall, but Spock had him trapped.
"Dear God, yes, and hurry, you--"
Then Spock was inside of him, and a embarrassingly short time later
McCoy blew his load so hard he was afraid he'd choked up a piece of
lung or ejaculated out an essential organ--or both. Trusting Spock to
catch him, he let his legs give way, but Spock was otherwise occupied,
and they both tumbled to the deck, McCoy bumping his left elbow with a
sharp word.
Then Spock was on top of him, kissing deeply enough to reach any lung
McCoy might have left and rubbing his dick frantically against McCoy's
thigh and the remains of the trousers making somewhat of a mess.
Fortunately the former trousers were already ruined, so it was all good.
There are times when neatness counts and times when it doesn't. McCoy
figured that this fell into the later category, and besides, it washes
off, so he grabbed hold and--still lip-locked with the green-blooded
bugger, tugged as hard as he could until Spock gave it up all over his
tunic, which previously had not been ruined, but that stuff washes off
too, so that was all good too.
"Happy anniversary…Dear." Spock murmured, either unwilling
or unable to open his eyes quite yet.
McCoy jerked his head up. "What did you say?"
Spock managed to raise one questioning lid. "You dislike the epithet?"
"You little devil; you knew the whole time."
"Of course. Unlike Humans, I retain all important information--"
"Do you want to fight or make out?"
Spock appeared to consider.
McCoy scowled dangerously. "Spock, ordinarily I'd work with you on
that, but let me let you in on a secret to a long and happy
relationship that I had to learn the wrong way: on one's anniversary
night, there's only one correct answer."
Spock put a hand to his flaccid genitals. "Then perhaps you should ask
again in fifteen minutes, when my answer would be different."
"I'll wait. McCoy kicked of the remnants of his trousers and settled
into the crook of Spock's arm.
They lay there kissing and touching for quite a long time until McCoy
had forgotten all about his first kiss question and was mostly
interested in when the next one would be and on which body part.
So many options, and fifteen minutes was so little time.
It wasn't until after that thing with the katra and the fal-tor-pan
when McCoy was trying to sort out which of the memories inside his head
were whose that he discovered Spock did remember after all. Their first
kiss had been on Garndier IV, about three weeks after the first time
they'd…well, you know.
They'd been partnered for a survey of botanicals with the potential for
medicinal use. It was a lovely planet: warm, lush and noticeably
humid--like an Earth tropical resort. With the sunshine, the rich
floral fragrances, and the Garden of Eden atmosphere, McCoy's mind
began to wander from the job. Atypical for him, yes, but for the past
couple weeks his brain had been short-changed on blood flow by another
body part that had turned out to be surprisingly greedy, so perhaps it
hadn't been an entirely unanticipated occurrence.
He'd started thinking about Adam and Eve, naked and alone, kissing
under the fig trees, and working on making little Able. While he
wouldn't really want to change the liver-hearted, two-legged,
pain-in-the-neck, he did find himself wishing that Spock were just a
wee bit more Human: McCoy himself wouldn't mind making a little Cain
right here. There's nothing quite like kissing your lover outside in
broad daylight for God and everyone else to see, but with that stuffy,
stiff-assed elf, McCoy supposed it was out of the question.
McCoy had jumped as a gentle hand to the back of his neck jerked him
back to Garndier IV. He wondered if Spock could pick up his thoughts
from that touch. Though it didn't much matter, it would be nice to
know. He'd turned his head to make a rueful joke about his slacking off
on the job and getting fired by the head of Sciences, but to his
astonishment, Spock had leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
Well, more like on the lips and tongue and teeth and tonsils and uvula
(Dear God, but the things that man could do with his tongue! No wonder
women go nutso for Vulcans. McCoy supposed they were trying to keep
that secret all to themselves; he'd have to take that issue up with
Christine one day.) but the important point being that that indeed had
been their first kiss.
"So you can read my thoughts from there," McCoy had murmured when
they'd paused for breath.
"Generalities only. Specific thought transfer requires specific
pressure point contact and changes. Why do you ask? Does the
possibility disturb you?" Spock had raised a curious eyebrow in a way
that made McCoy think it was probably not part of his act.
"You God dammed, impossible son-of-a-bitch." McCoy had grinned and
slipped him tongue again before he had time to change his pointy-eared,
computerized mind.
"You God dammed, impossible son-of-a-bitch."
"Pardon?" The healer inquired from the other side of the room on Sileya.
"Nothing," McCoy said. "Just talking to--" He reached inside to the
jumble of memories. "Myself." He chuckled as the healer no doubt
strained to make some sense of Humans.
Coming back from the dead: that the Vulcans have got down pat, but try
to predict one simple country doctor…
"May I see him now?" McCoy asked.
"You may."
He passed into the chamber where Spock sat in front of a computer. The
three healers with him dropped their hands from his head.
Spock turned around and nodded to him in recognition.
"Hi, honey; I'm home." McCoy said and kissed him chastely on closed
lips.