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<![CDATA[Interlude
McCoy lay on his side, watching the shadows play over the
half-familiar room. Everything looked weird. He felt that odd sense of
unreality he used to get when visiting his Aunt Sarah, trying to sleep
in a place that smelled and looked and felt so different from his own
bed at home. Here, the ship sounds were almost--but not quite--the
same as he was used to. The light was distracting--almost like a
campfire, if he closed his eyes--but the temperature was wrong, and
the *smells* were so...different. And he was on the wrong side of the
bed.
He sighed softly, and tried clenching his ass a little. He always had
hated this part of fucking, when he hadn't had anything up his ass in
so long. The muscles were stretched out now. He tried to tighten them
up a little, they felt too...open. He ached a bit in his gut. It edged
on giving him the cold sweats. He sighed again, then swung himself out
of the bed and toward the head, almost without thought.
The glare of the light in the head made him dizzy. He sat on the
toilet, alternately letting his ass hang open and clenching in a short
gentle rhythm. He held his head with one hand, his elbow resting on
his knee. He let his mind drift. He remembered the first time he'd
gotten fucked. He'd felt like crap for two days afterward. But it had
been *so* worth it. Jesus, David.... They'd figured out how to ease
into it, after that.
He found himself nodding off. God, he was exhausted. He peed sitting
down, wiped front and back...that was all just semen, right? Yeah. One
hand on the sink, he levered himself up and toward the shower. It felt
good to get clean. He'd been sweating like crazy, from the heat, and
the sex...and the heat of the sex. Oh, man. His cock almost thought
about twitching, but it was *way* past that now. Talk about tired...he
grinned feebly to himself.
Back in the main cabin he paused to let his eyes readjust. Then walked
over and sat (gingerly) on the edge of the bed. There were times he
wondered what the hell he was doing here. When he felt the ship around
him as a fragile shell, a tin can in an enormous, empty, cold, strange
universe. When he longed for the solidity of Earth under him--the
sweet Georgia air around him, in his lungs--the light of the familiar
sun in his eyes, on his skin. He looked at the alien man sleeping in
front of him, and was homesick.
He took a deep breath, to ease the tightness in his chest, then lay
back down in the sweaty sheets, this time facing towards Spock. He let
his chest rest lightly against Spock's arm, his knee up against
Spock's thigh. And his mouth on that amazing, gorgeous, *hot*
shoulder. His eyes drifted shut, and he felt himself falling into
sleep, and into a new sense of...home.]]> |
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