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 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.