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lesyeuxvertsTitle: A Complete Education, or: How Spock Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Sex
Author: lesyeuxverts
Beta:angela_snape
Word Count: 4300ish
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (mention of Sulu/Chekov, past Spock/Uhura)
Prompt: this
Warnings: spoilers for the new movie
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spock is beginning to admit that the human way of doing things is the more logical one. In this singular instance. It is surely not a widespread pattern.
He raises one eyebrow and waits for McCoy to stop laughing. "The humor in this situation–"
That only makes McCoy laugh harder. "Damn it, Spock, don't do that to a man when he's drinking."
"You were the one who insisted that alcohol was necessary for this conversation."
McCoy wipes the bourbon off his mouth with the back of his hand and takes another sip of his drink. Spock watches the muscles in his throat contract when he swallows, and wishes – not for the first time – that Jim was there. Surely this – this insanity would not have continued in the Captain's presence.
"For more reasons than I realized," McCoy says, finishing his drink and pouring himself another. He sloshes some of the bourbon into a second glass and pushes it across the table at Spock. "Drink. I'm not having this conversation if either one of us is sober."
Spock does not think that inebriation will help the situation, but McCoy is – apparently – in possession of information that Spock lacks. He hesitates, and then takes a sip. The liquid burns like the fumes of the pure ethanol that he uses as a disinfectant in the laboratory.
"Now," McCoy says, leaning back in his chair, "we've established that you don't want to hurt Jim – and if that's because it's illogical in view of your duties as First Officer, as you so charmingly put it, or because you lo– care for him and will do anything in your power to keep him from harm, wouldn't matter to me … except for the fact that you didn't seem to think that the second was even possible."
Spock takes another sip of his bourbon, straightening his spine and shifting in his chair. "As First Officer–" he says again, but McCoy waves a hand in the air, cutting him off.
"As Jim's friend and as the man who's spent every night in his presence for the last six months … you ought to realize that there's something more, Spock. Isn't it illogical to ignore the truth?"
It had been only logical to spend time with Jim, no matter that McCoy took the word now and twisted it in his mouth as if it was an epithet. After Nyota–
"As you say, the motives do not matter if the end is the same. Duty compels me to protect the captain…"
"In matters pertaining to the ship's safety, yes." McCoy takes another swig of his drink, watching Spock over the rim of the glass. "In matters of the body or affairs of the heart? Let's not argue this again, Spock."
Spock does not wish to argue – he does not want to be having this conversation at all. The desire to retreat into meditation is illogical at this time, and so he holds himself still. "As you wish," he says.
"Fine," McCoy says. "Now, as I said, we've established that you don't want to hurt Jim, and once we had established that, I asked if you were taking proper precautions. Precautions that you apparently don't know anything about."
"The examination that you referred to is not part of the standard battery of tests described in Starfleet regulations–"
"No, but it is standard practice for sexually active adults."
Spock is able to control his breathing and his heart rate. He can keep his fingers from twitching and hold his facial muscles still, preserving a neutral expression. It appears, however, that he is not able to control other autonomic functions, such as the flush of blood that rushes to his face when his capillaries dilate.
McCoy leans forward, knocking his glass against Spock's. "I never thought I'd see the day when a Vulcan blushed in front of me," he says, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass onto the table. "I'll be a monkey's uncle–"
Pushing his chair back from the table, Spock rises and stalks across the room, standing at the wall furthest from McCoy. "I would not be surprised to learn that your relationship with simians was that close–"
Bones is behind him then, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back to his seat. "Don't take it that way, Spock," he says. "I told you … we all learn this when we're younger. Embarrassing talks with our parents, titillating lectures at school … sex is a laughing matter, for us humans. I take it that it's different among Vulcans?"
Without looking at him, Spock nods. "The … human way does appear to be better in this instance," he says. "I find that I … lack the pertinent information."
"Right," Bones says, "right. So … you and Uhura?"
"She informed me that she wished to experiment with contact between our genitalia, and assured me that she had taken precautions which made the natural possible consequence of such action – to be specific, pregnancy–"
Holding up a hand, McCoy stops him. "You mean she told you that she was taking contraceptives and you believed her? Spock, I know you can trust Uhura, but generally … when a human female tells you that, you can't just–"
Spock looks down at his hands, which are clasped neatly in his lap. He has touched Nyota with these hands – these hands have brushed against Jim Kirk's, when he was reaching for a chess piece or when the two of them were working together on the bridge. These hands. His hands.
"I did not," he tells McCoy, "choose to engage in that experiment with Nyota. The … prospect of contact with the mucosal membranes of her vagina seemed to be … unhygienic."
McCoy laughs again, but this time it is not unkind – this time, he isn't laughing at Spock. "I've gotta tell you, there isn't much about sex that's hygienic, Spock."
"The possibility of transmitting diseases–"
"That's why you take precautions. But the mechanics of homosexual intercourse are–"
"You are presupposing that I wish to enter into a sexual relationship with the Captain."
Bones says it so softly that it's almost a whisper. "I've seen the way you look at him – and the way he looks at you."
If Spock's ears were less sensitive, he wouldn't have heard. If Spock wasn't half-human, the words wouldn't have made him feel an irrational leap of hope. He takes a deep, controlled breath, and exhales slowly. Leonard McCoy will not be the human who pushes Spock into feeling emotions.
So far, Jim Kirk is the only one who has been able to do that.
"I concede the point," he says, his voice just as soft as Bones'.
-----
Two hours later, they have missed dinner, and McCoy is still calling up anatomical charts and trying to prove his point to Spock.
It is bewitching enough to make Spock's nerves tingle, but utterly illogical. Impossible. "No," he says, standing and stretching. "I do not care if you have altered every database on the Enterprise in order to corroborate this ridiculous fiction, Doctor. I cannot believe it."
"Damn it, Spock–"
At the beginning of their discussion, McCoy's ears and cheeks had turned a dark red, but as he began to explain the mechanics of intercourse between two men, he had settled into a lecturing mode, and the flush subsided. Now, the color is back in his face, and he's glaring at Spock.
"I see no reason for any being to submit to a painful, humiliating process such as the one that you describe."
"It's not painful or humiliating if it's done right."
"The unavoidable association of the rectum with its function of voiding bodily waste–"
Bones puts his head in his hands and uses his thumbs to massage his temples. "If you are determined to drive me to my wits' end–"
"As far as I know, Doctor, Ensign Chekov is currently 'driving' this ship, as you would say in the vernacular. I am not, nor have I been recently, in control of–"
Bones knocks over the empty bottle of bourbon, and Spock watches the arc it makes as it falls off the table and lands on the padded floor, a perfect demonstration of physics. The last drops of bourbon have moved with the inertia of the falling object and are now puddled along the side of the bottle.
"Dinner," Bones says, his voice rough as he grabs Spock's elbow and shoves him out of his office. "And don't say a fucking word to Jim about how unhygienic it would be for you to engage in sexual intercourse with him, or how painful and humiliating the process would be. If you hurt him–"
"I have already assured you that I have no wish to hurt the Captain, Doctor."
While Spock thinks that humans may have had an excellent idea – teaching their offspring about bodily functions before they engage in the actual act of copulation, instructing them instead of leaving them to the mercies of their biology – he still cannot believe that the mechanics of intercourse are this … messy.
-----
Regrettably, the captain is still at dinner. Under any other circumstance, Spock would have welcomed his presence, but at the present time, it means that he cannot ask further questions of Dr. McCoy.
He fills his tray with appropriate choices and takes his usual seat next to the captain, setting himself to the task of consuming nourishment as if nothing unusual had happened this afternoon.
"I thought you were never going to get here," Kirk says, thumping the back of Spock's chair. The resonance of the blow through the plastic has hardly died when Kirk is pushing a bowl at him. "Look, I saved some of the vegetable soup for you."
When Spock reaches for his spoon, he feels a rush of something warm. "Thank you, Captain," he says.
If McCoy gives him a pointed look, Spock is perfectly capable of ignoring it. He bends down over his soup, trying to eat without making a mess and trying not to watch Jim out of the corner of his eye.
Jim clearly arrived in the mess hall long before Spock and McCoy did – he has finished eating, and there is apparently nothing for him to do but play with the remainder of his dinner. Spock sees the flash of light on silver as Jim twirls a knife in his hands, and he cannot help but think – these hands, on him. In him.
McCoy had been quite thorough in his descriptions: the preparations for anal intercourse, the necessary stretching of the rectal muscle and the need for lubrication. He had, the flush on his face spreading to cover his neck, gone to the storage cabinet behind his desk and withdrawn a tube of lubricant, handing it to Spock. "For God's sake," he'd said, "get more from the replicators when you need it. I don't want to hear about what you and Jim get up to, or know how much lube you use."
He had said that before realizing that Spock had an insuperable objection to the entire process. Now he looks across the table at Spock every time the captain pauses, giving him a stern look as if he thinks that Spock will forget his earlier prohibition on bringing up this subject with the captain.
Spock is very conscious of the weight of the tube of lubricant in his pocket, and the bulge it must make, outlined against the clean lines of his uniform. He shifts in his chair, hoping to find an angle where the bulge will not be visible to the captain if he looks down.
"Sore?" Kirk asks, standing and coming behind Spock. "You shouldn't have worked so late. Not that that ever stops you."
His hands are warm as he rubs Spock's shoulders, and Spock – who can calculate the motion of the ship in n-dimensions or project the trajectory of a missile before it is launched – cannot think of any motion that is acceptable in this situation.
If he moves forward, he will conceal the fact that he has an inappropriate erection, but he will be moving away from Jim Kirk.
If he leans back, he will be leaning into Jim's touch, but he will almost certainly expose his condition to the captain. The bulge of the lubricant in his pocket, and the bulge at his groin – Spock has never been this hard, he thinks. Never. Not in the privacy of his own quarters with the low light and the bright, serene feeling that followed a successful meditation – not when Nyota touched him, her fingers on his fingers and her lips on his lips.
There is no correct movement, and so Spock stays frozen in his chair. McCoy is watching them, smiling almost as if he approves. Spock fights the urge to fidget, pinned between his scrutiny and Jim's hands.
It is useless – he shifts in his chair, just a little, moving neither forward nor backwards, and Jim moves away. "Well," he says, sounding casual, his voice light as his hand lingers on the back of Spock's chair, "there's some paperwork that I'd better finish up. Chess tonight, Spock?"
Spock's capillaries dilate again – he is blushing and he knows it, but can do nothing about it. "Yes, Captain," he says formally, playing the part of the perfect Vulcan. Anyone who can see him knows that he is not – he is blushing and human, weak and fallible – not perfect, not a true Vulcan.
It is illogical, Spock tells himself, to feel pain over that which cannot be changed. He is as he is … and a true Vulcan would never have known Captain Kirk, not the way that Spock knows him. Not the way that Spock wants to know him.
It's hard to believe that it could be that easy.
-----
Even if it is that easy, Spock isn't prepared to enter into the situation without more preparation. He considers asking Nyota – McCoy had informed him that anal intercourse was a perfectly normal practice for both heterosexual and homosexual couples – but dismisses the idea, as their last conversation about sexual relations had not gone well.
He leaves the mess hall as soon as his erection has subsided, ducking out before McCoy can drag him off for another embarrassing conversation. Embarrassing for the doctor – Spock may have blushed once or twice, but that was nothing compared to the dark color McCoy had turned when he began to discuss enemas.
He finds Hikaru Sulu in the gym, putting away his foil and removing the fencing mask just as the computer removes the dummy that had served as his sparring partner from the arena. "Mr. Sulu," Spock says. "If I might ask you a question of a personal nature?"
Sulu grabs a towel from the bench and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. "Yeah," he says. "Sure."
"Am I correct in understanding that you are engaged in an intimate relationship with Ensign Chekov?"
Sulu drops his towel at that, sitting down hard. Spock follows suit, folding his long legs under the bench.
"It's not against regulations, sir. If you–"
"I know," Spock says. He clasps his hands in his lap and looks straight ahead, not looking at Sulu. "It is just that you must have a certain amount of experience, or so I assume from your relationship with Ensign Chekov. It has been brought to my attention – lately – that my education in several areas has been deficient. I was not…"
Spock is old enough to serve on a starship, old enough to make his own decisions – but not mature. He is not expected to have had sexual intercourse at this point in his life. He has not been through his first pon farr.
There should be no shame in admitting to his inexperience.
He clears his throat and tries again. "I was not aware of the different forms that human sexual expression can take. Dr. McCoy was … kind enough to point out my inadequacy to me, earlier today. I was wondering – that is, Mr. Sulu, I am asking as a matter of purely personal curiosity. You are not obliged to answer."
Spock is still not looking at Sulu, but he feels his weight shift on the bench they share. "You could ask the Captain," Sulu says. "He's certainly able to answer any question that you might have – I doubt there's a way that he hasn't done it."
Silent, Spock stretches out his legs and stares at them – uniform trousers, ordinary legs, solid black boots. He can't imagine his legs touching Jim's or picture his bare feet next to Jim's bare feet. Perhaps it was a mistake to try.
He starts to rise, but Sulu puts a hand on his elbow. "I guess … you probably don't want the Captain to know how inexperienced you are. What esoteric act did McCoy come up with that could shock you like this?"
"I…" Spock hesitates, feeling his muscles stiffen under Sulu's warm hand. Ignorance is not shameful; it is a deficiency to be corrected. "Is it true that two men can copulate via the insertion of one man's penis into the other man's anus?"
Sulu chokes, his hand tightening on Spock's arm – Spock can feel the shock coming off him in waves. "What a way to describe it," he says, sounding stunned.
"I was not sure … the doctor occasionally enjoys 'pulling my leg,' to use the human idiom that he is fond of."
"Yeah," Sulu says. "He does that. But this time – he didn't. Spock–"
"I see," Spock says. He rises, and Sulu lets his hand fall. "Thank you for satisfying my curiosity, Mr. Sulu. If you'll excuse me, I have agreed to play chess with the captain at this hour."
-----
When Spock sits across the chessboard from Jim, nothing has changed. The room is the same – Jim wears the same intense expression when he studies the board – he offers Spock fruit juice, drinks whiskey on the rocks, and still makes the illogical moves that destroy Spock's strategy.
Spock has never sat across from the Captain with a tube of lubricant in his pocket, however. He's never thought about the way that Jim's lips would feel against his, how Jim's penis would feel inside his body.
He shifts in his chair, hoping his thoughts are not apparent to the object of them. Jim looks up from the chessboard and smiles as he captures one of Spock's bishops, holding it lightly in his hand. "Something wrong, Spock? You've been distracted all night."
When Jim was on Earth, learning about sexual intercourse in a no-doubt embarrassing conversation with his mother, Spock had been on Vulcan, learning the structure of acetylcholine and the mechanism of neurotransmission, the ethical tenets of moral philosophy, the equations for calculating inertial propulsion and warp speed and the force on a falling body. When Jim was seducing girls, Spock had been studying for his entrance exams at the Vulcan Science Academy and passing his exams at Starfleet Academy.
When Jim was provoking him, Spock had been – somehow, incredibly, illogically – falling in love.
He reaches out and brushes his hand against Kirk's, his fingers against the rough skin of Jim's knuckles, touching the smooth plastic of the bishop in his fingers.
Bones had said, "What are your intentions toward Jim? I'll kill you if you hurt him," and he'd glared at Spock, leaving no room for doubt. He'd meant it.
"I have been thinking," Spock says, his fingers still on Jim's hand. He does not trespass – he could not bear to – but he feels the low hum of Jim's thoughts against his skin, warm and pleasant. He strokes Jim's hand once, twice. Touches him again, both of his hands on Jim's hand.
He does not know how to broach the topic of love with this man who has had so many lovers.
"I have observed," Spock says, clearing his throat and trying again, "that there are many different physical expressions for human emotions. There are…"
"Yes," Jim says, rising to his feet and pulling Spock with him. "Yes."
There's no need for words, in the end – Jim pulls Spock close and kisses him. It is not what Spock had expected. In the clinical words that Nyota and McCoy had used to describe sexual contact between two beings, there had been none of this feeling.
Jim shifts a little, and then his hand is fumbling between them – he outlines the bulge in Spock's trousers and is slipping a hand into Spock's pocket before he can say anything. When he pulls out the tube of lubricant, he smiles and kisses Spock again. "You did your research, huh?"
"I have had … a most informative discussion with Dr. McCoy," Spock says, gasping for breath a little as Jim's fingers find and outline the other bulge in his trousers, caressing his penis through the thick fabric of his uniform trousers.
"And now for a practical demonstration, hmm?"
"That would be enlightening." Spock is learning already – he mirrors what Jim's hands are doing, caressing him through his trousers. He kisses Jim, and they meet and match each other kiss for kiss.
Spock has only Nyota's kisses to compare these to, but Jim, who has a wider range for comparison, makes no complaints as he pulls Spock to the bed. "Wanted this so much – waited for you to realize–"
He stops himself, pressing his mouth against Spock's neck. "Is this too much? Tell me if I'm doing anything you don't like."
Spock shakes his head, and judges it better to admit to inexperience now than to prove a disappointment later. "I do not know what I like, Jim. This is…"
Jim kisses his neck, presses kisses over all of his exposed skin, down his neck to his collarbone and then raising Spock's hands to his mouth. "You'll like all of it, I promise," he says.
Spock still has reservations, in spite of everything that McCoy said, in spite of the images and the feeling of pure pleasure he saw in Sulu's mind, but this is Jim, the captain who saved the world, who pulled Spock out of his crashing ship an instant before it exploded in a burst of red matter.
Spock feels as though that explosion might still be possible now – his skin is tingling where Jim is touching him, and his body is overheating, even as Jim is pulling off their clothing. The touch of bare skin against bare skin is enough to undo him.
He looks down and it's nothing like his imagination in McCoy's office. His legs are pressed against Jim's, their feet are together, yes, but it's not the ridiculous scene he imagined. He moves, and Jim moves against him, and nothing feels more natural than this.
His control begins to unravel as Jim presses him back against the bed, taking their genitals in his hand and stroking them together. Genitals – that's the word McCoy had used, but it feels clinical and inappropriate now.
"I love your cock," Jim says, his voice low in Spock's ear, a hushed whisper as if he's afraid of being overheard. "God, you feel so good against me – Spock–"
This isn't what Spock expected. He knows the appropriate terms for each piece of anatomy, can name the major blood vessels connecting Jim's heart to his limbs or describe the autonomic reflexes that control his breathing and sexual arousal. He can appreciate each facet of Jim's biology individually. The whole picture is spread out in front of him – on top of him – and Spock finds that he can't describe it or categorize it or even name it. He feels it, feels Jim against him, and knows only that he wants more.
Jim gives it to him, touching him, moving faster, making him feel more. His breath deepens, his heart rate matches Jim's, and the abyss opens in front of him – Jim's mind, all of his thoughts on the surface, skin against skin, always and never touching, always together–
Spock pulls back before he can be drawn down into that, but he's already gone, already coming. Jim thrusts against him again, his heartbeat echoing hard against Spock's chest, and then he's coming, too, his semen splattering on Spock's belly with the mess that is already there.
Unhygienic, Spock had described it to McCoy, and it certainly was that. Jim runs a finger through their pooled semen and then lifts it to his mouth, licking it off his fingers. He leans in to kiss Spock, who – in spite of himself – doesn't object.
"Good?" he asks, nipping Spock's earlobe and then pressing a kiss to the injured area.
"Yes," Spock says. He wraps his arms around Jim and holds him there for a moment, feeling the rush of breath through his lungs, the beating of his heart, the feeling of his weight on Spock's body. Solid. Real.
"I was given to understand," he says after Jim has flopped down on the mattress next to him, casually using a corner of the sheet to wipe them clean, "that intercourse between two men involved penetration of the–"
Jim covers Spock's mouth with two fingers. "It's not just that. Sex is whatever two people want it to be," he says. "Well. Within reason."
He pillows his head on Spock's chest and yawns. "Enough time to try out all the variations later, okay?"
The human way of doing things may be more logical – Spock doesn't think he could have made it through the encounter without the information gained from his conversation with McCoy, doesn't like to think of what pon farr would be like with the fever running through his body and his mind unable to provide anything but the most instinctual responses. It may be more logical, but no amount of lectures could have prepared Spock for how it felt, and so there may be something to be said for the Vulcan way of learning through experience, too.
Author: lesyeuxverts
Beta:
angela_snapeWord Count: 4300ish
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/Spock (mention of Sulu/Chekov, past Spock/Uhura)
Prompt: this
Warnings: spoilers for the new movie
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spock is beginning to admit that the human way of doing things is the more logical one. In this singular instance. It is surely not a widespread pattern.
He raises one eyebrow and waits for McCoy to stop laughing. "The humor in this situation–"
That only makes McCoy laugh harder. "Damn it, Spock, don't do that to a man when he's drinking."
"You were the one who insisted that alcohol was necessary for this conversation."
McCoy wipes the bourbon off his mouth with the back of his hand and takes another sip of his drink. Spock watches the muscles in his throat contract when he swallows, and wishes – not for the first time – that Jim was there. Surely this – this insanity would not have continued in the Captain's presence.
"For more reasons than I realized," McCoy says, finishing his drink and pouring himself another. He sloshes some of the bourbon into a second glass and pushes it across the table at Spock. "Drink. I'm not having this conversation if either one of us is sober."
Spock does not think that inebriation will help the situation, but McCoy is – apparently – in possession of information that Spock lacks. He hesitates, and then takes a sip. The liquid burns like the fumes of the pure ethanol that he uses as a disinfectant in the laboratory.
"Now," McCoy says, leaning back in his chair, "we've established that you don't want to hurt Jim – and if that's because it's illogical in view of your duties as First Officer, as you so charmingly put it, or because you lo– care for him and will do anything in your power to keep him from harm, wouldn't matter to me … except for the fact that you didn't seem to think that the second was even possible."
Spock takes another sip of his bourbon, straightening his spine and shifting in his chair. "As First Officer–" he says again, but McCoy waves a hand in the air, cutting him off.
"As Jim's friend and as the man who's spent every night in his presence for the last six months … you ought to realize that there's something more, Spock. Isn't it illogical to ignore the truth?"
It had been only logical to spend time with Jim, no matter that McCoy took the word now and twisted it in his mouth as if it was an epithet. After Nyota–
"As you say, the motives do not matter if the end is the same. Duty compels me to protect the captain…"
"In matters pertaining to the ship's safety, yes." McCoy takes another swig of his drink, watching Spock over the rim of the glass. "In matters of the body or affairs of the heart? Let's not argue this again, Spock."
Spock does not wish to argue – he does not want to be having this conversation at all. The desire to retreat into meditation is illogical at this time, and so he holds himself still. "As you wish," he says.
"Fine," McCoy says. "Now, as I said, we've established that you don't want to hurt Jim, and once we had established that, I asked if you were taking proper precautions. Precautions that you apparently don't know anything about."
"The examination that you referred to is not part of the standard battery of tests described in Starfleet regulations–"
"No, but it is standard practice for sexually active adults."
Spock is able to control his breathing and his heart rate. He can keep his fingers from twitching and hold his facial muscles still, preserving a neutral expression. It appears, however, that he is not able to control other autonomic functions, such as the flush of blood that rushes to his face when his capillaries dilate.
McCoy leans forward, knocking his glass against Spock's. "I never thought I'd see the day when a Vulcan blushed in front of me," he says, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass onto the table. "I'll be a monkey's uncle–"
Pushing his chair back from the table, Spock rises and stalks across the room, standing at the wall furthest from McCoy. "I would not be surprised to learn that your relationship with simians was that close–"
Bones is behind him then, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back to his seat. "Don't take it that way, Spock," he says. "I told you … we all learn this when we're younger. Embarrassing talks with our parents, titillating lectures at school … sex is a laughing matter, for us humans. I take it that it's different among Vulcans?"
Without looking at him, Spock nods. "The … human way does appear to be better in this instance," he says. "I find that I … lack the pertinent information."
"Right," Bones says, "right. So … you and Uhura?"
"She informed me that she wished to experiment with contact between our genitalia, and assured me that she had taken precautions which made the natural possible consequence of such action – to be specific, pregnancy–"
Holding up a hand, McCoy stops him. "You mean she told you that she was taking contraceptives and you believed her? Spock, I know you can trust Uhura, but generally … when a human female tells you that, you can't just–"
Spock looks down at his hands, which are clasped neatly in his lap. He has touched Nyota with these hands – these hands have brushed against Jim Kirk's, when he was reaching for a chess piece or when the two of them were working together on the bridge. These hands. His hands.
"I did not," he tells McCoy, "choose to engage in that experiment with Nyota. The … prospect of contact with the mucosal membranes of her vagina seemed to be … unhygienic."
McCoy laughs again, but this time it is not unkind – this time, he isn't laughing at Spock. "I've gotta tell you, there isn't much about sex that's hygienic, Spock."
"The possibility of transmitting diseases–"
"That's why you take precautions. But the mechanics of homosexual intercourse are–"
"You are presupposing that I wish to enter into a sexual relationship with the Captain."
Bones says it so softly that it's almost a whisper. "I've seen the way you look at him – and the way he looks at you."
If Spock's ears were less sensitive, he wouldn't have heard. If Spock wasn't half-human, the words wouldn't have made him feel an irrational leap of hope. He takes a deep, controlled breath, and exhales slowly. Leonard McCoy will not be the human who pushes Spock into feeling emotions.
So far, Jim Kirk is the only one who has been able to do that.
"I concede the point," he says, his voice just as soft as Bones'.
-----
Two hours later, they have missed dinner, and McCoy is still calling up anatomical charts and trying to prove his point to Spock.
It is bewitching enough to make Spock's nerves tingle, but utterly illogical. Impossible. "No," he says, standing and stretching. "I do not care if you have altered every database on the Enterprise in order to corroborate this ridiculous fiction, Doctor. I cannot believe it."
"Damn it, Spock–"
At the beginning of their discussion, McCoy's ears and cheeks had turned a dark red, but as he began to explain the mechanics of intercourse between two men, he had settled into a lecturing mode, and the flush subsided. Now, the color is back in his face, and he's glaring at Spock.
"I see no reason for any being to submit to a painful, humiliating process such as the one that you describe."
"It's not painful or humiliating if it's done right."
"The unavoidable association of the rectum with its function of voiding bodily waste–"
Bones puts his head in his hands and uses his thumbs to massage his temples. "If you are determined to drive me to my wits' end–"
"As far as I know, Doctor, Ensign Chekov is currently 'driving' this ship, as you would say in the vernacular. I am not, nor have I been recently, in control of–"
Bones knocks over the empty bottle of bourbon, and Spock watches the arc it makes as it falls off the table and lands on the padded floor, a perfect demonstration of physics. The last drops of bourbon have moved with the inertia of the falling object and are now puddled along the side of the bottle.
"Dinner," Bones says, his voice rough as he grabs Spock's elbow and shoves him out of his office. "And don't say a fucking word to Jim about how unhygienic it would be for you to engage in sexual intercourse with him, or how painful and humiliating the process would be. If you hurt him–"
"I have already assured you that I have no wish to hurt the Captain, Doctor."
While Spock thinks that humans may have had an excellent idea – teaching their offspring about bodily functions before they engage in the actual act of copulation, instructing them instead of leaving them to the mercies of their biology – he still cannot believe that the mechanics of intercourse are this … messy.
-----
Regrettably, the captain is still at dinner. Under any other circumstance, Spock would have welcomed his presence, but at the present time, it means that he cannot ask further questions of Dr. McCoy.
He fills his tray with appropriate choices and takes his usual seat next to the captain, setting himself to the task of consuming nourishment as if nothing unusual had happened this afternoon.
"I thought you were never going to get here," Kirk says, thumping the back of Spock's chair. The resonance of the blow through the plastic has hardly died when Kirk is pushing a bowl at him. "Look, I saved some of the vegetable soup for you."
When Spock reaches for his spoon, he feels a rush of something warm. "Thank you, Captain," he says.
If McCoy gives him a pointed look, Spock is perfectly capable of ignoring it. He bends down over his soup, trying to eat without making a mess and trying not to watch Jim out of the corner of his eye.
Jim clearly arrived in the mess hall long before Spock and McCoy did – he has finished eating, and there is apparently nothing for him to do but play with the remainder of his dinner. Spock sees the flash of light on silver as Jim twirls a knife in his hands, and he cannot help but think – these hands, on him. In him.
McCoy had been quite thorough in his descriptions: the preparations for anal intercourse, the necessary stretching of the rectal muscle and the need for lubrication. He had, the flush on his face spreading to cover his neck, gone to the storage cabinet behind his desk and withdrawn a tube of lubricant, handing it to Spock. "For God's sake," he'd said, "get more from the replicators when you need it. I don't want to hear about what you and Jim get up to, or know how much lube you use."
He had said that before realizing that Spock had an insuperable objection to the entire process. Now he looks across the table at Spock every time the captain pauses, giving him a stern look as if he thinks that Spock will forget his earlier prohibition on bringing up this subject with the captain.
Spock is very conscious of the weight of the tube of lubricant in his pocket, and the bulge it must make, outlined against the clean lines of his uniform. He shifts in his chair, hoping to find an angle where the bulge will not be visible to the captain if he looks down.
"Sore?" Kirk asks, standing and coming behind Spock. "You shouldn't have worked so late. Not that that ever stops you."
His hands are warm as he rubs Spock's shoulders, and Spock – who can calculate the motion of the ship in n-dimensions or project the trajectory of a missile before it is launched – cannot think of any motion that is acceptable in this situation.
If he moves forward, he will conceal the fact that he has an inappropriate erection, but he will be moving away from Jim Kirk.
If he leans back, he will be leaning into Jim's touch, but he will almost certainly expose his condition to the captain. The bulge of the lubricant in his pocket, and the bulge at his groin – Spock has never been this hard, he thinks. Never. Not in the privacy of his own quarters with the low light and the bright, serene feeling that followed a successful meditation – not when Nyota touched him, her fingers on his fingers and her lips on his lips.
There is no correct movement, and so Spock stays frozen in his chair. McCoy is watching them, smiling almost as if he approves. Spock fights the urge to fidget, pinned between his scrutiny and Jim's hands.
It is useless – he shifts in his chair, just a little, moving neither forward nor backwards, and Jim moves away. "Well," he says, sounding casual, his voice light as his hand lingers on the back of Spock's chair, "there's some paperwork that I'd better finish up. Chess tonight, Spock?"
Spock's capillaries dilate again – he is blushing and he knows it, but can do nothing about it. "Yes, Captain," he says formally, playing the part of the perfect Vulcan. Anyone who can see him knows that he is not – he is blushing and human, weak and fallible – not perfect, not a true Vulcan.
It is illogical, Spock tells himself, to feel pain over that which cannot be changed. He is as he is … and a true Vulcan would never have known Captain Kirk, not the way that Spock knows him. Not the way that Spock wants to know him.
It's hard to believe that it could be that easy.
-----
Even if it is that easy, Spock isn't prepared to enter into the situation without more preparation. He considers asking Nyota – McCoy had informed him that anal intercourse was a perfectly normal practice for both heterosexual and homosexual couples – but dismisses the idea, as their last conversation about sexual relations had not gone well.
He leaves the mess hall as soon as his erection has subsided, ducking out before McCoy can drag him off for another embarrassing conversation. Embarrassing for the doctor – Spock may have blushed once or twice, but that was nothing compared to the dark color McCoy had turned when he began to discuss enemas.
He finds Hikaru Sulu in the gym, putting away his foil and removing the fencing mask just as the computer removes the dummy that had served as his sparring partner from the arena. "Mr. Sulu," Spock says. "If I might ask you a question of a personal nature?"
Sulu grabs a towel from the bench and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. "Yeah," he says. "Sure."
"Am I correct in understanding that you are engaged in an intimate relationship with Ensign Chekov?"
Sulu drops his towel at that, sitting down hard. Spock follows suit, folding his long legs under the bench.
"It's not against regulations, sir. If you–"
"I know," Spock says. He clasps his hands in his lap and looks straight ahead, not looking at Sulu. "It is just that you must have a certain amount of experience, or so I assume from your relationship with Ensign Chekov. It has been brought to my attention – lately – that my education in several areas has been deficient. I was not…"
Spock is old enough to serve on a starship, old enough to make his own decisions – but not mature. He is not expected to have had sexual intercourse at this point in his life. He has not been through his first pon farr.
There should be no shame in admitting to his inexperience.
He clears his throat and tries again. "I was not aware of the different forms that human sexual expression can take. Dr. McCoy was … kind enough to point out my inadequacy to me, earlier today. I was wondering – that is, Mr. Sulu, I am asking as a matter of purely personal curiosity. You are not obliged to answer."
Spock is still not looking at Sulu, but he feels his weight shift on the bench they share. "You could ask the Captain," Sulu says. "He's certainly able to answer any question that you might have – I doubt there's a way that he hasn't done it."
Silent, Spock stretches out his legs and stares at them – uniform trousers, ordinary legs, solid black boots. He can't imagine his legs touching Jim's or picture his bare feet next to Jim's bare feet. Perhaps it was a mistake to try.
He starts to rise, but Sulu puts a hand on his elbow. "I guess … you probably don't want the Captain to know how inexperienced you are. What esoteric act did McCoy come up with that could shock you like this?"
"I…" Spock hesitates, feeling his muscles stiffen under Sulu's warm hand. Ignorance is not shameful; it is a deficiency to be corrected. "Is it true that two men can copulate via the insertion of one man's penis into the other man's anus?"
Sulu chokes, his hand tightening on Spock's arm – Spock can feel the shock coming off him in waves. "What a way to describe it," he says, sounding stunned.
"I was not sure … the doctor occasionally enjoys 'pulling my leg,' to use the human idiom that he is fond of."
"Yeah," Sulu says. "He does that. But this time – he didn't. Spock–"
"I see," Spock says. He rises, and Sulu lets his hand fall. "Thank you for satisfying my curiosity, Mr. Sulu. If you'll excuse me, I have agreed to play chess with the captain at this hour."
-----
When Spock sits across the chessboard from Jim, nothing has changed. The room is the same – Jim wears the same intense expression when he studies the board – he offers Spock fruit juice, drinks whiskey on the rocks, and still makes the illogical moves that destroy Spock's strategy.
Spock has never sat across from the Captain with a tube of lubricant in his pocket, however. He's never thought about the way that Jim's lips would feel against his, how Jim's penis would feel inside his body.
He shifts in his chair, hoping his thoughts are not apparent to the object of them. Jim looks up from the chessboard and smiles as he captures one of Spock's bishops, holding it lightly in his hand. "Something wrong, Spock? You've been distracted all night."
When Jim was on Earth, learning about sexual intercourse in a no-doubt embarrassing conversation with his mother, Spock had been on Vulcan, learning the structure of acetylcholine and the mechanism of neurotransmission, the ethical tenets of moral philosophy, the equations for calculating inertial propulsion and warp speed and the force on a falling body. When Jim was seducing girls, Spock had been studying for his entrance exams at the Vulcan Science Academy and passing his exams at Starfleet Academy.
When Jim was provoking him, Spock had been – somehow, incredibly, illogically – falling in love.
He reaches out and brushes his hand against Kirk's, his fingers against the rough skin of Jim's knuckles, touching the smooth plastic of the bishop in his fingers.
Bones had said, "What are your intentions toward Jim? I'll kill you if you hurt him," and he'd glared at Spock, leaving no room for doubt. He'd meant it.
"I have been thinking," Spock says, his fingers still on Jim's hand. He does not trespass – he could not bear to – but he feels the low hum of Jim's thoughts against his skin, warm and pleasant. He strokes Jim's hand once, twice. Touches him again, both of his hands on Jim's hand.
He does not know how to broach the topic of love with this man who has had so many lovers.
"I have observed," Spock says, clearing his throat and trying again, "that there are many different physical expressions for human emotions. There are…"
"Yes," Jim says, rising to his feet and pulling Spock with him. "Yes."
There's no need for words, in the end – Jim pulls Spock close and kisses him. It is not what Spock had expected. In the clinical words that Nyota and McCoy had used to describe sexual contact between two beings, there had been none of this feeling.
Jim shifts a little, and then his hand is fumbling between them – he outlines the bulge in Spock's trousers and is slipping a hand into Spock's pocket before he can say anything. When he pulls out the tube of lubricant, he smiles and kisses Spock again. "You did your research, huh?"
"I have had … a most informative discussion with Dr. McCoy," Spock says, gasping for breath a little as Jim's fingers find and outline the other bulge in his trousers, caressing his penis through the thick fabric of his uniform trousers.
"And now for a practical demonstration, hmm?"
"That would be enlightening." Spock is learning already – he mirrors what Jim's hands are doing, caressing him through his trousers. He kisses Jim, and they meet and match each other kiss for kiss.
Spock has only Nyota's kisses to compare these to, but Jim, who has a wider range for comparison, makes no complaints as he pulls Spock to the bed. "Wanted this so much – waited for you to realize–"
He stops himself, pressing his mouth against Spock's neck. "Is this too much? Tell me if I'm doing anything you don't like."
Spock shakes his head, and judges it better to admit to inexperience now than to prove a disappointment later. "I do not know what I like, Jim. This is…"
Jim kisses his neck, presses kisses over all of his exposed skin, down his neck to his collarbone and then raising Spock's hands to his mouth. "You'll like all of it, I promise," he says.
Spock still has reservations, in spite of everything that McCoy said, in spite of the images and the feeling of pure pleasure he saw in Sulu's mind, but this is Jim, the captain who saved the world, who pulled Spock out of his crashing ship an instant before it exploded in a burst of red matter.
Spock feels as though that explosion might still be possible now – his skin is tingling where Jim is touching him, and his body is overheating, even as Jim is pulling off their clothing. The touch of bare skin against bare skin is enough to undo him.
He looks down and it's nothing like his imagination in McCoy's office. His legs are pressed against Jim's, their feet are together, yes, but it's not the ridiculous scene he imagined. He moves, and Jim moves against him, and nothing feels more natural than this.
His control begins to unravel as Jim presses him back against the bed, taking their genitals in his hand and stroking them together. Genitals – that's the word McCoy had used, but it feels clinical and inappropriate now.
"I love your cock," Jim says, his voice low in Spock's ear, a hushed whisper as if he's afraid of being overheard. "God, you feel so good against me – Spock–"
This isn't what Spock expected. He knows the appropriate terms for each piece of anatomy, can name the major blood vessels connecting Jim's heart to his limbs or describe the autonomic reflexes that control his breathing and sexual arousal. He can appreciate each facet of Jim's biology individually. The whole picture is spread out in front of him – on top of him – and Spock finds that he can't describe it or categorize it or even name it. He feels it, feels Jim against him, and knows only that he wants more.
Jim gives it to him, touching him, moving faster, making him feel more. His breath deepens, his heart rate matches Jim's, and the abyss opens in front of him – Jim's mind, all of his thoughts on the surface, skin against skin, always and never touching, always together–
Spock pulls back before he can be drawn down into that, but he's already gone, already coming. Jim thrusts against him again, his heartbeat echoing hard against Spock's chest, and then he's coming, too, his semen splattering on Spock's belly with the mess that is already there.
Unhygienic, Spock had described it to McCoy, and it certainly was that. Jim runs a finger through their pooled semen and then lifts it to his mouth, licking it off his fingers. He leans in to kiss Spock, who – in spite of himself – doesn't object.
"Good?" he asks, nipping Spock's earlobe and then pressing a kiss to the injured area.
"Yes," Spock says. He wraps his arms around Jim and holds him there for a moment, feeling the rush of breath through his lungs, the beating of his heart, the feeling of his weight on Spock's body. Solid. Real.
"I was given to understand," he says after Jim has flopped down on the mattress next to him, casually using a corner of the sheet to wipe them clean, "that intercourse between two men involved penetration of the–"
Jim covers Spock's mouth with two fingers. "It's not just that. Sex is whatever two people want it to be," he says. "Well. Within reason."
He pillows his head on Spock's chest and yawns. "Enough time to try out all the variations later, okay?"
The human way of doing things may be more logical – Spock doesn't think he could have made it through the encounter without the information gained from his conversation with McCoy, doesn't like to think of what pon farr would be like with the fever running through his body and his mind unable to provide anything but the most instinctual responses. It may be more logical, but no amount of lectures could have prepared Spock for how it felt, and so there may be something to be said for the Vulcan way of learning through experience, too.
