Patterns

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        "Got a moment to chat, Bones?"

        Leonard McCoy closed and sealed the chamber on the bio-assay computer and initiated the analysis cycle. "Give me a minute to finish up here, Jim." He'd had it set to put the results on local display, but after a glance at his Captain's face he told it to dump its findings to main Sickbay storage and flag his office terminal when it finished.

        "You've had the look for a coupla days now of a man who needed to talk," he said. "I was about ready to track you down and ask."

        They went into his office and he called up coffee and a light meal. Jim looked at the food with a lopsided grin.

        "You must think we're going to be here for a while."

        "Never hurts to be prepared," McCoy said blandly. "Besides, it occurs to me that I haven't seen you much at mealtimes lately. First thing I know, you're going to be so skinny I can't complain about your weight."

        "Terrible thing, for that to happen," Jim said with the same deadpan expression.

        McCoy settled back with his sandwich. "Okay, we're past the ritual preliminaries. So what's the problem?"

        "The problem is . . . that I am having a real problem with this business of Spock leaving."

        "Well--we're all gonna miss him. You most of all, certainly. But his reasons for going back to Vulcan, much as it pains me to say it, are eminently logical. He needs to plan ahead this time, Jim--not get caught somewhere light years from Vulcan and nobody waiting for him. You don't know how close we came to losin' him before."

        "I understand all that. It doesn't help."

        Jim's voice was grim and McCoy thought he knew why. "Look," he said reassuringly, "learning to work with someone else is going to be a major adjustment for you. It's natural to be concerned about it."

        Jim shook his head. "No, Bones, I could handle a change in personnel, if that's all it was. I just don't want Spock to leave."

        He put his sandwich down and gulped a quick swallow of coffee. McCoy leaned forward with a frown for the tension in Kirk's voice.

        "Can you be a little more specific, Jim?"

        "I'm trying. It isn't easy . . . " He hid behind the coffee mug again. "Hell, Bones, you've known me long enough--Jim Kirk Superstud, right? The only permanent commitment I ever made was to Carol Marcus, and she was smart enough to see that I couldn't stick to it. Now I've found somebody I can say 'forever' to and mean it, and I'm tongue-tied. I just don't know how to bring it up."

        "You're talking about Spock . . . " Bones said uncertainly.

        "Yes, I'm talking about Spock."

        "Why do you have to say anything? You're not gonna to lose his friendship just because he's goin' back to Vulcan."

        Jim said stubbornly, "I don't want him to go. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

        "What do you want--a repeat performance of last time?" McCoy demanded. "He really has no choice."

        "His father didn't have to go back to Vulcan to find a bondmate."

        "So Sarek found a wife on Terra. He'd have had to go home otherwise. Spock hasn't found anyone here."

        "How do you know?"

        McCoy regarded Jim with the look he usually reserved for the more mulish of his corpsmen.

        "Because," he said slowly and distinctly, "he wouldn't be going back to Vulcan if he'd found someone here."

        "What if he just didn't know how to tell that person how he felt? And what if that person didn't know how to bring up the subject either?"

        McCoy shook his head impatiently. "Jim, I'm a doctor, not a matchmaker. And you're the Captain. Seems to me this is Spock's problem and he'd probably thank us to keep the hell out of it."

        "Bones, are you being deliberately obtuse?"

        McCoy didn't reply, just stared back at him, and Jim said, "I don't want him to leave. And I don't know how to tell him. Are you hearing me now?" In the ensuing silence, McCoy's expression changed slowly from confusion to disbelief.

        "You'd better be a lot more specific," he said carefully, "'cause if you're not thinking what it looks like you're thinking, I'm liable to get myself decked for what I'm thinking."

        Jim shrugged. "How much more specific can I get? I want him to stay here. With me. That doesn't leave you much room to speculate, does it?"

        "You're not serious!" McCoy sputtered.

        "Dead serious. I've never been more sure of anything, Bones, and I'm betting that he wants to stay here as badly as I want him to."

        "What he wants and what he'd be willing to do are two very different things, Jim. Do you really suppose he would agree to such a crazy idea just to stay on the ship?"

        "I wouldn't suggest it just to keep him on the ship. You still don't understand what I'm saying, do you?"

        "Evidently not." McCoy tipped his chair back, looking the Captain over with narrowed eyes. "And I sure as hell don't know what sort of advice you want from me. All I can say is that you're headed for trouble. The pain of rejection, if Spock says 'No,' and god only knows what if he's idiot enough to go along with it. Jim, you've had some harebrained ideas over the years, but this one takes the cake."

        Jim set his empty cup back on the desk and eased himself out of his chair. "Okay. Forget I asked." He paused in the doorway with his back to McCoy. "Just one question."

        "Sure."

        He turned his head, looking at McCoy over his shoulder, the hazel eyes sober and determined, even a little sad. "Is there a problem with physiological compatibility? If it really is impossible, I need to know before I go any further."

        McCoy waved him back to his chair. "Siddown, Jim. Please."

        Jim regarded him warily, but returned to the chair and settled back into it. He poured another mug of coffee. "Forget about trying to talk me out of this," he said. "The only person who could change how I feel right now is Spock." After a moment's silence, he added, "Even Spock couldn't make me feel any different. But I'll respect his wishes, whatever they are."

        McCoy said carefully, "Have you given any thought to how Starfleet would take a situation like this? Married officers in the line of command aren't supposed to serve together, you know. Not that you would actually be married, but--"

        "Oh yes, we would be," Jim cut in. "That's exactly what Vulcan bonding is. And as far as Starfleet is concerned, I can tell you right now that it's their policy not to separate mentally linked pairs."

        McCoy's frustration surfaced with an exasperated and exaggerated gesture, limp-wristed, effeminate and affected. "So here we have the new Jim Kirk, is that it? Dahling, it's just too much!" He crossed his legs and pretended to examine his fingernails. "Do tell me who your hairdresser is. And I really must get the name of your tailor . . . "

        He trailed off at the sight of Jim's face. "C'mon, Jim, this is ridiculous. Every bigmouth smartass in 'Fleet will be cracking that kind of joke. Is keeping him here really worth that?"

        Jim said slowly, with finality, "Being with him is worth whatever it costs, if he wants it too. And if 'Fleet won't have us on those terms, I know plenty of places that will. Spock and I both have had offers from private organizations."

        McCoy sat up abruptly. "You really are serious!" At Jim's sober nod, he shook his head and let out a long breath. "Kind of a turnabout for you, isn't it?"

        "No . . . " Jim thought about that for a moment. "No, I'm not attracted to men in general, if that's what you mean. "Though I've met one or two over the years that I could have turned on to, if I had let myself. But the few close relationships I had were too competitive, like with Gary Mitchell. Women are just easier to get along with; they're more supportive--"

        He broke off with a little snort. "Good thing Uhura isn't here. I'd get an earful about male ego. But you know what I mean."

        McCoy shrugged. "I know what you mean about women. I'm not sure what you mean about yourself. It sounds like you're evaluating your relationships by how often you get your own way."

        He got an annoyed grimace for that, but no argument. After a minute, the frown turned into a resigned half-smile.

        "Guilty as charged. But I don't want it to be that way with Spock." Jim shrugged, looking over McCoy's shoulder at nothing in particular. "I'm talking about this as though it was settled, when the fact is he'll probably react the same way you did."

        "I don't think there's much danger of that," McCoy said dryly. "You're much more likely to get one of his famous eyebrows. Or both of them. You haven't said anything at all to him then?"

        "No. Why?"

        "I just thought he'd been kinda, well--distant lately. And I noticed someone canceled your workout schedule."

        "I did that. I couldn't handle that much body contact any more." The color came up in his face and he glanced away from McCoy. "My feelings were showing. Literally. And I thought that if it was only a sexual thing, I'd get over it quicker if I avoided potentially arousing situations. The only trouble is . . . "

        "You found yourself transferring those feelings to occasions that wouldn't ordinarily be troublesome, like mealtimes and chess games," McCoy suggested helpfully.

        "Ever the psychologist, aren't you?" Jim asked a bit sardonically. "But you're right. That's exactly what happened. So I ended up avoiding him altogether, except for duty periods."

        McCoy tipped his chair back again and regarded his Captain with bemusement. "I thought I'd heard everything by now," he said, "but for you to find a green-skinned pointy-eared Vulcan male sexually attractive is almost beyond comprehension."

        "Look, Bones, all I want to know is whether it's anatomically possible."

        McCoy knew when to admit defeat. "Of course it's possible," he snapped. "Not sensible, but possible. Vulcan anatomy isn't all that different from human. I thought you knew that."

        "I know what the text tapes say. I want to know about Spock and me."

        "You've never seen him?" McCoy shot him a curious look.

        "There's been no occasion for it. C'mon, Bones, don't make me drag this out of you. It's embarrassing enough already."

        "Okay," McCoy relented with a stifled grin. If he'd had to be honest about it, he was beginning to enjoy himself. Seeing Jim Kirk impaled on the same hook of unrequited desire as the rest of the human race was an interesting experience.

        "I don't know of any physiological objection," he said with emphasis. "But I still think the whole idea is risky as hell. Even if Spock agrees, even if 'Fleet were to go along with it, even if a lot of things--can you honestly say that you want a permanent sexual liaison with another man? And a Vulcan to boot, with all the unknowns of pon farr?"

        "I want Spock," Jim said simply. "I want him on whatever terms I can have him, including pon farr. Male bonding is accepted on Vulcan, you know. That means they're prepared for whatever risks go along with it."

        McCoy's eyebrows quirked up at that. "Funny, I wouldn't have expected Vulcans to approve a non-reproductive union. Surely that's illogical, or something."

        "Vulcan accepts any true bonding. It's the mental compatibility that counts. Has to be that way for a couple to survive pon farr, same sex or not."

        "You've read up on this, obviously."

        "'Be prepared,' that's my motto," Jim said lightly, but with evident strain. "Bones, this is the most important decision of my whole life. I have to go into it with my eyes open. I just wish I could figure out how to bring it up to Spock."

        "Go back to working out with him--he'll notice quick enough," McCoy retorted without thinking. Then, reconsidering, "Jim, that may not be a bad idea. Let touch be your means of communication. If he isn't receptive to the idea, you'll know it. And if he is, you're past the first hurdle already."

        "That's a good point," Jim said, and then, with a wry laugh, "You know what I was most afraid of? That we'd agree that going to bed together was the logical thing to do, and there we'd be, staring at each other, with neither of us quite able to take the first step."

        "Yes. Well . . . " McCoy couldn't quite envision Jim Kirk being that shy with any willing bed partner, but this didn't seem the right time to say it. The depth and conviction of Jim's emotions touched him deeply, and the irony was that it was just what he'd always hoped would surface in his friend. Even worse, he knew that if Spock were female, he'd have been trying to get them together from the very first.

        He said with great reluctance, "Jim, I'm not at all reconciled to this, but I have to admit he's the kind of person I would want to see you with. Except for being male . . . "

        "Well, hell, nobody's perfect," Jim said with some asperity. The absurdity of the remark broke the tense atmosphere and set them both to laughing, and then Jim got up and said, "Thanks, Bones," quietly and slipped out.

        McCoy drew a long breath and sat watching the door, his thoughts in a turmoil. After a minute, Chris put her head in.

        "Mr. Spock wanted to see you," she said. "And you've got an abort on your machine out here. Which one do you want first?"

        McCoy threw up his hands. It was going to be one of those days.

        "I'd better see Spock, I suppose," he said. "And you put in a call to Maintenance for the 2021. That's the third time this period it quit on me."

        "Aye, aye, sir." She disappeared back into the ward and he could hear her talking to Spock. After a moment, the Vulcan came around the corner into the office.

        "Perhaps I could determine the problem with your bio-assay computer," he said, "if you could spare a few moments for me first."

        He folded himself neatly into the chair that Jim had vacated and sat there looking at McCoy, all Vulcan calm and repose, such a contrast with the man who had just left that McCoy felt all his original misgivings surge up again.

        "You're entitled to call on me any time, you know," he said, rather grumpily. "You don't have to bribe me by fixing my damn computer."

        Up went the inevitable eyebrow, and Spock moved as if to rise. "I have evidently caught you at an inconvenient time," he said. "I can return after I repair the computer."

        McCoy resisted the urge for a sarcastic reply. He'd walked right into that one. "Never mind," he said. "I'm not in a particularly good mood right now, but there's no reason to take it out on you. What can I do for you?"

        Spock fixed his gaze on one of the antique medical instruments over the credenza. His face was more than usually unreadable.

        "I find myself most reluctant to return to Vulcan," he said. "I am a Starfleet officer with years of experience in space. It seems illogical to waste my training and knowledge in a planetside posting."

        McCoy pursed his lips and kept his face straight. That Spock would call any use of training and knowledge a waste was out of character. For Spock to come to him with a personal problem was downright incredible. Add to that the fact that their Captain had just bared his soul over exactly the same problem, and this could turn out to be an interesting day after all.

        "I agree," he said, "but I don't know what else to suggest. You've tried waiting until the situation is critical. I don't think you want to do that again."

        "Indeed not." Spock shifted his eyes to the Rigellan anatomical charts on the adjacent wall. "It occurs to me that the only logical solution is to find a bondmate on the ship. Then I would not be required to leave." He finally met McCoy's gaze. "There is . . . someone. But I do not know whether such a proposal would find acceptance."

        McCoy didn't have the heart to ask the obvious question. After the discussion with Jim, there was no mistaking who Spock meant. Jim was right after all, he thought. Spock wants him too. And that put Leonard H. McCoy right smack in the middle. All he had to do to squash the whole business was to tell Spock that there was no hope, none at all, no possibility. Jim Kirk?? C'mon, Mr. Spock, you've got to be kidding! He wanted to do that so badly he could almost hear himself saying the words. But not quite. Over against all the problems, all the sniggers and jibes, all the medical risks, was the soft certainty in Jim's voice -- Being with him is worth whatever it costs -- and the look now in Spock's eyes. Careful, defensive. But open. Demanding his trust.

        What the hell, he thought, . It came to him that if this didn't work out, good ol' Bones was going to be all too handy. It was bad enough when he had to patch up their bodies. Trying to put someone's psyche back together was more than he wanted responsibility for, especially if the someone was either of the two people closest to him in all the galaxy. And even with all of that, he knew he couldn't crush their hopes. Something about the innocence of new love utterly banished a doctor's normal cynicism.

        "You mean Jim," he said gently, making it a statement and not a question. Spock actually allowed an expression on his face, one that wavered between acute mortification and sudden sharp hope.

        "Have I been that obvious?" he asked.

        The temptation to tease him was almost more than McCoy could bear. How often did he get an opening like that? But he put it down as firmly as he had the temptation to lie. He didn't feel like playing god or comedian today.

        "No," he said. "Not in the way you probably mean. But who else?"

        "Indeed," Spock agreed. "Who else? But that which seems obvious and logical to me may not appear so to the Captain."

        "Are you askin' me for advice?"

        "For . . . an opinion," Spock said carefully. "You are the Captain's closest friend and you are trained in the psychology of humans."

        "Well, for what it's worth then--whatever Jim may feel for you, he is first and foremost a very human human. I don't suppose you're capable of making an emotional appeal to him, but it wouldn't hurt to unbend just a little."

        "That has occurred to me," Spock said. "But no matter how profound my sensibilities in this matter, I am unversed in the traditional methods of communication."

        McCoy thought about that one for a moment. "I think you're trying to say that you don't know how to tell him you love him, but I wouldn't swear to it."

        "That is essentially correct," Spock said stiffly.

        "Well--if that's the best you can do . . . " He broke off and eyed Spock consideringly. He'd told Jim, I'm a doctor, not a matchmaker, but it couldn't hurt to help things along just a little. He was mildly amused at how easily he had come to accept the situation. Seeing Spock's continued recourse to logic reassured him more than anything else. No matter what he said to Spock about it, he feared to see his friends change. But here was Spock just as stiff-collared, cool and Vulcan as ever and Jim the same impetuous human male, in spite of their feeling for each other.

        "I just might have a suggestion for you," he said. "Jim canceled your workouts, didn't he? Why don't you get him back in the gym with you--in one of the small rooms, not in front of everybody--and do one of those Vulcan exercise things? There's a lot of, um--" What was the phrase Jim had used? "--uh, body contact in those, a lot of opportunity to make your 'sensibilities' apparent. It's the sort of thing Jim would respond to."

        "The purpose of the vi'haya is to practice control of one's feelings, not to exhibit them," Spock said doubtfully. "And the Captain may not be willing to resume our workouts."

        "You leave that part of it to me. And if your precious vi'haya has to be used to control your feelings--well, just let him see how much feeling you have to control. Do you want him badly enough to do that?"

        "Yes," Spock said quietly. "I want him."

        He rose and moved to the door. "The Captain and I will both be off duty at this time tomorrow. If you can persuade him to schedule a workout with me, I will be prepared."

        McCoy watched him leave with a considerably lighter heart than when Jim had gone out the same door--though it occurred to him that nothing had changed to make him feel any different. Then he chuckled--what had changed was his perception of one Spock of Vulcan. "I didn't think you had it in you, my pointy eared friend," he murmured. "But Jim saw, all along . . . "

        He chuckled again, at himself, at them, at the universe in general, and called up the physical training schedules on his terminal. All he had to do was move Lt. Badger from Room Two back out to the main gymnasium, shift everybody else up half an hour...

* * *

        Lt. Badger--Ginny to her friends--brushed her hand against Room Two's doorlock on her way in. Nothing happened. She caught herself just short of slamming into the door, muttering, "Damn thing needs to be aligned," under her breath, and placed her hand firmly in the center of the touchplate. Still nothing happened. She stepped back, perplexed and annoyed, to see that the in-use indicator still read "Reserved." One more time, with no more results than before. She wheeled around to check the scheduling terminal in the big room--

        --and ran smack into Captain Kirk, dressed in the skimpy Vulcan thing he and the First used for their workouts, with her boss, Mr. Spock, right behind him, similarly attired. She couldn't help an admiring grin along with her apologies -- the Captain was so damned good-looking, and the Vulcan garment left little to the imagination. He smiled back and nodded and then, to her astonishment, set his hand against the lock. The door promptly opened.

        She knew she was supposed to step back, let them through, give in to whatever whim had prompted him to pre-empt her reservation, but her ingrained stubborness won out over the difference in rank.

        "Uh, sir--" she protested, "I'm sure I reserved this room for 0800 today."

        He had the grace to look embarrassed. Mr. Spock, on the other hand, the same Mr. Spock who had approved her change of duty shifts so she could have this early morning slot, looked downright furious. What the hell was going on here?

        "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," the Captain said. "Didn't Dr. McCoy clear it with you?"

        "No," she said, more curious now than annoyed. "I had a message to call him but I haven't gotten around to it yet."

        "Oh," said the Captain. "I see." He looked at the floor, at Ginny, at the small padded room through the doorway. Then his face brightened. "The doctor sort of handed me an ultimatum about exercise," he said, "but I'm sure he didn't intend me to take someone else's place. Perhaps Mr. Spock and I can find another area for today."

        He glanced at Mr. Spock, who by now was looking rather desperate. "Do you suppose your quarters might do?" he asked. "Just this once, of course."

        Up went the Vulcan's eyebrow, but after a moment he said smoothly, "Yes, Captain, I believe my quarters could be utilized."

        "Shall we go then?" The Captain took his First Officer's elbow and off they went into the dressing room, leaving Ginny open-mouthed and dumbfounded behind them.

        Vi'haya in a space the size of your quarters?? Even the senior officers' rooms weren't open enough--or well padded enough--for that. Had she misread the Vulcan attire? Perhaps some new discipline that used the same loincloth arrangement . . . But then she thought of the amazing panoply of expression across Mr. Spock's face--and some of the gossip she'd been hearing lately--and a slow grin spread across her own. Whaddya know about that, she thought, some new discipline indeed!

* * *

        They paused in front of Spock's door and Jim said, "I'll be right there--just give me a moment to get dressed again."

        To his surprise, Spock shook his head. "You are welcome to change here."

        The room was lit only at the low "daytime, unoccupied" level and with the flicker of the Vulcan firepot. Spock left it that way while they changed, to Jim's relief. He was already having trouble with certain involuntary physical responses. He sneaked a quick glance at Spock when they stripped but the Vulcan was turned in such a way as to reveal only perfectly ordinary humanoid buttocks, and Jim looked away with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks, thoroughly annoyed at the adolescent nature of his thoughts. And then, flustered and clumsy, he couldn't seem to get the cloth just right around his hips. He fumbled with the intricate wrap, at risk of losing it altogether, and very much aware of Spock watching him.

        "Let me help."

        Spock knelt at his side and with deft fingers rearranged the tucks into the proper traditional pattern, tightened the knot and adjusted the bunched folds of fabric passing between Jim's legs. It was done so swiftly and impersonally that Jim had no time to react before Spock straightened and turned away into the ritual opening stance.

        They were past the Words of Greeting and well into the Exchange of Challenge before Jim noticed that Spock had not brought up the lights. Startled at the realization, and at the possible implications of it, he missed the final gesture and found himself flat on his back with a Vulcan knee in his chest.

        "You seem somewhat distracted today, Captain," Spock remarked.

        "I'll try to pay more attention," Jim said breathlessly. When Spock didn't move, he added, "Ah . . . could I get up now?" Then, remembering, "H'nha, t'yrl."

        Spock stood slowly, holding his eyes, lifting on one leg from the kneeling position of the pin straight to his feet. The long muscles in his right leg stood out, disappearing at the top of his thigh into the folds of the loincloth. Jim closed his eyes, took a deep breath and got to his feet.

        They exchanged the Warrior's crossed-arm salute and moved into the second phase of the ritual combat, a complicated series of threatening lunges and leaping retreats. Hampered by the need to watch out for furniture--which didn't seem to slow Spock down at all--and increasingly suspicious of Spock's motives, Jim slowly gave way until he was cornered near the door. He made one half-hearted attempt to escape which resulted only in getting one hand pinned against the bulkhead over his shoulder and the other twisted behind his back. The position should have been acutely uncomfortable, but with senses altered both by passion and by the aggressive ritual, he was aware only of Spock's chest pressed hard against his own. Spock's face was so near that he could feel the Vulcan's breath on his cheek, could have touched the other's lips with his own, and for one heartstopping moment he almost thought that Spock was about to do just that.

        Instead, Spock shifted slightly against him, ostensibly to adjust the hold, but the movement had the effect of bringing their bodies into close contact from breast to knees. There was no possibiity that he could be unaware of Jim's arousal, yet he gave no sign of it, staring intently at Jim.

        "Why have you held back?" he demanded in a low voice. "You have hardly bothered to defend yourself."

        Jim laughed softly. "I guess for once I was enjoying the sport more than the victory."

        He turned sober again; this was one game they both had to win. "Don't go, Spock," he whispered. "Don't leave."

        Spock glanced away. "I do not wish to leave." He looked back and there were lines in his face and a wary tension about his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"

        "Yes, you have a choice. Stay. Stay with me. Please, Spock."

        He leaned forward, as much as he could in the cramped position, and brushed Spock's lips gently with his own, not in passion, just to make sure there was no mistaking what he meant.

        "This is what you want too, isn't it?" he whispered.

        Spock released him finally. "With such yearning," he said in a bleak voice, "that I have scarcely been able to control it."

        He took Jim's arm, the one that had been twisted behind his back, and began to massage it. Jim touched him gently on the cheek.

        "What's the problem, then?"

        "It is not so simple as you perhaps imagine." He met Jim's questioning gaze. "Do you really understand what you are asking?"

        "Yes, I think I do. I've read everything I could get my hands on. I understand about bonding, at least as much as I can without first hand experience. I know it's a lifelong relationship and an exclusuve one, and I'm ready for that. I need it. And I know that Vulcan accepts male pairing."

        Spock nodded. "Our union would certainly be honored. It is the essence of the principle of IDIC." But his face was troubled.

        "You still have reservations."

        "Only one." His fingers had eased the strain from Jim's arm but he continued the slow movement, more a caress now than massage. Jim leaned against him, savoring the heat and the faint alien scent. They stood that way for a long moment and then Spock moved him away, making him aware of the Vulcan's power. The hand that had brushed so gently along his arm now gripped it with a strength he knew he couldn't begin to match. As if to underscore the message, Spock took his chin in the other hand, gently but with unmistakeable force.

        "Jim, I would gladly accede to you in every aspect of our lives. I have wanted nothing more than to follow you for almost as long as I have known you. But a time will come when I will be unable to do so. In that time I will be demanding and dominating and selfish. I will be indifferent--no, oblivious would be more accurate--to your needs. If there is any possibility that you cannot accept that, you must tell me now."

        "I can accept that, knowing the reason for it," Jim said softly, but firmly. "I do accept it." He wanted to reassure Spock in some more physical way, but he understood the necessity of submission in this moment. He stood immobile, hardly breathing, until Spock released him. Then he reached up with both hands and drew Spock's face close for another soft kiss. He brushed one cheek with the back of his hand, a gentle caress. "It will be my pleasure to submit to you when you need me," he said. His eyes sparkled suddenly. "And before that too, if you want."

        Spock was suddenly shy. "I have so little experience," he said. "You will have to show me." He slid his arms around Jim's waist, endearingly awkward, fumbling with the new feelings.

        "I'm not exactly an old hand at this either," Jim said huskily, with emphasis on this.

        "I understand." Spock's arms tightened around him and their bodies settled together, stiff at first, and then with increasing familiarity and desire. Jim still could find no sign that Spock was physically aroused; the exact nature of Vulcan sexual responses was pretty well glossed over in the standard texts, and he hadn't had the nerve to ask McCoy, even supposing the doctor knew, which seemed unlikely. His own system was rapidly approaching sensory overload.

        He pulled away a bit, wondering if they weren't going a little too fast anyway. "Do you want this?" he asked. "Right now, I mean?"

        Spock glanced down at the unmistakeable evidence of Jim's condition. "We --seem to have started something," he said uncertainly.

        Jim turned a little pink. "I'm okay. It goes away if you ignore it."

        "Indeed? Fascinating . . . " It was Spock who flushed now. "The available texts were most illuminating, but not as detailed as I might have wished."

        That went over Jim's head for a moment, and then he realized what Spock was saying.

        "The Vulcan ones weren't either," he commented with a grin.

        Spock said wryly, "We seem to have had similar goals." He reached out to touch Jim very gently, experimentally, through the cloth. "Perhaps we should leave the texts to the scholars and concentrate on first hand experience."

        It was what Jim wanted to hear, of course, and any possibility of his erection going away utterly vanished. He caught at Spock's hand and said with a shaky laugh, "Wait, please. If you keep doing that, you're going to get the first hand demonstration a little early."

        He wanted to see Spock, wanted it so badly that his throat constricted with the desire and he couldn't get out the words to ask. He touched the knot at Spock's hip, question marks in his eyes, and Spock nodded wordlessly. Jim fumbled with it, with fingers made stiff by excitement, until one end slipped out and the top layer of fabric fell into his hands. Spock touched his arm then, holding him still for a moment.

        "It will not be what you expect," he said. "The retractile response is not entirely under voluntary control."

        Jim nodded, though he had little idea what Spock meant, and slipped his hand under the strip of fabric that crossed Spock's belly. The remainder of the loosened wrap fell away and Spock shifted so that the portion which passed between his legs was freed also. He took the length of material from Jim's hands and let it fall to the deck.

        For one shocked moment, Jim could see no external genitalia at all--only dense black hair. Then Spock took his hand, guiding it to where the testes would be in a human male, and Jim felt the soft pressure of the sac descending against his palm.

        "During moments of stress or environmental extremes the organs are drawn up almost entirely into the body," Spock said. "With practice, the response can also be initiated intentionally. The process of reversal is less easily controlled, however." He hesitated. "Any degree of tension tends to prolong the retraction of the phallus."

        He moved Jim's hand up ten centimeters or so. Jim could just make out a dimpled area under the hair, and behind that, a firm mass. He massaged the place gently, feeling it move under the skin. Spock's fingers, where they still rested against the back of his hand, tensed and Jim stopped, unable to tell whether the stroking was pleasant or not.

        He straightened and flicked his eyes toward the sleeping area. "I think we would both be more relaxed lying down."

        Spock nodded but didn't move. His eyes fell to Jim's loins. Jim said, "Yes," knowing what he wanted, and Spock loosened the knot and pulled the material away. His face was still and intent, the look he often wore on duty or at work over a particularly fascinating piece of data. No one had ever been that intrigued with Jim's anatomy before, and Spock's childlike concentration both warmed and amused him. He felt like a child again himself, exploring life's mysteries for the first time.

        "What are you thinking?" he asked, wondering what obscure bit of reproductive biology Spock might have come across in the tapes.

        "I think that you are beautiful," Spock said quietly. "I had never thought a man's body beautiful before."

        Jim sighed, feeling unbearably honored. If he'd thought at all about what it would be like to love Spock openly and freely, the thoughts had centered around sexual fantasies, flights of imagination that he knew were unrealistic and had therefore dismissed as soon as they passed. The idea of a romantic Vulcan had never entered his head.

        "I think you are incredible," he said, and then, with a mischievous grin, "What other surprises do you have for me?"

        "I am surprised at myself," Spock admitted. "You bring ideas to mind that I had not thought myself capable of."

        They moved with unspoken but mutual understanding toward Spock's bunk, and for the first time, Jim felt some misgivings. If his expectations had so thoroughly missed reality's mark, what of Spock's?

        "What had you been thinking?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean--what have you thought our relationship would be like? I know so little of Vulcan culture, in spite of my reading."

        Spock threw back the cover and sat down, elbows on knees. "I suppose," he said, "I had expected your physical needs to far exceed mine, except for the time of pon farr. I have always associated such urgings with a loss of control. It did not occur to me that I might ever consciously wish to experience them."

        Jim patted his flank and he moved over, swinging his legs onto the bed. Jim settled in next to him, propped on an elbow. "What exactly do you want to experience? I don't know what you would find pleasurable."

        "I think--everything," Spock said simply.

        Feeling old suddenly, and jaded, and a little self-conscious, Jim bent to kiss him. Spock turned toward him and lifted his face in a gesture so trusting that it brought tears to Jim's eyes. He had another surprise for me after all, he thought. I don't deserve this . . .

        Spock's lips were hot and woman-soft, and they parted at Jim's touch. He teased them both for a moment by ignoring that, concentrating instead on texture and pressure and shapes. In the midst of exploring the pronounced cleft at Spock's upper lip, he felt Spock quiver and groan softly, and a second later, felt the firm pressure of Spock's penis against his leg. It was what he had needed, the knowledge for certain that Spock could respond to him. "I love you," he murmured against Spock's mouth, and with an inarticulate sound, Spock pressed hard against him and sought his tongue.

        The world finally righted itself and Jim pulled away slowly. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'd have to teach you."

        "Some things do seem to be instinctive," Spock agreed with a faint smile. "Though my instincts are more extensive than I expected."

        Jim laughed softly at Spock's self-evaluation. "There's an old saying, Mr. Spock--just do what comes naturally."

        He rolled against Spock, half on top of him, letting his body feel what his hands wanted to touch, his eyes to see. Spock felt enormous, rigid, burning hot, and as they rocked together, his breath quickened. Jim watched him intently, holding his own arousal at bay, content to share Spock's rising excitement. He'd heard of women who experienced their partner's pleasure as their own, unable to achieve orgasm themselves, and had never quite believed it. Now he thought he understood. To love someone so much that you wanted nothing more than the other's pleasure . . . Tears stung his eyes again as he thought, You gave me that, by giving yourself.

        Spock tensed against him and began to tremble, and Jim eased away from him. "Not yet," he whispered. He held Spock gently and stroked his back, soothing him until the trembling stopped. It would have been nice to finish like that, just holding on to each other, but he wanted to give something more, something finer in return for this great thing that Spock had freely offered him.

        He sat up and hiked himself around so that he faced Spock, leaning comfortably against Spock's legs. Their eyes met and Jim held his gaze for a moment, not asking permission, but acknowledging his right to see, to touch, to hold. Spock's face softened and he propped himself up on his elbows, watching.

        "You seem to have an inordinate fascination with certain portions of my anatomy," he said, with a glint in his eye that belied the faint mockery of the words.

        "Just my prurient human nature coming out." Jim made a lascivious leer at him. "I was one of those little boys who peeked up little girls' skirts, you know."

        Spock looked rather shocked, and Jim, uncertain how far he might go with this kind of humor, said hastily, "I was a very little boy and I got thoroughly spanked and I never did it again."

        To his delight, Spock raised one elegant eyebrow. "That I find rather difficult to believe."

        "Well, not without permission, anyway."

        He'd been stroking up Spock's thighs, finding the sensation of wiry hair on his palm amazingly erotic. Everything about Spock assailed his senses--the seemingly delicate fingers that had held him with such power, the bony knees against which he leaned, the smell of him, a heady dusky scent that drew Jim irresistably down to the Vulcan penis lying heavy now against Spock's leg. He drew his fingertips along its length, and that wasn't enough; he curled his fingers around it, feeling it begin to harden again, and even that couldn't satisfy his need. He bent forward and took the head in his mouth and the whole universe spiralled down to that point of contact between them. Spock's scent crystallized into a sharp intoxicating liquor across the back of his tongue, alien, un-human, yet so familiar that he knew he must have been subliminally aware of it for a long time. So good.

        He sucked softly, then ran his tongue along the shaft, nipped gently at the web of skin at the root, nuzzled the balls, almost frantic with the need to experience firsthand this newly revealed part of his beloved; at the same time, as though his consciousness had suddenly learned to operate on two levels at once, he was sharply aware of Spock's soft gasps of pleasure and the way his hands clenched against the sheets with each new touch, each fresh intimacy. He murmured, "Jim . . . oh, Jim," and the husky timbre of his voice, so unlike his usual dry monotone, was the sweetest sound Jim had ever heard.

        He rested his head on Spock's thigh and felt Spock's hand on his own, not in exploration or stimulation, just a tender and comfortable familiarity, as though they had been lovers for years. As though he belonged to Spock, and Spock to him. He wanted the physical reality of that, wanted it with an intensity almost frightening. Despite what he'd said to Bones, he never had let himself want another man, had shied away from the idea until woman was a habit firmly fixed in his mind and behavior. Until habit became mindless reflex and his heart cried for something more. Until one day something about the tilt of Spock's head, the graceful lines of his body, some wry rejoinder he'd made, had settled with finality into Jim's soul, and even then he hadn't recognized the feeling, had blindly taken the friendship and turned his back on anything more. He felt no guilt for that, but a sense of inadequacy, of having let down both Spock and himself. It was the other side of the coin from the consuming intensity of feeling that fueled him now, as though the years of superficial caring had accumulated, bit by bit, a debt that now had come due.

        He lifted his head and met Spock's gaze, soft and bemused. "I want you," he whispered and Spock nodded and held out his hand.

        "Come." He turned as though to roll over to his stomach.

        "No." Jim pressed his shoulder back down. "Take me."

        His name then, softly, a question.

        "I need to give this, Spock."

        There was clear hesitation, then acquiescence, then muted joy. Spock said, "Yes," and in that single syllable was the thrum of Vulcan drums across a burning desert, a warrior chant, the primeval Vulcan stripped of his centuries of civilization and tradition. Spock pulled him down to the bed, and though it was done gently and with no resistence on Jim's part, there was that overwhelming sense again of the Vulcan's strength, and Jim knew he had been absolutely right to insist on his own surrender first. The release of Spock's Vulcanness seemed to have had the opposite effect on himself, shutting him away . . . cowering behind a wall of helplessly indignant human masculinity. If there was any possibility that he couldn't do this, they needed to know now, before their relationship grew any more entangled. He would not have imagined, a few minutes before, that there could be a possibility of backing away from Spock, yet doubts he had thought long resolved were suddenly very much with him.

        Oblivious to his sudden rush of apprehension, Spock rolled them over and rose to his knees between Jim's legs. Towered over him, as alien a presence as Jim had ever known. In the pale fluorescence of the dim ship lighting he was an olive god, an alabaster demiurge whose image shivered and quavered with each pulse of the flame idol's fiery heart. Jim found himself trembling.

        "You are afraid . . . ?" Spock asked wonderingly.

        "No--" He couldn't complete the lie. "Yes. Suddenly nothing is simple anymore. I don't know what to expect."

        The deity before him melted, metamorphosed, became mortal again, the power all drained out of him, sucked away by Jim's fear. That transformation, that loss, was worse than any vision of subjugation his mind could have conjured up. It was Death, in the midst of their new life, a murder of his own making.

        "Do it, please," he pleaded. "Just do it. Don't pay any attention to me."

        Spock swayed. "I do not want to hurt you."

        "It's not that!" He had to make Spock understand. "I'm not afraid of pain."

        "What, then, Jim?" Spock bent over him, all solicitous now, caressing his cheek, a gesture almost maternal in the memories it evoked. He almost went with that, almost let himself be soothed, petted, indulged. If he hadn't, for a moment, seen what Spock could be, hadn't seen the power for once unleashed, hadn't sensed that immense spirit turned finally outward to life, he could, possibly, have taken the crumbs that were all this other Spock could offer. He was selfish enough to do that. And when the flames of pon farr seared through that submissive veneer, it would turn them both to ashes.

        "No!" he said savagely. "Don't let me do this to you."

        Spock came to rest heavily on Jim's body, supported only on his elbows. "I cannot take what I need," he said softly. "Not from you. It must be given freely."

        "But I want to give it," Jim cried, near desperation in his voice. "It was so easy at first."

        "Tell me what you fear."

        "Not pain," Jim repeated. "I'm afraid--" He stopped and took a deep breath and started over.

        "I'm afraid that I just won't like it--that I'll hate it . . . "

        He stopped again and shook his head. Even to his own ears, that sounded petty, an excuse to mask a sudden attack of cold feet. He tried again, knowing it was more important even to make himself under stand than to explain anything to Spock. "I don't know the rules in this . . . "

        "No rules," Spock assured him. "Only what we can give each other."

        He started to roll away, lifting his weight off Jim's body, but Jim pulled him back. "Don't. I'm so skittish right now I'm afraid I might just take off if you gave me half a chance."

        There was no reply, but the sudden stillness of the body covering his was answer enough. The power was still there, held in, controlled, disguised as Vulcan calm, but there. Enough to obliterate them both. Then Spock relaxed, letting his head drop for a moment against Jim's collarbone. "If it will help," came his muffled voice, "I will pin you to the wall again." He lifted his head, his face a comic mixture of desire and misery and the wry humor he had always been able to summon in emotional crises. "You were much more agreeable then."

        Spock's tone was light but it was still an offer, one that was all too easy to contemplate. Not rape, but force enough to give in to, to take the decision out of Jim's hands. It appealed to him on some deeply masculine level, even more attractive, perversely, than the offer to submit to him. And it had at least as many pitfalls, the greatest of which was that again, it was Spock who would have to change, Spock who would close off an essential part of himself, Spock who would make all the sacrifices, all the compromises. He found that he didn't like himself very much.

        "Don't change for me," he whispered wearily. "Be who you are. If I can't accept that--well, then I can't. We'll be no worse off than if you'd just gone back to Vulcan. But don't change."

        Spock stirred against him. "It would be difficult now," he acknowledged. "Though I would try, if you wished it." He hesitated. "I am not certain that I could return to Vulcan now, and take another as bondmate. The submission of one's chosen triggers a very fundamental response. In ancient times, when Vulcans fought for their mates, it was an instinct for protectiveness, to insure that the stronger one shielded his mate from anyone who threatened their union."

        "From a rival, you mean," Jim said slowly, beginning to understand. "That's what happened when I asked you to take me. I sensed a change in you."

        "And you felt threatened by it."

        There was no hint of accusation in Spock's voice, only understanding and acceptance, and a measure of finality. Jim could feel him withdrawing emotionally. They'd gone too far, and it was Spock who would pay the price after all, a very high price this time. Too high.

        "What will you do?" he whispered, knowing the answer already.

        "I don't know. Perhaps I will attempt to find another. I think I would prefer to stay here as long as possible." He met Jim's gaze. "Please do not blame yourself. I do not know whether I could have taken someone else even if this had not occurred. I have been . . . attuned to you for some time now."

        Jim sucked in a slow shocked breath. "And you wouldn't have told me. If I'd been unreceptive, you would have just crawled away to die somewhere when your time came."

        That was, finally, too much. To have tried and failed was one thing, unacceptable still, but to think that Spock might never have let him try was another matter altogether.

        "That's the most goddamn stupid thing I ever heard!" he swore.

        Spock shrugged slightly. "What would you have had me do? Beg for your body? Rape you if you refused? The final outcome would have been the same, whether I died in pon farr or later."

        He pulled away again, and this time, Jim knew, it would be final. He wouldn't risk this scene again.

        He started to grab at Spock's hips, then thought better of it. Spock would not respond to force, not now, not from him. And to touch Spock with his hands was an intimacy he didn't yet deserve in the scenario forming in his mind. Instead, he arched his back, pressing seductively into Spock.

        "What would I have you do . . . " he purred. "Suppose this were ancient Vulcan. You've claimed me--are you just going to give me up? Let me go?"

        Spock froze, looking stunned. Jim held his breath, until, to his vast relief, he felt the stirring of Spock's sex against him. Then he dared to move, just a fraction, a deliberately provocative squirming, as though he meant to escape.

        "No," Spock whispered. "No, you are mine." His nostrils flared. He reached back carefully and impris oned Jim's wrist, bringing it to the bed above their shoulders. His eyes bored into Jim's, enough sanity there that Jim knew he had understood, but glittering still with an atavistic fire. He found Jim's other wrist and pulled it up next to the first, holding them both effortlessly with one hand.

        "You are mine," he repeated. His other hand closed on Jim's jaw. "Look at me! You are mine, but I would have you willingly. Give yourself to me."

        Last chance. Blow it now, Jim told himself, and he's dead. All or nothing. He shuddered. His mouth worked, trying to say the words. Finally he could only nod.

        Spock`s eyes cleared somewhat. "You understand," he said softly, "that if you tell me to stop, I shall."

        Jim nodded again; mute acquiescence seemed to be all he could manage at the moment.

        Spock released his wrists, but warned him, "Do not move." He raised up, surveying Jim as though looking over some exotic new possession. Then a powerful thrust of his thighs spread Jim's legs apart and he knelt again between them. His face was tight, private, giving no hint of his intentions. Jim began to shiver, though the room earlier had seemed hot and close. He felt naked in a way that he had never experienced before, vulnerable, his body and mind a tumult of conflicting emotions.

        Spock leaned over him, close, closer. Close enough to touch Jim with his lips. Instead, sharp teeth closed on Jim's lower lip, and were gone before he was barely aware of the contact, leaving behind a tiny stinging place. Again they struck, on the side of his jaw, his earlobe, his shoulder. In other circum stances, it could have been erotic as hell, but now the bites only emphasized his voluntary helplessness, and the alieness of his captor. Vulcans do not kiss, he remembered, trying dazedly to remember from his reading just what it was that Vulcans did.

        The teeth found a nipple, and left it throbbing; the tendon where arm met shoulder, and worried along its length; the firm skin of his belly, and covered it with slight smarting nips. He imagined the teeth on his sex and shuddered, closing his eyes. Then--nothing, as though turning off the visual stimuli had turned off the physical reality as well. His eyes flew open. Spock was looking down at himself, at the swollen organ hanging heavy between his legs, frowning. He touched himself, experimentally, as he had touched Jim earlier. The sight of that ignited Jim's desire again, heat that surged outward from his groin and flashed through his veins. Even in his wildest fantasies, Spock had remained himself, sexually responsive, yes, but still reserved and subdued. To see his reticent Vulcan in such a pose of unrestrained eroticism was almost enough to make him come with no other stimulation at all.

        He swallowed and bit his lip, watching Spock stroke one finger along his cock, watching the sensations reflected in Spock's face. Not blatant arousal, not even as much as he had displayed when Jim caressed him. Frowning, still. Intent. Exploring himself, a territory as little charted as the nether regions of space. He glanced up and caught Jim watching him, and smiled slightly, a look that said, "You may share this with me," but that still kept himself apart, a small secret smile. Then his eyes dropped back to what his hand was doing, indolent stroking that seemed almost to have a life of its own, his finger and his cock making love to each other. Jim was so aroused that his lips tingled and the sensitive skin of his inner thighs twitched with little involuntary tremors.

        "Please . . . oh, please," he whispered, aching for Spock's touch, for any touch at all.

        Spock glanced back at him briefly but otherwise ignored him, and he understood that this time it would be on Vulcan terms, and in Spock's own time. It was the show of force he had asked for, in spades. And he could still call it off, could still just get up and leave, reclaim his precious male identity, his pride. He knew Spock wasn't out of control, wouldn't stop him, wouldn't even blame him. The fact that he could even consider doing it terrified him. They were so close, to lose it all.

        He wanted to plead with Spock again, to take him, to get it over with before it was too late, before he panicked again. He could feel denial rising from the depths of his soul -- No, no, I can't! -- and he wasn't sure he could stop himself from saying the words. He walked a tightrope between a frigid solitary wasteland on one side -- a future with no Spock in it -- and a boiling whirlpool on the other -- an alien inferno with Spock at its center. He couldn't help the awful fear that he was going to lose no matter what he chose, and his only way out was to make Spock choose for him. It was a coward's way out and he didn't care.

        Something in his face must have given him away, for Spock said, with quiet finality, "Do not speak." The command freed him; it moved speaking into the same realm as running away. If he could lie here with his wrists bound, figuratively, over his head, he could also remain quiet.

        Spock had shifted his hand, curling it around himself in outright masturbation. His other hand cupped and fingered his balls. An intense quiet settled around them; even the normal ship's background noises faded away, and in that quiet, Spock's breathing tightened, quickened. He held Jim with his eyes now, sharing the ever-sharpening sensations. Jim's whole being focused on Spock's face, mesmerized by the parted lips, the flushed cheeks, the little panting breaths. His own body felt detached and insubstantial.

        Spock's lashes fluttered. He swallowed and inhaled deeply, quieting the ragged breathing. His eyes closed briefly and then he looked down at himself again, one eyebrow arched as though in surprise at what his body was capable of.

        "Now," he said very softly.

        Jim heard the word and his body obeyed without conscious volition. His legs opened wider; his shoulders relaxed finally against the bed. His eyes shut and a soft darkness closed in around him, dark that held a gentle touch against his thighs, a shifting of the mattress beneath him, a whispery rustling of the sheets as Spock moved closer to him. He surrendered to the dark, letting it carry him where it would. It lifted his knees and he complied, pulling them back to his chest, and it touched him in the most guarded of his hidden places. Touched him gently, with something cool and slick, and then, with increasing strength and purpose, touched him with something else, pressing in, opening him, filling him. He moaned once, more in surprise than anything else, astonished at the sensation of being touched that deeply within, and with that sensation, his body began slowly to make itself known again to him. There was the whiskery brush of Spock's pubic hair against his wide-spread cheeks and the hot pressure of Spock's body against his cock as Spock leaned close over him, fingers clenched almost painfully on his arm. He stirred slightly and the fingers released him, but the movement caused a sudden throbbing of the thing that filled him, an unbearably pleasurable pulsing. Spock cried out softly, his name, and another pleasure shot through him, to give Spock so much, to be the one Spock trusted this much. He thrust up and felt Spock move to meet him, and then there was no more thought, just the driving rhythm of their bodies, and woven through that, Spock's voice, calling his name over and over and over.

        Spock's hand skimmed the side of his face and he turned instinctively into it.

        "Yes . . . yes," he murmured, wanting the mental surrender as much as the physical, and the force of Spock's presence flooded over him, through him, into him. An alien presence, yet still inimitably Spock; precision and logic colored with barbaric sensuality, smoldering violence damped down to that refined aura of power. Of T'Pau he'd said, "All of Vulcan in one package," yet that description fit Spock far better. T'Pau might embody the culture of contemporary Vulcan, but Spock spanned centuries, melding pre- reform splendor and current philosophy into one magnificent whole. The thought flitted through his mind and he felt Spock sieze on it, amplify it, feed it back.

        Only with you, t'hy'la.

        He saw Spock as Spock had been, sterile and fearful, coming time after time almost to the point of reaching out to another, and then pulling back. Saw the shell grow a little thicker, a little harder after each withdrawal, saw the need for companionship buried each time a little deeper. Then he had come, all unaware, almost arrogant in his assumption of friendship. Had teased where no one dared to tease before, had cared openly with no apparent fear of rebuff, had touched, body and spirit, where custom demanded privacy, and all in such innocence and generosity that there was no point where Spock could object.

        He saw himself as Spock had seen him, through truthful eyes that acknowledged his faults, accepted his shortcomings, and grew to love him more and more with each day's encounters. He saw the moment when Spock had understood it to be love, saw him turning that over and over, slowly accepting the simple truth of it. Saw the assumption that it could never be returned, and then, from something in Jim's manner, the first wondering "what it?" What if the lingering touch of Jim's hand was not just good natured comradeship, but the shy caress of a lover? What if his sudden spells of quiet were not boredom but rather feelings too deep to voice? What if there could be a place for Spock here, where he belonged, with the one he loved?

        Yes! Jim put the whole force of his personality into that. Oh god, yes! He reached for Spock with his mind, with his arms, clung to him, arched up to him. Would have meshed their very bodies if he could have. Spock murmured, "I love you, Jim," the love a tidal wave that swept them both away, sobbing and clinging to each other, carried them higher and higher, and crested over them, to leave them gasping and shaken.

        Jim opened his eyes slowly, reluctant to return to the considerations of ordinary life. Spock lay half across him, trembling. He reached down awkwardly to retrieve the cover from where it had fallen on the floor, and drew it over them both. The trembling quieted slowly; Spock shifted his weight off Jim and helped him straighten his legs. He began to massage the tops of Jim's thighs, easing the stiffness, all in silence, a closed, introspective expression on his face. Finally he lay back down beside Jim, snuggling close. Jim turned to him and touched his cheek, and his lips twitched, holding back a smile.

        "What are you thinking?"

        "I trust that Doctor McCoy will be satisfied with your 'exercise.'"

        "Well, he prescribed it, after all . . . " Jim trailed off, knowing he would have to tell Spock about the conversation with McCoy, but not sure quite how to go about it.

        "Indeed." Spock's voice was particularly dry, and his mental ambience, a presence that Jim was just beginning to be aware of in his mind, was amused.

        "What's so funny?"

        Spock hesitated. "I must tell you -- you have a right to know -- it was not my intention to violate your privacy, but--"

        There was a flicker of mental images--Sickbay and Chapel, and then McCoy seated behind his desk . . .

        "Oh shit," Jim blurted out, starting to laugh helplessly. "You went to see Bones too, didn't you?"

        "You do not mind that I spoke to him--" Spock broke off as what Jim had said finally sank in. "Oh. You also asked his advice." He chuckled softly, the implications becoming clear. "His method of bringing us together was most -- inventive." He paused and glanced at Jim. "I am relieved that you felt free to speak to him. I was somewhat concerned that even if you responded positively to me, you might wish that no one else know."

        "Hmph," Jim snorted. "If the look on Ginny Badger's face was any indication, the rest of the crew figured this out long before we did."

        "No," Spock said definitely. "I have always loved you."

        "Took you long enough to let me know," Jim teased. Spock's face turned penitent, and he said quickly, "I wasn't ready to hear it before, I know. It took the possibility of losing you to wake me up."

        Spock hugged him close. "You shall never lose me . . . " He trailed off into an enormous yawn. "Sex," he pronounced, when he had his voice back, "is exhausting. I wonder that the human race has managed to reproduce itself." He opened one eye lazily. "I do not believe that I could become interested again in less than, oh -- ten minutes, at least."

        Jim burst out laughing again. He bent to kiss Spock and whispered something in his ear.

        Spock shivered, a deliciously erotic quiver that swept him from head to toe, and slowly raised his arms over his head on the bed. "I am yours to command," he whispered.

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