A Little Friction Goes a Long Way

A Little Friction Goes Along Way
                  Summary: AU, my attempt at putting the boys in an awkward situation;
                  somewhat farcical. That old cliché of a confined space.
                  Rating: R for language and situations
                  Disclaimer: Still don't own 'em. Never will. So leave me alone.
                  Thanks to Janet for the beta and the patience!
                  "I…er…I…" Smooth, McCoy, smooth. I've never
                  been so wretchedly
                  embarrassed in my entire life. This day has sucked from the time I
                  got up.
                  Poor Spock looks wide-eyed and dazed. For a Vulcan that is. I
                  don't blame him. He's sprawled beneath me, pinned flat by my
                  and the weight above us. There's nothing I can do to disguise
                  fact I've got a five-alarm hard on, given he's been under me
                  the first alarm, which kinda turned out to be mutual from the look on
                  his face. The alarm I mean, not the hard on. Unfortunately for
                  Spock we're going nowhere until we're certain no more of this
                  is coming down on top of us. And then only after Scotty digs us out,
                  of course.
                  I could KILL somebody right now. Anybody. Several bodies. Starting
                  with a certain cadet. I swear I'm slipping him something
                  gonna make him pee blue for a month.
                  You'd think an away team would know not to touch things that glow
                  hum. Isn't that one of the first things they teach in Away Teams
                  101, right after 'don't laugh at the natives.' But no, some wet
                  behind the ears trainee had to go and touch it to see how it worked
                  and what it did. What it did was go boom. A fucking sonic boom and
                  the walls came tumbling down. The beams in this chamber Spock was
                  blissfully wandering around in shifted and the roof dropped on our
                  heads. Not that Spock is concerned about falling masonry when he has
                  the more immediate problem of my wayward dick to contend with. I
                  know he's dying for Scotty and the rescue team to dig through
                  just to
                  get out from under me, but he doesn't dare move in the meantime. The
                  beam that has me neatly wedged on top of him has given us a measure
                  of protection, but the only way out of here is slow and easy.
                  beam us out cuz they can't get a good read with the triennium
                  here. I am so tempted to remind him why Captains, even Captains of
                  training missions, should not be on away teams. Next time I see him,
                  Jim Kirk is gonna pee blue, too, just for being a bad example.
                  But I only have myself to blame. I had to be a mother-hen and rush
                  toward him rather than out of the room when the roof fell in. We
                  went down so hard he's lucky I didn't shoot one of us in the
                  ass with
                  my phaser.
                  Spock has difficulty meeting my eyes. He's furrowing his
                  too, not even raising them. This is bad on so many levels. I'm
                  lot of things I couldn't tell my maiden aunt about, but I'd
                  like to
                  think I'm neither a coward nor a liar. Right now, I'm both.
                  forgive me, Aunt Gladys, as I pull it together long enough to spit
                  out a sentence. "Don't worry about it," I suggest to him
                  gruffly. "Just an adrenaline rush, that's all."
                  Seriously. He doesn't need to worry. He's never noticed,
                  and I've
                  never told. Not about to start now. I have some pride, even if a
                  certain part of my anatomy will take anything it can get. We're
                  fine. I'm fine. Just so long as he doesn't do that
                  thing, which is what kicked me off in the first place. If I come in
                  my pants just from the stretching and the heat of his body and
                  undeniably delicious smell of him, I will kill myself right here if
                  we don't die first. He really doesn't this.
                  I do not need this.
                  I was fine, thank you. One happy-ish, if curmudgeonly, Star Fleet
                  doctor with a crush the size of Jupiter on one of my two best friends
                  who really, truly never needed to know I was basically limping along
                  doing the unrequited love dance…Yeah. I know. Pathetic. Hey
                  least I never brought the guy soup.
                  "I am concerned," Spock admits softly, shocking the hell out
                  me. "Doctor, Leonard, are you?" he pauses. Shit. I have
                  reduced a
                  Vulcan to incomplete sentences. And he's using my first name.
                  never uses my first name. This can't be good.
                  Okay, am I what? Pop quiz, Pointy Ears. Is Len: a) horny? b) a
                  desperate loser? c) in love with you? d) a horny desperate loser
                  who's in love with you? I'm going with `d' myself.
                  "It's nothing," I insist in my best 'forget about it,
                  leave it alone,
                  it's not open for discussion' voice.
                  Spock doesn't seem to fully grasp his quelled status, or the fact
                  this is not in fact open for discussion. He gives a little
                  experimental thrust that has me hissing and his nostrils flaring.
                  "I would not call that nothing," he accuses in dry tones.
                  "Never had any complaints." I shoot him a smutty look before
                  I can
                  stop myself. It constantly amazes me how such an obviously handsome
                  guy can wander vaguely through life not even seeing sex or gender as
                  an issue. Uhura worships the ground he walks on because he can't
                  the woman for the person. It's not helping him right now, of
                  because he can't see the doctor for the dick.
                  "Can we not talk about this?" I plead. I want to tell him to
                  breathing on my neck. But I won't. I like it. It'll get me
                  long evenings in the years to come.
                  It isn't Spock's fault he's beautiful, and if only he
                  could be
                  brought to realize it and not go around being stoic but inherently
                  gentle to the susceptible, which I know should not include mother-hen
                  medical doctors and officers, well, we'd all sleep a lot happier
                  my bed.
                  "You have an erection," Spock observes clinically.
                  What? Like I don't know this? He's always had a gift for
                  obvious, but I was hoping he'd do the silent Vulcan thing, not
                  scientific, curious Vulcan thing. "Yeah, I learned about them in
                  "The occurrence of said tumescence of which correlates precisely
                  my adjacency."
                  "So you think it's a good idea to talk dirty to me?" I
                  sarcastically. Didn't he take psych at the academy? "Such
                  random example here, NOT using words like `tumescence' to a
                  you've gotten tumescent?"
                  I see." Spock's brow rises thoughtfully. "Turgid.
                  "What did I just tell you?" I demand.
                  "Emphysematous. Edematous," Spock insists somewhat
                  I glare at him.
                  Huh, that's a new one. "What?"
                  "Vulcan. Roughly translated: Big honking boner," he notes
                  imperiously, gazing up at me like butter wouldn't melt.
                  I shrug as much as the beam allows me to. "It's my phaser, I
                  No need to do the `virgin sacrifice at dawn' bit."
                  I'm not going to
                  admit that my tumescence and his adjacency have any correlation at
                  all. He can think I'm a loser who needs to get out more and he
                  gives me any more attitude, I'll forget I'm a gentleman and
                  show him
                  what a little friction can accomplish.
                  Which is kind of the crux of the matter. We're not like-minded,
                  I am a gentleman and Spock's friend, so I've said and done
                  that will make him uncomfortable or even aware that I'm quietly
                  up inside, because as much as I love and need Spock, and I accepted a
                  long time ago I wanted Spock in a way I've only ever wanted
                  damn few women at that-- I don't get to have him.
                  I've hit for both teams in my day. Spock is straight as far as I
                  know. I'm celibate by circumstance. He's also celibate, but
                  choice. And Spock never takes the easy route, and in his case
                  celibate does not equate with susceptible. I'm so aroused I
                  see straight right now. Spock…isn't. He's anxious and
                  again I have to add for a Vulcan, you have to trust me when I tell
                  you that I know this Vulcan, not biblically know but I know him, and
                  he's talking because for the moment it stops me from
                  acting. Probably for the better. We've got a roof to get out
                  under before he can get out from under me.
                  So I'm not admitting this is anything more than a minor
                  inconvenience, friction, if you will, the kind of inconvenience a guy
                  who realizes he's supposed to be more in touch with his dick
                  "Doctor, I…"
                  "Friction," I say flatly.
                  "Interesting," Spock rolls the word slowly over his tongue.
                  you are not actually moving," he supplies oh so helpfully.
                  Ah, if only Spock was the no-brain, all-dick type. I wouldn't be
                  love with him, but I also wouldn't be trapped here with a
                  erection and an insatiably curious Vulcan with all the finely honed
                  survival instincts of a suicidal lemming given he keeps saying shit
                  like `tumid' to me and can't keep fucking still.
                  "SPOCK," I hiss a
                  My turn to sigh. It's hard to avoid his eyes. It's hard to
                  the fact I could just drop my head and kiss him about as thoroughly
                  as anyone has ever kissed him in the whole of his life.
                  Other than that, I'm okay, we're pinned but I'm not
                  actually hurt,
                  except for my pride, and my libido, which both wish I was dead. Just
                  pinned. Tumid and pinned. Chief Medical Office, Leonard McCoy, Homo
                  Still, what was the roof and is now pretty much the floor is looming
                  over us, looking like it could go at any moment, so best to be
                  still. Much as I'd like a little distance for the sake of my
                  shreds of dignity, I'm not hitching up to spare Spock so he'd
                  keep still if he doesn't want me going off like a rocket.
                  "KNOCK IT OFF." His stretching is becoming dangerously close
                  Spock closes his eyes momentarily. "I believe I landed on my
                  scanner. My lower back is becoming numb."
                  "Oh, why didn't you say something sooner." Yeah,
                  let's hear it for
                  going into medical mode. "Can you move enough for me to reach
                  Oh wait, bad idea. Reaching under the ass of the guy who's made
                  He lifts ever so slightly; I suck in my gut as much as humanly
                  possible; he shifts us both centimeters to the right, and I can reach
                  the strap of the scanner case. One good tug, and it's out.
                  "Yes, thank you." Two beats then "Why did you not tell
                  me you were
                  attracted to me?" Spock asks as if he merely wanted the latest
                  sickbay reports.
                  "I'm not," I insist stubbornly.
                  Spock's gaze shifts pointedly down.
                  "Huh," I snort dismissively. "Don't discredit a man
                  just because he
                  needs a little quality time with Patsy Palmer and her five finger
                  band," I drawl. One of Spock's trademark you cannot fool a
                  stares is sent my way. I've always kept my private life
                  private, given my reputation is that I'm both a gentleman and a
                  ladies man. But the tragic truth is I may talk the talk but I sure
                  don't fuck the fuck.
                  "I am merely suggesting that if you are attracted to me, you
                  acknowledge it to us both," Spock persists.
                  "Say what?" I ask incredulously, before I can stop
                  myself. "Excellent job on the deduction, Spock," I sing song
                  witheringly, "and by the way, you look so hot in your science
                  jumpsuit I want to drag you into the supply room and fuck you
                  senseless." I use my best scornful 'like that would EVER happen!
                  Pfffft!' voice. I mean, if I have to tell him I was trying
                  for `ludicrously exaggerated' I'm going to lose all
                  Especially as it's the literal truth and all.
                  Both of Spock's eyebrows climb into his hairline. "You
                  Of course I do! I'm a GUY. It's never pretty. The merest glimpse
                  of his ass makes the roof of my mouth go dry. Throw in the jumpsuit
                  and we're talking stress fractures on my tricorder. Those things
                  cling. "Don't be stupid, Spock. Can you SPELL
                  hypothetical?" Okay,
                  maybe that was a bad example. Forgot my audience, here.
                  Spock's face is an odd mixture of relief and puzzlement. "I
                  see. I…
                  as a matter of fact I am…I am somewhat disappointed," he
                  admits with
                  quiet dignity. "I mean, if you…" he takes a shaky breath
                  but I
                  assume that's just because I'm crushing his lungs,
                  "…wanted to ask me
                  to dine with you or…"
                  You'd have raised both eyebrows so fast the world have made a
                  screeching sound!
                  "I would not have said no."
                  "What?" I ask with exquisite caution, feeling like I'm
                  teetering on a
                  knife's edge. I'm admitting nothing if we can both escape
                  with a
                  modicum of dignity attached, but if there's a hint he
                  would…shit. I
                  am so screwed here. I never wanted him to know and now…I sigh.
                  We're both screwed. Can't get the genie back in my pants.
                  "I am not averse to seeing you," Spock says quietly. "I
                  have never
                  considered a sexual relationship with you, in fact, I have not
                  considered a relationship with any of the crew…but…but I am
                  averse," he states carefully. Very carefully.
                  "For pity's sake?" I snarl, my heart sinking.
                  Spock flinches. It was mercury fast, but it was there. "You are
                  only one who has asked," he agrees stiffly. "I suppose you
                  could call
                  that pitiable, Doctor."
                  Aw, hell. HELL. What am I supposed to say to that? It bites, BIG
                  TIME, loving this guy. "I meant me. You pity ME," I mumble
                  pock's head titls and his eyes widen in a `this does not
                  way that does my ego proud.
                  "Everyone likes and respects you."
                  "Everybody thinks I'm a loudmouth md with an attitude
                  problem," I
                  correct crisply. "Including you," I admit wryly.
                  "At first, yes. Now, only some of the time," Spock assures
                  earnestly. "The rest of the time I think you are…"
                  "Attractive?" I leer, deliberately ludicrously exaggerated.
                  coaxes nothing from him. Damned Vulcan.
                  Ouch. I wince. Not the most glowing character reference a guy could
                  look for.
                  "We could spend time together. If you wished," he offers.
                  "We spend time together now." And what I want is sex;
                  constant, hot,
                  guilt-free sex. Which of course you don't get if you happen to be in
                  love with the guy, especially this guy.
                  "Privately, not just as colleagues."
                  "Are you offering to spend time together as lovers?" I ask
                  Spock's nostrils flare minutely. Then he nods solemnly.
                  I feel a little sick. I hadn't, I truly hadn't realized how
                  alone he
                  felt, if he's willing to consider sex with me just to…
                  "No," Spock glares at me. "I am not desperate or in
                  need. "
                  Oops. Gotta work on that poker face.
                  "I'm not dating you!" I scowl back.
                  "Why not?" Spock asks stubbornly.
                  He's appallingly cute when he's indignant. Always has been.
                  Why do
                  you think I've baited him so often?
                  Spock tries to speak but has to pause to spit out some of the dirt
                  that's trickling down over our faces – Scotty, thank gawd, at
                  digging through. The trickle becomes a steady stream of dirt and
                  debris, so I hunch forward protectively, covering Spock's
                  face with my own, arms braced behind my head to protect my own
                  noggin. Such as it is.
                  I don't give a shit. I've got a nose full of strangely
                  scented silky hair, more than enough to take the edge of a rock that
                  ricochets agonizingly off my shoulder hard enough to bounce. In
                  fact, the small rocks are tumbling down continually, glancing off my
                  back and shoulders and skittering away, but it's worth it.
                  is beginning to filter through and Spock's hair is streaked with
                  Scotty's doing pretty good up there. We'll be out in no
                  "If I am attractive enough to quote `drag into the supply
                  room' and…"
                  Spock hesitates, going suspiciously still for a moment, "…why am
                  not attractive enough to spend time with me privately?" he
                  The issue isn't who I find attractive, the issue is who he
                  As in he does it for me, and I so don't do it for him. As
                  fresh air pours in and Spock gets ready for another verbal salvo, I
                  give in to an irresistible impulse I've been suppressing for
                  and clamp my hand over his mouth.
                  "Forget it, Spock. I'm not dating you," I tell him
                  smugly as his
                  outraged eyes lay into me.
                  "Sirs?" A trainee's startled voice echoes.
                  I remove my hand and Spock speaks for both us. "Cadet, what is
                  status of our rescue?"
                  "Give or take ten minutes, sir. Chief Engineer Scott needs to
                  the far wall. He's waiting for another erector set to get
                  How appropriate, I think.
                  The cadet continues, "Are either of you injured, sir?"
                  "Nothing serious," I shout.
                  "Okay, sirs, Mr. Scott says he'll have you out soon; so just
                  lie back
                  and think of England."
                  This is so not my day. I'm praying that Spock doesn't know
                  reference. But, of course, he does.
                  "England? Very well," he says. "Nelson's monument.
                  Big Ben. The
                  Tower of London."
                  "Spock, stop with the phallic structures." I can't
                  believe him
                  sometimes. More debris rains down, and the beam shifts. Spock tries
                  to shift us out from under it. I'm grateful. . .
                  Until he turns his face to my ear and whispers "Bangers and mash.
                  The crown jewels. The Chunnel."
                  Bastard, he's teasing me. How dare him!? Oh wait. He's
                  me. We're essentially alone, he's felt my erection and
                  he's teasing
                  me. What the hell does that mean? Why isn't he offended by this?
                  He's Vulcan as he's oh so fond of telling me. Shouldn't
                  he be
                  ignoring this? Doing the whole logic thing?
                  Dirty, grimy, scraped, and scratched, but otherwise fine as we beam
                  back to the ship. We each go our separate ways. Showered, and in a
                  fresh, non-torn uniform, I return to Sickbay less than an hour later.
                  Spock is waiting for me. Shit.
                  "Walk with me, please," he asks. We enter an empty lift.
                  "We are
                  dating," Spock states.
                  We are? That's… Where the hell did this come from? "Is
                  that an
                  order, Captain?"
                  "Yes. We are dating. Agreed?" Spock prompts, softening
                  No. Uh huh. No way. "Agreed," I answer. What, he's not
                  the only
                  one who is curious. And this means we move swiftly on to satisfying
                  my curiosity. And lots of other little urges I have jostling
                  pleasurably for his attention. But before we get to that, I need to
                  make some things clear to him. "You can't go back on it, you
                  This is not suck it and see, Spock. We work together, so you have to
                  know going in if we're dating, it's not casual. It's
                  very serious."
                  "Understood. Consequently I suggest a suitable waiting period
                  progressing to physical intimacy."
                  "Waiting period?" I ask suspiciously. Hey, I'm not one to
                  anyone into sex, but I'm not waiting five to seven years.
                  "Such as?"
                  Spock looks at his boots. "I insist we date for at least one
                  before we engage in sexual intercourse."
                  Three months? Three? MONTHS? Whaa?
                  Son of a bitch. That's admirable, I agree, that's what
                  I…I've never
                  rushed, but it's not like we're just leaping into bed.
                  I've known
                  him for years. And I'm not getting any younger out here in
                  space. "We don't need to get to know one another, Spock. We
                  need time to build trust. We HAVE trust," I complain. He's
                  annoying the hell out of me forever and frankly, never more so than
                  now. "One month," I counter.
                  We've been walking the whole time and now he stops.
                  "Welcome" he
                  gestures expansively at the less-than-romantic vista before us,
                  our first date."
                  Whoopie. Officers' Mess.
                  "Two months," he counters back.
                  "Six weeks, but you kiss me at the end of tonight's
                  date." Hey, I
                  deserve to know just how interested he is, don't ya think?
                  "Six weeks, but I will not kiss you on our first date."
                  Of course he won't. Can't ever let me win an argument.
                  "Second?" I
                  smile at him.
                  We sit and he looks at me for what seems like a very long time.
                  will consider it, Leonard."
                  Hey, this day may not be so bad after all.