Potential Bond Mate

Title: Potential Bond Mate
Author: fundaMellie (melskubich@yahoo.de)

Series: TOS
Pairing: S/Mc

Rating: R or NC-17

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Star Trek, I don't make any money from this either. No copyright infringement intended.



Potential bond mate


Dr. Leonard McCoy was sitting in the mess hall, at a table all on his own. He was staring into his obligatory drink absent-mindedly. He hadn't touched his Romulan Ale since he'd sat down, which was kind of unusual. His shift had ended half an hour ago and he had every reason to be in good spirits. Spock and the Captain were fine and all this Pon Farr nonsense had ended. Leonard shook his head angrily. He'd always known – well, ever since he'd walked on board the Enterprise to find that green-blooded pointy-eared goblin there – that all that Vulcan logic and the mastering of emotions was nothing but a veneer. A mask to hide behind.  It was all good and well; to be able to keep a blank face, to deliberately misunderstand every joke and to discuss it endlessly – all in the name of logic, of course – was something even he would master one of these days if he kept practising. He was the doctor on board this space-borne pile of junk after all, god-damn it! Where in hell was the sense in keeping your self free of emotions and to live more or less like  a monk only to have to resort to ritual violence or succumb to a primal sex drive that was ferocious and could last for days every seven years? And as far as he knew, which was next too nothing anyhow, this Pon Farr could have all sorts of nasty side-effects. One of which being that more Vulcan males got themselves injured during Pon Farr than members of the Enterprise crew during shore leave. Not to mention the little fact – which Spock had mentioned in his usual nonchalant way – that Pon Farr could indeed be deadly for a Vulcan male – if neither sex not violence were an option for him during the period of hormonal imbalance for example.


Sex or death – put like that it sounded more like a Klingon custom than a Vulcan one. Walking computers that they were, the doctor continued his little rant in his thoughts. If all that wasn't illogical to the highest degree, he'd never ever doubt Spock's words again!


And yet... he could not deny he was glad that everybody had come off lightly. The thought of having to deal with Spock's dead body in his sick bay made him uncomfortable and his skin crawl. No, he'd patched Spock up far too many times before. The old green-blooded fool shouldn't even consider biting the dust before him, McCoy thought. But Vulcans had longer lifespans than humans – a fact which one Vulcan in particular would've been only too happy to point out. If he thought about it, by Vulcan standards Spock was hardly more than a whipper-snapper. McCoy grinned. To picture the hard-headed science officer as a twenty-something, who'd barely grown out of puberty, was kind of rewarding.


Leonard finally reached for his drink. The liquid ran down his throat and spread its welcome warmth in its wake. A few sips more, and his head would be spinning in that nice, hazy kind of way. A bit like after you'd  turned on the spot too fast too many times with you head lifted upwards to the sky. To look at the stars, perhaps.


When he did look up, McCoy noticed Spock, who, plate in hand, was pushing his way through the crowd of mostly junior officers. He didn't seemed to have noticed the doctor, at least he wasn't walking in the direction of McCoy's table. “Damned pointy-eared hobgoblin,” Leonard cursed under his breath. Then he saw that Spock had been expected. The Vulcan made his way across the room, directly to a table at which a Vulcan female was seated. Leonard wasn't able to see her face, but he was certain it wasn't T'Pring – the woman who had set the chain of events in motion which nearly led to Spock killing their Captain during his bout of madness. The woman Spock had been promised to in marriage. Whatever that might mean, Spock talking to another woman. Had Sarek already taken new steps for Spock's marriage in order to gloss over the shame that recent events had brought down upon his house? Sarek was a well respected diplomat and a bit of a living legend on Vulcan as well, he surely was keen to keep scandal at bay. McCoy mused that if Spock had had any siblings, he'd been the black sheep of the family but as he happened to be the only son, it was considered his obligation to carry the good name of his father's family and to make sure that it prospered in the future. And for that he needed to get married and father children of his own. A task Spock didn't seem to be very keen on performing. McCoy also recalled how Spock had always sidestepped all his clever question about past girlfriends and the like.


His glass was empty and Leonard poured himself a second one form the bottle he'd brought along. He looked across the room at Spock, who was seated with the back towards him. The Vulcan was engaged in a lively discussion. Damn it, why could he have sat down with him instead? What on earth was so damn fascinating about this Vulcan lady? McCoy didn't particularity like the look of the females of that race. None of the Vulcan ladies he had encountered so far deserved to be called pretty – at least not in his mind. Kirk seemed to feel the same way and he had his reputation of intergalactic playboy to live up to. The males on the other  hand... Some of those possessed a certain charm. Their aloofness, good manners, cultivated strength and moral correctness seemed to draw human females like the honey draws the bees. Nurse Chapel certainly was head over heels about a particular member of that species. Either Spock hadn't noticed or he deliberately ignored it because he wasn't interested. McCoy grinned again. He could not even find fault with Spock not being interested in Christine. She might have been a highly gifted assistant and nurse but so not his type. Her female charms were a little too, uhm, brittle for that.


He'd emptied his second glass as well but this time didn't refill it at once. He already felt a little tipsy and thought he didn't need a hang over on top of his strangely bleak mood. The mess hall had emptied quite a bit in the meantime and Spock and his date had vanished as well. “If I didn't know better, I'd say the cheeky monkey is catching up on things he missed out on yesterday,” McCoy thought. When he turned to see if there was anybody who was worth starting a conversation with, he noticed that Spock hadn't left as he'd assumed. The Vulcan stood to his left, directly in front of the view screen on which the rainbow-coloured blurs Warp speed turned the silver glow of the stars into flicked past. Again Spock's back was turned towards McCoy but his whole posture seemed to express that something wasn't right. “That talk didn't go down well, Mr. Vulcan?” McCoy teased silently but the usual sense of satisfaction didn't come with the words designed to crack the Vulcan's veneer. Truth be told, he even felt a little sorry for Spock. Even for a Vulcan yesterday's events must have been a bit too much to handle: the madness of Pon Farr, a almost wedding, a fight to the death, the guilt of having killed his Captain and best friend...


McCoy knew that Spock could remain in this position for hours without moving or even batting an eyelid. Hands clasped behind his back, facing straight ahead. Nothing about that pose was relaxed: Spock's back was straight, the shoulders squared, all his muscles tense. It was almost military. If there was any one thing that could illustrate the meaning of  self-control perfectly, it was Spock in a moment like that.


Leonard sighed softly. He had to admit that the Vulcan bastard was extremely good-looking. Tall, slim and agile as a cat. The black hair and dark eyes, those funny eyebrows and those ears... Sometimes he found himself wondering how a Vulcan might react if someone had the nerve to lick along the pointed shells with a warm, wet human tongue or to softly nibble at them. Leonard giggled; he could very well imagine how Spock would arch an eyebrow and say “Fascinating” should someone ever have the nerve to suggest that to him. Too bad that he would not be that someone. Too bad indeed, he'd really like to know what it would take to shatter Spock's composure. McCoy already knew from his countless examinations and operations on Spock that the Vulcan had a fair amount of body hair. Pale skin, with a slight greenish tint to it and that fine line of dark olive coloured hair that led from Spock’s oval-shaped belly button down. Down towards... “Oh hello, doctor, we aren't drunk, are we?” McCoy scolded himself when he realized he'd been indulging in fantasies about Spock's more intimate anatomy.


Spock was still standing in front of the view screen. He had not moved one inch. Suddenly McCoy caught himself thinking that the Vulcan looked lonely. Maybe he should walk up to him to let him know that he was his friend despite of all their verbal quarrels. But how should he go about it? If he simply went over and started to chat, they would only end up with one of their infamous discussions. And Spock had been through so much crap that McCoy didn't feel like teasing him for a change. Even his sadistic streak had its limits. Should he place a hand on Spock's shoulder? Leonard knew that Vulcans didn't like to be touched in a casual way like that. They were touch-telepaths and apparently perceived any kind of uninvited contact as rude and an intrusion. But Spock allowed Jim to touch him, so maybe he wouldn't misunderstand McCoy’s gesture. The more he thought about it, the more a massage seemed to be right thing for the Vulcan. Doctor's orders, of course. He always wondered if the muscles in Spock’s shoulders or back were tense or if they hurt him, like always when he saw Spock stand that damn stock still.


Leonard wanted to get up to put his idea into motion before the courage left him, but then he realized that Spock was no longer standing in front of the view screen. He felt a pang of disappointment and poured himself a third glass of that green Romulan poison. Just when he was about to drown it in one go, did he feel a soft touch on his own shoulder. He was about to dismiss the sensation as a product of his over-active imagination but then a well-known voice spoke close behind him:


“You don't have to worry, doctor. There isn't anybody who could watch us. You look like you have not slept since the... incident yesterday. That is not advisable for your human constitution. You ought to relax a little.”


McCoy could not reply, he found himself tongue-tied and even his thoughts were in a hopeless mess. Before he could recover and think up a cutting reply, Spock's fingers touched the fabric of his uniform shirt once more. At first the touch was only fleeting as Spock's fingers moved slowly, almost hesitantly over the doctor's shoulders. But then Spock grabbed hold of him and began his massage in earnest. McCoy had to bite his lip to prevent a moan from escaping his mouth. Spock's hands were so warm, so damn hot, it was unbelievable. The massage was perfect but what did he expect from that walking calculator? No doubt Spock had it all worked out before, just how much pressure it would take to loosen McCoy's muscles. Throw in a few unknown factors for level of tenseness and willingness to relax and there you go, a new puzzle for the Vulcan to solve. But actually Leonard couldn't careless about what the logic behind Spock's action might have been, it felt far too damn good to ruin it with a discussion. McCoy shut his eyes and simply enjoyed what Spock did to him. His finger were moving fast, his grip was firm. And yet...Leonard wouldn't have thought that the pointy-eared elf was capable of such tenderness. The warmth that leaked from Spock's fingertips began to spread through his body, slowly crawled down his spine and then pooled in his groin. Leonard began to feel a little uncomfortable. He liked being touched by Spock, a lot, maybe even a little too much but the Vulcan couldn't have had this is mind when he started his massage. Spock was still Spock after all and Spock surely wouldn't try to... What? Seduce him? To chat him up? To confess his affection?


Leonard told himself off for letting his thoughts drift in that particular direction. He began to squirm on his chair without noticing it. Then suddenly Spock's hands were removed from his shoulders and McCoy could hear the Vulcan taking a step back. “I am sorry. It was not my intention to cause you any discomfort. Good night, doctor!”


Spock turned, walked away and left McCoy on his own in the now empty mess hall. The doctor sighed and buried his face in his hands. Nothing made sense any more. First, Spock behaved strangely, almost a little like he was human. The thought caused a faint smile to ghost over McCoy’s face. And then Spock simply left, without even the smallest of explanations. McCoy got up and returned to his cabin.


Even when he was laying in bed after a hot shower and another drink, Leonard couldn't get Spock and their strange encounter out of his mind. The warmth of Spock’s touch still burned on his skin and he tried to picture Spock’s face expression as he stood behind him and – involuntarily - turned him on. McCoy tossed and turned restlessly. It was really too ridiculous to get caught up in romantic fantasies about that pointy-eared elf. But wasn't it exactly what he'd been doing for quite some time now? Didn't he hide his affection for the green-blooded alien behind a mask of gruffness and derision because he feared Spock could notice how much he really idolized him? Fine then, he could just as well admit it, he was drunk anyway: he was deeply in love with that untouchable arrogant iceberg. He didn't really want to contemplate the sexual component of his attraction.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw a pair of hands which moved all over his body to continue the massage. Warm hands, which like controlled fire, left a tingling sensation behind with every touch, every little caress. A bit hesitantly at first, McCoy's own hands found their way underneath his pyjama top and moved over his skin gently and slowly. He moaned softly as his actions began to mix with the fantasies in his head. Why were they both unable to bite the bullet and admit their feelings? Why didn't one of them make the first step? Pride, a foolish sense of vanity and fear of being rejected were McCoy's reasons but what kept Spock? Did Vulcans regard same-sex relations as illogical and thus undesirable? Whatever, he could dream, couldn't he?


Leonard tried to imagine how Spock’s hand moved over his chest, teased his nipples, squeezed them and finally licked at them with his tongue. Were Spock’s lips even hotter than his hands? Just the thought send a jolt of desire through McCoy's body. In his imagination, Spock was kissing and licking his belly button, then his tongue licked along his throat and finally their lips met for a hungry kiss. Spock's tongue would glide into his mouth, hot and insistent; it would move over his teeth, his own tongue to explore. Spock's alien taste would fill his mouth and he would get drunk on it. Without breaking the kiss, Spock would somehow manage to get the doctor out of his night clothes and leave him naked and helplessly turned on underneath his intense scrutiny.


McCoy's eyes were squeezed shut; he was able to feel each and every of Spock's imaginary touches and his need began to rise. McCoy tried not to think about how the Vulcan would react should he ever find out that his no doubt innocent massage had caused McCoy to fight a desperate hard-on. His hands drifted down his chest, below the waistband of his pyjama pants. He caressed the soft skin on the inside of his thighs and moaned. In his thoughts it was Spock's tongue, which continued the exploration of his human body. Would Spock be a tease and lick his balls? McCoy tugged and pulled at his pants, his erection was trapped in the flimsy fabric. After he'd managed to free it, he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and began to pump himself with quick, deliberate strokes. How deliciously hot Spock's mouth would feel down there, when his lips would close around his glans, his tongue would lick along the hard shaft before he would take the doctor's full length into his mouth and suck. McCoy's hips had worked themselves into a feverish rhythm; he wanted to be as deeply as possible in Sock's mouth. Wanted to feel as much of the Vulcan as possible. He wanted to totally merge with the Vulcan, to become one with him.


“Spock,” he moaned as he came. After a few seconds of pure bliss, reality began to seep back into McCoy's mind and he found himself alone and slightly depressed amidst his own rumpled bed. His head was pounding after all that Romulan Ale and the cold stickiness of his own seed, which was drying on his skin ,suddenly filled him with disgust. He felt even lower than he had the whole day. If only this green-blooded hobgoblin knew how much he'd charmed the pants off the the good doctor! Really, he was acting no better than a love-sick school boy. With a snort he rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket tight around himself and soon fell into a restless sleep full of confused dreams.


McCoy did his best to avoid both the Captain and Spock the next day. His mood had reached an all-time low and he had no idea how he should react after that strange moment that had passed between him and the Vulcan in the mess hall.

Shortly before his shift was supposed to end, he was still seated behind his desk at sickbay, going through the paper work he hated so much. He'd already send Christine away. There was nothing that demanded their immediate attention. No serious injuries, only routine stuff: a few broken bones, some upset stomachs and a case of Andorian flu. A boring day, thank God. Suddenly the door slid open and when McCoy looked up, saw Spock standing in front of him. Like always, his face expression didn't allow any speculation about his emotional state – that was if Vulcans possessed something like that at all.


“Hello Spock, what leads you to the tiger's den?” McCoy mumbled gruffly. “Complains? Comments about yesterday's incident? Greetings from your pointy-eared date?”


Spock's eyebrow rose and nearly disappeared below his fringe. Then he shot McCoy a look that could have hypnotized a snake. “No, doctor. We did not discuss you yesterday. If you like, I can introduce T'Lana to you. She will leave the Enterprise tomorrow. A cargo ship will take her back to Vulcan then.”


McCoy just stared at the Vulcan. Was he being serious? Or was he pulling his leg? But where would be the logic in that?




“Yes, Spock. Now be so kind and tell me what you want. I'm a doctor and not a councillor for sexually frustrated Vulcans!” This time both of Spock's eyebrows disappeared underneath his fringe but oddly enough he didn't seem to be upset. McCoy could've even sworn that something like amusement flicked briefly in the first officer's dark eyes. Damn it, had he really said that to Spock? He must be losing his mind! Spock took one step closer to his desk and looked down at McCoy, one eyebrow raised still. McCoy began to fell like a deer caught in the headlights. Finally Spock broke their silence. As he spoke, he began to walk around McCoy's desk.


“It wasn't my intention to cause you discomfort, doctor,” he began somewhat hesitantly. “It seems, I've been interpreting your behaviour towards me during the last weeks and month in an entirely wrong way. As you may know, my experiences with human emotions are somewhat limited. I thought you might approve of what I did yesterday.”


“What was I supposed to approve of? That you were trying to use me to forget about the Pon Farr disaster? Was that it? Did T'Lana refuse you? I thought you Vulcans had no ego that could get bruised,” McCoy spat.


“You thought T'Lana was T'Pring's replacement? Fascinating! No, doctor. My father has not yet started to make new preparation for my future wedding. What I've done is inexcusable. It violated every Vulcan custom. Sarek will no doubt find it extremely difficult to find a family willing to sacrifice their honour by agreeing to let their daughter bond with me.”


McCoy's anger evaporated as quickly as it had flared up. He'd never heard Spock speak so candidly about private matters before. He even felt a little honoured that Spock had come to him and had not chosen to discuss the whole mess with Jim during one of their games of chess. “Spock, why don't you sit down? You're making me nervous with all your walking up and down behind my back. Please,” he gestured impatiently at a chair on the other side of the desk. Spock hesitated briefly, then nodded and sat down facing McCoy. “For Heaven's sake, start talking, man.” McCoy rolled his eyes. “I'm not the one who can read minds, so please enlighten me! I'm not all that experienced, at least not in all things Vulcan.”


“I thought as a doctor, you would be,” Spock remarked dryly. McCoy chose not to comment. This was getting better by the minute. Vulcan's who cracked jokes. Maybe he ought to mark that day in his log.


“T'Lana is not another potential bond mate. She is my mother's friend. I suppose she was sent to give me a good talking to, to use one of your earthly expressions, doctor. I didn't marry T'Pring because it would've been illogical.”


“Illogical, Spock? Please excuse me, but the whole ritual seemed highly illogical to me.”


“I'd expected you and the Captain to come to this conclusion. Most non-Vulcans find it hard to comprehend. The Pon Farr is an ancient rite that dates back to the times before my ancestors began to follow the path of logic.”


“Yes, yes, that's all good and well. But why is it logical for some  Vulcans to follow that ritual but not for you, Spock?”


“Because I already have a potential bond mate, doctor.”


“You...what?” McCoy was not able to say anything else. He felt too much like a Klingone had kicked him in the teeth.


“A potential bond mate,” Spock repeated. His voice sounded as calm as if he was reading out the latest scanner results. “But he still seems to be unaware of the situation.”


“He?” McCoy was at a total loss. It could not mean what he thought it did. That Spock had picked a man as a potential bond mate. Who on earth would that be? Did he know him?


“You did understand correctly, doctor. It is unthinkable for me to form a bond with a female, no matter what species she belongs to. That is why I viewed the arranged marriage with T'Pring as an illogical situation.”


“Who's... who's the lucky fella?” McCoy finally managed to ask. His voice sounded hoarse and shaky. Spock fixed him with a silent stare so intense that Leonard had the feeling that Spock's dark eyes bore hole into his head, into his soul. That all of his thoughts and dreams were being weighed down. He only hoped he managed not to blush. Spock averted his eyes and got up. “I'd rather not tell you, doctor. If you have not realized it yourself, I think it's better that way. I don't want there to be any gossip. Good evening, doctor.”


“Spock! Spock, wait. You damn green-blooded Vulcan, you still haven't explained to me what yesterday evening was all about!”


Spock pretended not to have heard and so the door closed again and McCoy was left alone in his office. He went over to his private medical cabinet, how Jim always called his mini bar, and picked a bottle of simple old-fashioned Bourbon. He poured himself a generous amount and downed in one go. Maybe that would help him to make sense of everything Spock had told him. So Spock was in love with another man. He could guess that Sarek, if he even knew, was anything but thrilled about that. But what did all of it have to do with him? If Spock loved someone else why did he act so strangely around him?


“Bones, you damn ol' fool, it's you he's been talking about,” a voice screamed somewhere in his mind, which had been made hazy by the alcohol. McCoy froze in mid-motion. It couldn't be true. He had spent too much time trying to picture a relation between himself and the Vulcan. He was beginning to believe in his own pipe dreams. He swallowed hard. Tears were burning in his eyes, his head was spinning but nevertheless he was desperately hard again. Why couldn't he just ignore how attractive the Vulcan was? Suddenly tired, McCoy slumped down on his chair and, without much enthusiasm, unzipped his trousers and reached for his hard-on. A few quick strokes ought to be enough to rid him of that pest. “Maybe I should start to exercise or take a cold shower,” Leonard thought. The next couple of minutes he spent almost furiously engaged with himself. Then the noise of the door sliding open cut through his thoughts and brought him back to reality.


“Damn it!” He'd jumped up out of reflex and tried, without attracting too much attention, to smooth out his clothes. But the zip of his pants was stuck and his uniform shirt stuck to his skin because he was sweaty.


“Damn it,” he cursed again when he saw who was standing in front of him. It was Spock and he was staring at the doctor with one raised eyebrow.


“Damn it, Spock! Why are you looking at me like that? Surely I'm not the first person you caught in a precarious situation.”


Spock cast his eyes down but said nothing for a moment. Then she replied, still with down-cast eyes and a quiet voice: “You are indeed, doctor. That dubious honour belongs to you, as you are the first person I've ever walked in on in a situation like that. Please believe me when I say that do regret my disturbing you. I had no idea that our previous discussion would inspire you to such... activities. It might be better if I came back later. Would in half an hour's time be convenient for you?”


“What? No. No, now you can just as well stay, Spock,” McCoy grinned despite of the fierce blush that still coloured his face. “I'm really not very inspired any more,” he added with a little mean grin. It pleased him to see that Spock averted his eyes again and bowed his head. Leonard was still able to see that the cheeks of the Vulcan began to take on a dark green tint.


“That I've lived to see the day,” he thought. 'Spock turns red. Well, of course he doesn't but it's all the same thing.' “Spock?” He asked after a while.


“Yes, doctor?” Came the sheepish answer.


“What was it you wanted, Spock? Apart from spying on me?”


“I didn't want to bother you, doctor. I just wanted to tell you that I was referring to you, when I mentioned my potential bond mate. I'm sorry, if I wrongly assume you might be...”


Now it was Leonard's turn to stare at Spock. So he had understood correctly. Spock did return his feelings. He had to clear his throat to be able to speak again. “What might I be, Spock?” He asked, his voice unusually soft. “Be as illogically inclined as you are? You're damn right about that!” When he'd spoken, his heart was racing and he suddenly felt as nervous as he had last night when Spock's massage had done more than just relax him. Spock was studying him intently and McCoy thought he could detect the flicker of a smile on the Vulcan's otherwise expressionless face.


“Doctor, would you mind if I called you Leonard?” He suddenly asked.


McCoy laughed and shook his head. “No, I don't. Isn't that necessary from now on? I mean, strictly logically speaking.”


“Indeed,” Spock agreed a little shyly. “Leonard, I...”


“It's alright, you pointy-eared goblin. You've talked enough for one day.” With a smile he walked around his desk and stood in front of Spock. For a moment both men were simply gazing at one another, both lost in their thoughts and feelings. Then McCoy leaned closer to Spock, ran his fingertips over a clean-shaved cheek and then kissed the Vulcan. Just like that, before he could think up something logical to say. McCoy closed his eyes and noted with a sigh of satisfaction that the Vulcan's lip were indeed pretty hot.

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