Slipping Away

New: Slipping Away
NC-17 (in the end, anyway)
By Angie Tallahassee
DISCLAIMER:  Paramount owns all these folks; and can I help it if they get stuck in my head from time to time?  It's all a plot, anyway.  I mean no harm; I'm just writing down what the little voices tell me.
This story was sort of inspired (to become more than a tiny vignette, anyway) by a Paul Simon song, "Slip-Sliding Away." So that's why I named it thus ... Feedback is always adored and I will always write back.  Liked, hated, even just noticed that this existed ... please write and let me know!  I'm temporarily stranded at

"I know a man
He came from my hometown
He wore his passion for his woman like a thorny crown.
He said Dolores --
I live in fear,
My love for you is so overpowering I'm afraid that I
Will disappear."
---------Paul Simon

Slipping Away

        "He's crazy," McCoy grumbled without much fire.  He sat down gingerly in his office chair, sure he could hear his tired bones sigh with relief.  "I still don't believe he does this sort of thing for fun"
    "I have always found many human recreational activities highly illogical. The captain's interest in physical challenge, however, is understandable."  The Vulcan cocked an eyebrow.  "I would expect you to appreciate the health value of this exercise."
      "It's not very damn healthy when you're getting shot at,"  McCoy muttered, rubbing his temples wearily.
       "To be sure, Doctor, the revolutionaries are not usually a part of the average rock- climbing workout," Spock said gravely.
     McCoy groaned.  "You are exasperating, Spock," he declared.  "All I'm saying is that you can climb perfectly safe rocks in a starbase *gymnasium* on shore leave, with safety fields and spotters and all that high-technology gear, but no, he has to go crawling up some strange cliff on a strange planet without paying an appropriate courtesy call on the local band of militant rebels. Which wouldn't be so bad if they hadn't assumed he was an enemy spy and proceeded to use their phasers to knock him down twenty feet!  My God, he's lucky all he bashed up was his leg; though I suspect he must've taken a pretty severe head injury somewhere along the line to make him want to do this  ... and here you are, extolling the health benefits of all this craziness!  I need a drink.  Dammit, Spock, don't you have reports to write or something?"
   He looked up to find the Vulcan hadn't moved a muscle; he just stood, leaning at ease against a wall, studying the doctor mildly.
     "Well, are you just going to stand there and gape?  G'won, get out; I need to prescribe myself a little well-aged relaxant and try to find my desk underneath this mess."  He rose with some effort, pushing up with the desk as a support, and shuffled a handful of hardcopy reports.  A bright data block caught his eye.  "Where the hell'd you come from?" he asked it under his
breath, tossing it aside and reaching for another sheaf of papers.
 Suddenly he felt strong hands on his shoulders pushing him down. He sat hard on his rear, the breath gone out of him.  "How do you *do* that?" he asked the empty space where Spock had been.
      Spock didn't answer; he was concentrating all his communication in his hands. McCoy gave up talking and surrendered to the other's touches.  Warm fingers, palms pressed into the tense muscles of his shoulders, kneading
the flesh with unbelievable tenderness.  Spock pressed his hot fingertips into the muscle and trailed then down the doctor's back, along his spine, feeling him tense and shiver.  He leaned into the task at hand, rubbing hard now at a scowling knot of tissue, then gently stroking at a place he knew to be sensitive.
    The doctor quivered beneath Spock's powerful hands.  Spock ranged up and down, caressing, feeling where the spinal column needed a little touch.  Hands flat, then, he started with the tops of McCoy's shoulders and drew his palms downward, downward, a firm rubbing, kneading, down the edges of his back -- far to the sides, so that his fingertips reached around under McCoy's arms to just the very edges of his chest.  Petting now, then briskly massaging, he dug his hands in again and again, feeling the doctor respond beneath his touch, feeling how he arched his back to meet Spock's hands, breathing hard, shifting slightly so Spock could get the best access.
    While his left hand worked on McCoy's shoulder, Spock moved his right hand down -- down to the base of the spine, to where the shirt ended -- rubbing gently -- slipped his fingers beneath the medical tunic so his warm Vulcan flesh touched the
doctor's skin.  He felt McCoy's sharp intake of breath as he ran just two fingers up and down his spine, then let them range ... down ... beneath the waistline of his pants.  He let those fingers linger there for just a few precious moments below the waist on that smooth skin ... then he raised both hands to McCoy's shoulders, gave them a final, intense, vocal squeeze, and he
leaned down so that his face was near the doctor's ... And he let his arms slip down, in a gesture that was so close to an embrace -- but like no other embrace McCoy had know, Spock's touch was light upon his shoulders, simply *there.*
     McCoy spun his chair around slowly to face Spock.  For a moment he just stared at the Vulcan, for once completely at a loss for words.  Finally he breathed, "You are amazing."
     "Thank you, Doctor, I do my best," Spock whispered in his ear.
  His blue eyes widened, and he grinned mischievously.  Standing up abruptly, he caught Spock in a tight embrace that almost took his own breath away.  Then he pulled back just a bit, looked Spock right in the eyes, and kissed him full on the lips, softly, tenderly.
     The kiss was a long one, and distracting, but finally McCoy did end it, pushing Spock away with mock impatience.  "G'won, you," he admonished.  "Sickbay's no place for fooling around."
      The ghost of a smile passed over Spock's face, and with a nod, he left.
  McCoy stood for a moment, resting against the wall in the afterglow of Spock's presence.  Holding a Vulcan in your arms, he reflected, is like ... holding fire.  So expressive, his touch, when all his thoughts and dreams must be just below
that skin -- must, anyway, if a touch could be so ... damned ... *open.*  He sighed, mentally shook himself off, and sat down to finish clearing off the disaster of his desktop.  A good task, he thought, one that doesn't require much mental action.  He smiled to himself.  *Got better things to think about, anyway...*


        "I don't believe it,"  Kirk said flatly.  "I refuse to believe," he added, a note of anger in his rising voice, "that an organization called 'Starfleet Intelligence' could be capable of such an extreme lack of it."  He stood, hands on his hips, defiantly.
  "I'm sorry, Jim," the admiral on the viewscreen said.  "It's beyond my control.  I have to answer to a higher power too; I may not agree with this, but I've got to do my job."
      "But with all due respect, Admiral, it's ridiculous!  You can't just ..."
       "*I'm* not doing anything.  *Starfleet* is sending out a couple of agents to... notify those citizens of the magnitude of their error.  That's all, Jim."
      "And you know what's bound to follow this, don't you, sir."  Kirk's unspoken accusation hung bitterly in the air. 
       "I don't know any of that for sure," the admiral said firmly.  "You have your orders."  Then he seemed to soften.  "I don't like this any more than you do. Just ... stay put, Jim, for a few days, and I -- I'll see if I can talk some sense into the brass."  He signed off, leaving the starfield gleaming serenely
on the viewscreen.
      "You ... but you *are* the brass," Kirk muttered to the empty viewscreen. "All right then, Mr. Sulu," he said, sitting heavily in his command chair.  "Take us back to Psi Eighty and ... into orbit," he sighed, "where we were before."
      "Aye, sir," the helmsman responded.
       Kirk looked up.  "Spock ... "
       The Vulcan moved to stand by the captain's side.
       "Does this sort of thing happen frequently?" Kirk asked quietly.
        "Although I have little experience in dealing with Starfleet's Intelligence branch, this action seems, unfortunately, very much in character."
        "Hmph."  He paused.  "I heard right, didn't I?  They really think those simple rebels were instigating an interplanetary war when they fired on me?"
        "To the best of my knowledge, this is an accurate analysis of the situation."
        "Ah.  So my suspicion is correct."
       "And what is that, Captain?"
       "Starfleet intelligence ... it *is* one of the great oxymorons of the known universe."
       Spock raised an eyebrow.
        "We're stuck here, Mr. Spock, until Admiral Maylath gets his superiors under control.  And we can't leave the ship.  At the risk, no less, of starting a war."
       "That does seem to be the case," Spock agreed, almost sympathetically.
      Kirk sighed.  "I guess we'll have lots of time for ... crew bonding."

        Kirk reclined on the biobed, which was shut off.  "Nice place you got here, Bones," he said.  "You should invite me over more often; you know, be neighborly."
        "Can it, Jim," the doctor grumbled.  "You spend enough time down here bangin' around and getting in the way; then when you oughta be flat on your back, you're nowhere to be found."
       He smiled patiently, humoring his medical officer.  "Right.  Well, now I've got plenty of time to catch up."  He put his hands behind his head, a picture of affected relaxation.
        McCoy pointed a blinking diagnostic probe in the direction of Kirk's right knee.  It hummed in his hands.  Kirk looked at it curiously.  "What does it say?"
        Putting the tool away, McCoy answered, "Says you're a damn fool."
        "That little machine's got some nerve!"
        "Well, I agree with it, for what it's worth to you.  Leg's looking all right, though; so I guess you're a lucky damn fool."
       Kirk thought there was more than teasing in the doctor's voice --but no, he must be imagining things.  "C'mon, Bones; doesn't that thing tell you I'm in agonizing pain here?"
      "Yeah, I know, I know; hold it for a sec."  He opened a few cupboards, rummaging; and pulled out a squat glass jar.  "Here's the ticket."  He held it up to the light; the liquid inside glinted silvery.
       Kirk was somewhat surprised to see that the doctor's hands were shaking -- or were they?  It was ever so slight.  "Bones, are you all right?" he asked hesitantly.
        The jar fell and shattered on the floor.  McCoy went down after it.
       The captain walked around the row of beds, favoring his damaged leg just a bit, and found McCoy kneeling on the floor, picking out the larger shards from the oozing puddle of metallic silver jelly.  Kirk knelt gingerly on the other side of the pool.
        "You're crazy, you know?" McCoy scolded fiercely.  "You think you're immortal?  Take such insane risks with your life -- it is a constant source of amazement for me, trying to figure out why you're not dead."
       "Is that it?" Kirk asked softly.  "You're just worried about me?"
     "No!" he said sharply, putting a handful of broken glass down the disposal chute.
        Kirk was taken aback.  He dipped a finger into the puddle,
absentmindedly, and rolled the jelly around on his fingertips.  It felt cool and smooth, and made his fingers tingle.  He stood up carefully.  "Tell me what's eating you," he urged.
       McCoy ineffectively tried to brush the goo off his hands.  "I'm fine, Jim. Do you want a hypo for the pain, or do you want to Stick around till I mix up some more of this quadriwyupinol?"
      "I guess I'll take what you've got and be on my way."
       "Fine."  McCoy leaned into the next room.  "Christine?" he called.  "Could you give the captain a shot of local painkiller?  I've got to clean up a mess out here."
        "Come on in, Captain Kirk," her voice floated out.
      As he walked carefully around the puddle, though, he stopped and knelt again at McCoy's side.  "Bones ... "
      The doctor looked up.  "Yeah?"
      "Uh ... take care of yourself, okay?  Give yourself a break."
      "Right."  It seemed he would go back to cleaning, but he added, "I'm fine, Captain, really."
        Kirk regarded him seriously for a moment.  "You know you can talk to me, if you've got -- problems."
       McCoy gave an exasperated sigh.  "Problems!  Go get your damn hypo, if you're in such pain!  Go on!"
       "Fine!  Fine!"  Kirk grunted as he stood up.  "Just ... remember!"
     "Right," he said, going back to the task at hand as the captain disappeared into the lab.


        McCoy looked down at his hands and realized that he'd cut himself on a chunk of glass.  The quadriwyupinol had dulled the pain of the wound before he could even feel it ... but now the puddle on the floor was stained with a streak of red.  *Never were blessed with much coordination, Leonard, you idiot, so why the hell d'you put the stuff in a glass jar in this day and age?  Idiot,* he said to himself.  Aloud, he muttered, "Damn," for what felt like the ninetieth time that day.
       Suddenly he had an urge to just disappear into his office for an hour or two, put his head down, and zone out.  *Not worth the boots you're wearin' today, sir,* he berated himself.  *Breakin' glass, then you cut yourself -- maybe time to turn in the uniform before they get you for incompetency.  And getting
all snarly with the captain -- what was that all about?  Getting to be a cranky old man, Leonard.*  He sighed and stood up, feeling creaky, and reached for the nearest cell regenerator.  The thing buzzed briefly, closing the small gash with a swatch of tender new pink skin.
        Moving more slowly than usual, he placed the regenerator back in its place, soundlessly.  He felt his mind drifting off again while his hand still rested on the blinking piece of equipment.  Drifting off again, off where it shouldn't be, not now -- or, anyway, not so often -- wasn't good for him, he
figured, short attention span, not good at all, but he felt so helpless at times, as though he couldn't control his mind at all, and if it would go seeking off to Spock, well, then it would.
        Two weeks they'd been lovers -- been working up to that for months, McCoy reflected; be hard to find two men shyer about being in love with each other. All the months of hoping, tension, needing, and he'd thought he'd go mad if something
didn't happen one way or the other -- but then finally it had, and
since then his life had taken on a fire it had lacked before, a brightness that he found himself fighting against.  The rest of daily life suddenly seemed trivial and maddening when compared to the all-consuming passion of being with Spock.
       Just *being* with him -- not in bed, not even touching, just --when he was there, he was everything.  And even when he wasn't there, he was there. Damn Vulcans.  "Never and always touching and touched ... "  and they weren't even bonded.  No one had told McCoy ahead of time that though the words were
part of the official ceremony, they were just words, only describing something that happened naturally, once two people got close enough to each other in the Vulcan way of being.  Vulcans had feelings all right -- and they ran deep --and they'd sweep a man away, if he didn't know what to expect -- but
even knowing, he had no desire to get out. 
      He panicked sometimes; had moments when he was so overcome with the need to feel Spock's presence, he couldn't function, could hardly breathe until he'd reached out mentally and received reassurance from his One -- and it was so
draining, he'd be operating on less than full thrust for the next hour or so. Not trained in mind-contact, it still took a lot out of him, but it was necessary.  And other times he felt deathly certain that he was too weak, couldn't handle such an overpowering love, couldn't possibly return that amazing love in a great enough form to satisfy Spock's needs; he feared
he as Leonard McCoy would be eclipsed under the brilliance of what the two of them were together.
        And the subject hadn't come up, yet, not as such.  He assumed Spock knew his fears; Spock, master of mind-touch, had probably found McCoy's mental insides spilled out in a disorganized rummage when they had first become ...almost as
one.  Meanwhile, Spock was almost as much a mystery as he always had been -- more so, McCoy thought, when you figured in the added wonder of how he could possibly love a simple, emotional, very Human country doctor.  But they didn't
speak of fears.
      Giving up on the "old-fashioned way," McCoy reached behind a metal shelf for the powerful little vacuum that was usually reserved for various patient- produced messes.  Absentmindedly, he positioned the machine and flicked
it on, letting it suck the pool of quadriwyupinol up and out of sight, like a reverse waterfall of liquid silver.  He blinked.  The job lasted only a few seconds. He was briefly grateful that no one had tried to put a carpet down in Sickbay. It might make the place look more welcoming, but it'd be hell to clean.
        As the doctor was putting the vacuum away, Kirk emerged from the lab, with Chapel following close behind.  The captain gave McCoy a look that asked ...something like --  *Well, have you got everything under control now, Doctor?* Or perhaps it was more like,  *Is it safe to talk to you now, or do you intend to bite my head off again?*
        McCoy managed a sort of smile -- shaky thing, but sincere.  "I'm sorry, Jim," he said.  "Getting crabby in my old age, I suppose."
       He was rewarded with a warm smile.  "I understand; you elderly types need looking after."
        "Leg feel better?"
      "Worlds better, thanks to your lovely assistant here."  Kirk turned his smile on Nurse Chapel.  "Well, Bones, I'll leave you to -- whatever it is you do down here; I've got to go listen in while a bunch of tangled bureaucrats work themselves out."
        "Hmph.  Go easy on that knee, all right, Jim?"
        "Aye, aye, sir!"  Kirk saluted crisply and exited.


        The bleat of the comm system brokeKirk's concentration.  He punched the audio button, and gave the standard "Kirk here," with just a touch of annoyance in his voice.  After all, it was only a chess game, and he was already losing -- of course, that was all the more reason to make a good move now ...
        "Captain, Admiral Maylath is holding on a coded audio channel with new orders.  Shall I put him through to your quarters, sir?"
       "Yes, go ahead, Uhura."
        "Here he comes ... "
        Maylath's voice was almost as soothing as Uhura's, when he was operating in full placation-mode.  "Captain Kirk, I have word from high up that your orders are finally being changed," he said, happily, as though the words were a present he
was giving to Kirk to stop his tantrum.
        "That certainly sounds like good news, Admiral," Kirk said guardedly. "I hope. What, exactly, is the situation now?"
        "Starfleet intelligence has been persuaded to drop this particular venture."
       "Just like that?"  Kirk was a bit shocked; the organization's
stubbornness was the stuff of legend.
        "Well ... "  There was a moment of static.  "They agreed to drop it in return for the contribution of funds toward a few of their other current projects."
       Kirk indulged in a moment of wonder.  "Well!  It seems like you've managed to get your co-workers to do something sensible, for once.  My congratulations, sir.  And does this mean I can leave orbit now?"
       "That's what it means.  You can get on with the business of exploration. Keep making us proud, Captain Kirk."
    "I'll do my best, Admiral," he said, breaking the connection.  He faced his chess partner.  "Well, Spock, 'relaxation' time is almost over; I'll have Sulu take us out in the morning."
       "I assume there will be no war resulting from the mountain-climbing incident?"
        "No, no war.  Not down there, anyway; although I fear some of the crew might start jumping out of their skins if we don't see something interesting pretty soon.  Maybe I should try to arrange for shore-leave pretty soon."
       "That would be appreciated, I'm sure."
        "Kirk picked up his white rook, and hesitantly captured Spock's last knight.
        The Vulcan thought for just a moment, then deftly repositioned his bishop, decreeing "Checkmate."
      Kirk groaned.  "Right, Spock.  Out you go; leave me to my
humiliation! I'm going to hit the sack; big day tomorrow.  We're now leaving the world of Starfleet Unintelligence, and getting back to business as usual."
       "Somehow, I do not doubt that we will find -- what you call 'something interesting' -- before long."
      "Thanks, Spock.  Good night."
        "Pleasant dreams, Captain."
        Kirk smiled to himself as his first officer left his quarters.
When he really put his mind to it, the man had a certain knack for using Human phrases pretty well.

        McCoy slipped his uniform into the laundry chute and sat on his bed.  In the dark.  Beside Spock, naked as he.  He closed his eyes, pushing back the need, wanting to be able to think straight.
       "Leonard," Spock whispered.  McCoy turned to face him; the Vulcan's angular features were blurred in shadow.  "If you are not content, I ... can leave."
       He breathed in deeply.  "No, Spock, I don't want you to leave --no, that's the last thing I want."
        "But you are not happy." Spock made it a statement.  He laid a warm hand on the doctor's arm.  "I feel you like a shimmer in my mind," he said softly. "Uncertain; I fear I might be harming you."  McCoy started to interrupt, but Spock placed a long finger gently on the doctor's lips.  "I want nothing less than to hurt you; if I have done so, you must tell me."  He slowly moved his finger away.
        It was a long moment before McCoy spoke.  His voice as shaky, but he knew the words he wanted -- he'd thought them often, and now finally the time had come to say them aloud.  "No, Spock," he breathed.  "You never hurt me -- only I --
hurt myself."  He held up his finger, with its pink stripe of new skin, as symbolic evidence -- that his pain came from within.  "I can't go on like this much longer."
       Spock took McCoy's hand in his and traced the little scar.
"Explain," he said."
       He took a deep breath -- do or die, he thought.  "Spock, when I think of how much I love you -- which is pretty much all the time -- "  He laughed nervously, and felt Spock's grip tighten on his hand, a slight comfort. It very nearly made him break down -- but it didn't.  "It's amazing, how powerful a feeling it is.  I never would've thought -- and -- it's pretty exhausting, Spock, and I'm starting to feel like -- like I'm going to burn up in it.  In this -- longing."  His voice cracked.  "Do you understand any of this?"
       The Vulcan nodded slowly.  He stroked the back of McCoy's thin hand, a caress, almost unconsciously.  "I should have told you ... warned you somehow... Leonard, I cannot fathom your mind at times.  Sometimes it is clear that you want to be with me ... and sometimes ... your thoughts are beyond
my scope of understanding."  McCoy's eyes widened. "You ... are so complex -- so remarkable an individual -- a man of colored emotion.  I can pick up your feelings, but never fully understand you.  Unless ... you help me."  He gazed at McCoy, open suddenly, and bare for examination.  Vulnerable -- both
were. But trusting each One.
        "I always thought you were -- you just knew."  As his eyes became more adjusted to the dark, he could see Spock's face more clearly, meet his gaze.
        "No."  A moment passed where the two simply drank in each other's presence, as though they could draw strength from each other.  "It will not be as overwhelming; soon, you will be used to the feeling.  that is what ...what my mother says.  Being human, it takes you longer to adapt to deeper contact. But -- it is only a shock, temporary, a beginning."
       "A beginning,"  McCoy repeated.  He placed his other hand on top of Spock's.
       "To something that will last as long as you are willing to share your life with me."  He brushed an imaginary wisp of hair back from McCoy's forehead; the touch made his skin tingle electrically.

        "You are amazing,"  McCoy whispered.
       Spock let his hand drop down into the doctor's lap, and he stroked the warm erection.  "Do not underestimate your own value," he said.  "I love you, Doctor Leonard McCoy, with a passion you may not understand yet."
        He ran a fingertip up to the head of McCoy's penis and let it linger there, exploring, pressing in -- when he heard the doctor gasp, he let two fingers dance a full circle around the organ.  Then he was cradling McCoy's genitals in his hands; and he bent down and lightly breathed on them, hot breath
eliciting a moan from the doctor.
      "Now you're -- uhh -- teasing me, Spock,"  McCoy said as Spock squeezed his balls.  "Come n -- I -- ohh -- "
        "You enjoy this play?"  the Vulcan asked silkily.
        "Dammit, Spock, I need you!"
        Hot hands pushed him, throbbing, down onto the bed, on his stomach. He felt his legs spread apart by Spock's knees -- he was there, on top of him, and McCoy's heart soared, each beat redrawn and magnified brilliantly in his swollen erection.
       Spock's hand reached beneath him to encircle his penis, and he lifted his hips to meet the Vulcan's.  His buttocks pressed against Spock's groin, and he felt heat radiating off the other man.  Spock laid a palm in McCoy's bottom and rubbed it, intense, as his other hand was gliding down McCoy's penis. 
        The doctor was breathing hard now.  "Spock -- my One--I want you to-- "
       "I will, he replied hoarsely.  Spreading McCoy's buttocks, he pushed into him, slowly, stretching out the act as McCoy cried out his name.  He buried himself in his lover, deep inside, the two as one.  The doctor's breathing was almost a sobbing neediness, now, as his whole body pulsed with a rhythm Spock could feel beneath his hands.  The doctor's body  was singing.
        He pulled out slightly, and McCoy rose off the bed to take him back in.  It was a dance of pleasure and urgency, and Spock's thrusts became more rapid as he neared climax.
        McCoy's body rose and fell with Spock's pulsing, feeling his One deep within him, giving his pleasure and want over to the other, rising near to ecstasy. Spock's being filled every space in him; he surrendered all barriers and raw passion washed over him. Every nerve in his body sang shrilly and
thrilled with the awareness that Spock had taken him, accepted him, pleased him... he moaned as Spock's pelvis ground into him, feeling the Vulcan pushing as deep as he could, into his body, into his soul ...
       Spock gripped McCoy's penis and squeezed with a strength that made the doctor scream wordlessly as he came in Spock's hand; and the doctor was riding on such an intense wave of starstruck ecstasy that he would hardly have noticed
when Spock reached orgasm, deep within him, but the mental link was so strong that he felt Spock's rapture on top of his own and he nearly passed out from sheer, untamed pleasure.
        "My one," Spock said, a still voice in the Human's mind.
        "You are worth all of this," McCoy replied, his heartbeat racing.  "All the panic -- even if my mind never accepted this bond, I would still treasure you -- with all my being."
       "Never and always ... "
       " . . . touching and touched,"  McCoy said aloud into the quiet room.