Setting: McCoy and Spock are sharing a room on leave, while the ship gets a maintenance overhaul. Pre-slash.
******************** McCoy leaned against the wall, and tried again to punch the code into the room lock. Redlight, <blink> <blink>.
"Damnation!"
The door opened. Spock stood looking at him.
"Damn thing wouldn't open!"
Spock's face registered restrained disapproval (not that ol' Len noticed...or cared. Much.)
"You are inebriated."
" 'Course I am. What's it to you? I'm on leave."
Len walked past Spock (well, he did seem to be having trouble keeping steady--he aimed carefully with each foot, but managed to run into Spock anyway. There! He was past. Dang, his bed was a long way away, with nothing to hang onto....)
Spock took his elbow, and maneuvered him across the room. Len's knees ran into the edge of the mattress, and he turned as he fell over, meaning to end up sitting but finding to his surprise that he was looking up at the ceiling. Too much energy to sit up now.... He felt his left leg being lifted. Spock was taking off his boot for him.
"Spock-boy, you are a prince."
Spock didn't answer, merely lifted the other foot to remove the second boot.
"Prince Spock-Charmin'." Len grinned, picturing Spock in a fairy-tale prince get-up, face stony. "Freezin' dragons to death with his eyebrow, an' leavin' the girls to cry.... The big green Vulcan Frog-Prince, just needin' a kiss...." He was rambling, knew it, didn't care. It was too hard to keep his eyes open, he was talking to the insides of his eyelids.
Suddenly strong hands and arms were roughly hoisting him, dropping him unceremoniously in the middle of the bed, head on the pillow. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking into a sternly-annoyed (but in a very controlled way!) face. The next thing just came out, straight from his id, no editing.
"Fuck me."
He closed his eyes, the look on Spock's face clear in his mind. Well. *That* didn't go well. He was too drunk to feel anything right now, but not too drunk to know that tomorrow, and for many days after, he was going to be very, very sorry that that moment just happened.
"Shoo-fly, you bother me."
After a moment or two, the insides of his eyes went from red to black. He opened them. The overhead light was off. He looked toward the one source of soft illumination. Spock was at his computer, reading from the screen. Len sighed, clumsily grabbed part of the overhanging blanket at the side of the bed, pulled it over him and turned onto his side facing away from Spock. He let the feeling of floating dizziness pull him into sleep.
*********************
An hour later Spock finished reading and making notes on the research files he'd downloaded from the station's library. He glanced over at the second bed, where soft snores could be heard. He could see one foot in a black sock sticking out below the edge of the blanket the doctor had rolled himself in. The head of the bed lay in deeper shadows, he could just see the outline of shoulder and head.
He heard again the doctor's voice, saw his wide blue gaze.
"Fuck me."
His eyes traveled to the lumpy outline of blanket where the doctor's hips would be. Then back to the exposed foot. The sock was tight, showing the long, strong shape of it clearly. After a bit he turned back to his computer screen. He looked at it a moment, mind elsewhere. Then rose and walked past the beds (not looking at the second one as he passed) and into the bathroom.
Spock emerged fifteen minutes later, showered, brushed, and attired for bed. His eyes were still adjusting to the dimness of the room as he let himself look over at the doctor on his way past. He could see the doctor's face in the shadows, relaxed and heavy with sleep. He kept walking, paused to turn off the computer screen, and slid gracefully and efficiently beneath the covers of his own bed. He arranged his body in the familiar meditational pose, and slowed his breathing. He fell into sleep, the sound of the doctor's breaths in his ears.
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