Title: After the Rescue

Part: NEW 5/73

Author: Karmen Ghia, karmen_ghia@yahoo.com

Series: TOS

Romance Code: S/Mc and then some.

Rating: NC-17

See part one for disclaimers, etc.

"'A game of chess, Captain?'!" he snarled when the Vulcan came to parade rest before him in McCoy's cabin eighty-seven point six standard minutes later.

"Indeed, Leonard, chess with the Captain after dinner is the usual custom on such evenings or is there something unusual about this evening that I have failed to notice?" He gazed calmly into McCoy's angry blue eyes, waiting for them to soften. They did not. McCoy drew a breath: "I went to a great deal of trouble this afternoon to sober up for you..." he began savagely.

"And I am here to enjoy the fruits of your labors, if" Spock cut in smoothly, "Doctor, you are still so inclined," watching him.

McCoy weighted his potential pleasure against his current indignation and decided to bet on the future. He dropped his eyes and pouted. No response ('of course not,' he thought). He let his lips draw naturally into a wry smile and looked up at Spock with warm, frank, come hither eyes.

Spock was pleased to see that his lover promised to be reasonable and went hither to draw the human into his arms.

McCoy nestled into them with relief and allowed the peace and security (and love? nah) he felt in Spock's arms wash over him. He could feel the Vulcan's cock rising against him so he allowed some erotic feelings to wash over him, too.

"I am ... pleased to be here tonight, Leonard," Spock murmured, "were you not so ... radiant at dinner I would have found another occupation for this evening."

McCoy gave him a searching look: "Really?" he asked seriously.

"Really," Spock answered seriously.

McCoy nodded, thinking, 'well, now I know where that boundary is.' He sighed and gently rubbed his crotch against Spock's, changing the subject.

Spock was encouraged and aroused by this simple action and impatient with preliminaries. He'd very much missed his afternoon of lovemaking and was feeling its lack.

Spock turned to kiss McCoy in a way that communicated to the doctor that he wanted no mischief this evening; snuffing out McCoy's micro-rebellion with a hand on his ass and his tongue forcing McCoy's mouth open.

'Impressive,' McCoy thought, giving in, snuggling submissively in Spock's strong arms. 'Okay okay, Spock, I read you loud and clear, you are in charge tonight and I am all yours.'

/Yes, all mine/ McCoy thought he heard somewhere inside his head but it was the aural equivalent of catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Disconcerting but not dreadful.

Spock came to some decision and guided McCoy to the bed but did not move to undress him, simply looked into his eyes. He then dropped a pillow on the deck between them and fixed McCoy with a compelling gaze, waiting.

McCoy looked down and hesitated, thinking, 'if I do this, then what? if I don't do this, then what?'

Spock waited, suspended until McCoy made his own decision.

McCoy sank to his knees before Spock and looked up at him with polite interest, hoping it was cover enough for his trepidation.

Spock seated himself on the edge of the bed and opened his trousers, spreading his knees apart for McCoy to move between them. 'If he will,' Spock thought.

He did. McCoy was beginning to feel strangely excited by all this. He moved Spock's hands away, drawing Spock's rigid cock out and bent to run his lips over the silky head. He draped his tongue over the tip and slid it seductively along the flared ridges. Spock ran his fingers through McCoy's thick brown hair and sighed with pleasure. The pleasure of his lover's tongue on his cock and the pleasure of having so thoroughly made his point. It was indubitably established that he was in charge of the evening's activities ... (oh) ... and now it was time to move on ... (oh!) ... move on, in a few moments ....

With some effort he pulled McCoy off his cock and undressed him quickly, then undressed himself even more quickly. Spock lay full length on the doctor, kissing him languidly, tasting himself on McCoy's lips. He leaned back for a breath: "How pleasant this is, Leonard," he almost sighed.

"Uh huh," sultry, softly, spreading his legs, wrapping them around Spock's waist, reaching up for another kiss.

With gentle pushes and shoves, McCoy maneuvered them into a sixty-nine and again gave his full attention to the Vulcan's cock.

McCoy liked this position because it felt so egalitarian. Spock enjoyed it for its symmetry and the heightened telepathic energy that accompanied such symmetry. He also enjoyed driving McCoy wild and feeling it translated onto his own cock.

'Ah, the simple joys,' he thought, swallowing the doctor's hard rosy shaft.

McCoy was beyond thought, his whole being consumed by the erotic pleasure he was giving as well as receiving. He nuzzled at the base of Spock's cock, sucked on his testicles, one at a time (they were big), and returned to swirl his tongue around the head and down the sides.

Spock had moved down to inhale McCoy's balls and roll them around in his mouth for a while. From this unique vantage he could appreciate just how thoroughly McCoy had purified himself for the Vulcan. Gently spreading the doctor's cheeks, Spock lightly caressed the center of McCoy's body with his fingertips.

McCoy sighed around the hard flesh and his lips stroked the shaft in response.

Encouraged, Spock let McCoy's scrotum slip slowly from his jaws and his tongue behind it, then down to circle the tight opening.

McCoy sucked in a surprised breath and a millimeter or so more of Spock and froze in the headlights of this new sensation.

Undeterred, Spock continued his explorations. 'If he really does not enjoy this sensation,' Spock thought, probing the opening with the tip of his tongue. 'He will tell me to stop,' he reasoned. For an answer, McCoy moaned softy and Spock felt his balls twitch beneath his chin.

'Ah,' Spock thought, probing deeper, thrusting as much of his hard, wet tongue into McCoy as he could.

McCoy gripped Spock's hips in helpless, shocked bliss. This was like nothing he ever thought of, let alone experienced and he was in a rush of sensation, suddenly on the edge of climax.

"thploulk," he whimpered around the hard flesh down his throat.

The Vulcan reluctantly returned to sucking McCoy's balls, or rather, he held them firmly in his mouth and pulled them away from McCoy's body to forestall the doctor's orgasm. McCoy winced gratefully as he felt his climax recede to manageable proportions. Spock was really hard, he noted, but obviously not ready for either of them to cum. He shivered in the ghost of the sensation of Spock's probing tongue and relaxed, waiting.

Spock was thinking, he let the calmed sack slip from his lips again and ran his tongue around the base of McCoy's cock. Still considering, he swirled his tongue up and along the hard, smooth sides and around the curvaceous head, tasting the sweet salty drops that were the evidence of McCoy's impetuosity.

The first thing he decided was to not tease McCoy for very much longer and how he wished to accomplish this. Spock planted a kiss on the tip of McCoy's cock and murmured: "Leonard, lie on your stomach, please," reaching for the lubricant.

McCoy complied, as always, thrilled to his core by that deep, imperative voice when it was made hoarse by desire; for him.

Spock knelt between McCoy's thighs and pulled the doctor's groin onto his lap, holding him securely so his genitals would not be rubbed provocatively.

Spock considered the necessity, and, deciding it was, slipped a little lubricant inside McCoy, who nearly broke Spock's fingers by flinging himself back onto them. Rather impressed, Spock quickly lubed his own cock and pulled a surprised McCoy upright, his anus over the head of the Vulcan's cock and held the doctor suspended securely there, waiting for a sign to continue.

McCoy wasn't sure about this - it was new and felt awkward but ... oh well. He relaxed down in Spock's arms, against Spock's cockhead which obligingly slipped in. McCoy paused to adjust. Spock, always a gentleman in these matters, supported his weight while he did, and, once recovered, sank to the root in one fluid motion. Spock exhaled in a rush and had to summon every once of control he possessed not to cum in that instant. He held McCoy firmly impaled on his lap, fighting for mastery of the violent tremors that shook them both.

McCoy was very still, waiting for Spock to pull himself together. He put his hands over Spock's and moved one to his own erect penis.

Spock petted the doctor, felt him clench reflexively, petting him back. McCoy dropped his head back on Spock's shoulder, arching, twisting a little in Spock's lap, ready to be fucked silly, trying to communicate that; he was beyond words.

Getting the message, Spock kissed his lover's neck and began gently thrusting into McCoy's snug ass. It was wonderful. They found an erotic groove and stayed there. The Vulcan stroking his lover's cock and being stroked himself. Gently biting McCoy's neck, ear, shoulder, caressing his chest and being rewarded with sighs, moans and moisture on the rosy tip. Spock slowed his motions, McCoy began to struggle and thrust downward, grunting in frustration. Spock held him fast: "Shh, my Leonard, not yet," whispered into the delicate ear, leaning back on his heels, drawing the human along with him.

McCoy relaxed - there was no alternative - he could feel Spock's chest rising and falling against his back.

Spock was pumping gently, just enough to keep them both hard, suspending them, waiting.

There was often, not always, alas, a moment in their couplings when the human's consciousness would transcend its limitations and reach out to Spock. Spock longed for these moments, sought them, treasured them, and now felt one to be near at hand.

McCoy was drifting on a sea of pleasure and peace, held lovingly within and without. Held by Spock, his lover, the most wonderful lover ever. At this thought, a wave of bliss swept from his toes to the top of his head and kept going. And Spock was right there, to twine and merge his own bliss with McCoy's.

They floated a moment, establishing themselves in the oneness, in bliss, and then Spock began to move.

He stroked McCoy's cock and chest, released him enough so the doctor could meet Spock's thrusts with his own. They were one motion, quickening, fluid, abandoned, bringing each other higher, closer. Spock's long hard strokes on McCoy's cock finally brought the doctor to a shattering orgasm, twisting and thrusting against the warm hands that held him firmly and completely impaled in Spock's lap. Spock held on as long as he could against McCoy's gyrations and clenching and came with a sigh. Holding the faint, trembling McCoy tight and still on his pulsing organ, rolling his head back in ecstasy.

They were still, breathing hard, recovering, settling back into their own bodies. Spock focused himself and gently lay the limp, spent human on the bed, slowly withdrawing his softening cock with some regret.

Would that we could always be like this, he thought.

It would be much too much, Spock heard softly somewhere in his mind. He smiled, kissing McCoy's shoulder in gratitude (it's wonderful to be understood), and ... what? ... I seem to recall ... what! This reminds me ...! (!) His fight or flight center kicked into warp and he was suddenly grabbing for his clothes.

"Spock? What in the flyin' hell are you doin'?" McCoy rolled over and looked at him.

"I must go," firmly.

"It's only 21:30 hours, Spock," glancing at the bedside chrono. "The night is young."

Spock froze, looked numbly at the chrono, at McCoy, dropped his clothes and lay down again.

Intrigued, McCoy snuggled up and surreptitiously reached for a pulse point.

"Your heart's goin' a mile a minute."

No answer

"What's wrong?" he said with concern.

Spock's lips moved but no sound came out.

I love you.

"What?" McCoy sat up, made eye contact.

I love you.

"I didn't quite catch that, Spock," not believing what he'd just lip read.

Spock sighed and enunciated very clearly in his low clear baritone: "I love you."

McCoy focused on the chrono, 21:32, trying to hide the rush of shock, elation, confusion and joy raging in him. He reached for blankets and settled against Spock's chest, covering them, warming them. McCoy cleared this throat: "I love you, too, Spock," McCoy said quietly, trying, himself, to be calm so as not to spook the Vulcan anymore than he already was. This was a shocking as well as elating event for the doctor. He could not, however, quite read where Spock was at with it, except for his panic reaction.

'I've had that reaction myself,' thought McCoy.

Pause. "What do we do now, Leonard?" Spock asked quietly.

McCoy drew a breath, let it out: "We do," he said, "the best we can."

* * *

The door chime returned McCoy to the sober present. It was Spock: "I apologize for my lateness, it was unavoidable. Mr. Gaillard has obtained some fascinating results in his recent research and wished to discuss them. I could not disengage sooner."

"It's all right, Spock," vaguely, "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Us."

"And?"

Pause. "We're wonderful."

Spock moved closer to sniff McCoy's breath.

"What?" McCoy snarled.

"You smell good," blandly prevaricating.

"Oh," gentling, smiling, somewhat stunned by this unusual tack, "well ... good." He looked into attentive dark eyes.

Spock nodded, raised his hand and gently caressed McCoy's cheek. They jumped at a shipwide page: "Mr. Spock to the bridge."

McCoy gently struck Spock's chest with his fist: "I'll see you later," firmly.

"Yes, later," equally firmly and he left.

* * *

Part I

WHAT WE LEARN ABOUT THE BROTHERS TALLJET

Jir Talljet, known more widely as Jir the Dancer (Jira Krinat, in the Patois) was enjoying his view of James T. Kirk. KirkaFara, his name in the Patois: Kirk the Beautiful.

'Suits you down to the deck you stand on, fara' (beautiful one), Jir thought.

"So," Jir drawled in Standard, "this is the Enterprise, eh?"

Kirk looked into the beautiful vulcanoid face on the view screen and nodded: "Affirmative. And who are you?"

"Jira Krinat."

Kirk was pensive. Jir the Dancer and his brothers, Hobie (the Pirate) and Ling (the Whore) had been in on every shady deal in non-aligned space for the past fourteen years. Most recently they'd lost their cushy berths in the Tasilinian Empire (all four planets of it) due to its fast track into the Federation. The Brothers Talljet had an odd history of making homes on backward planets which then, mysteriously, developed the sophistication, technology, fiscal discipline and desire to enter the Federation. At the prospect of living on a Federation planet, the Talljets decamped because they refused to live in Federation space. Jir and Ling refused; Hobie was wanted for piracy by the Federation Police as well as the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Empire, the Gokia Guilds, the Neqfarsian Imperial Trading League, and Pejdoletian Confederation of Planets. He, therefore, found it prudent to stay in the Autonomous Zones of non-aligned space where simple folk such as he could live without legal or lethal complications. (The Gokia Guilds, the Neqfarsian Imperial Trading League, and Pejdoletian Confederation of Planets had put a king's ransom on Hobie's head, dead or alive, so it was also prudent to avoid every bounty hunter in the galaxy as well). But it was not onerous for them, as the Talljets were fond of saying, it's a big galaxy, there's enough of it for everyone. These three were maddeningly good natured scoundrels.

The most disturbing rumor about the Talljets was that they possessed second sight. It was thought to be a large part of their continued success.

Jir the Dancer was as widely known for his wit and beauty as for his dancing, which was in itself formidable. He was thought to have run the Molgifinchian Empire (sixty planets), as well as the Emperor, from his bedroom in the seraglio until those 60 planets joined the Federation en masse. Liaisons of this type had been interrupting Jir's artistic career since he had first ventured onto the stage. He was between Monarchs at the moment, hence his engagement on Bharselis and his contact with the Enterprise.

And this was who gazed mildly at the captain of the Enterprise. Kirk cleared his throat: "Why are you on a high priority diplomatic channel ... sir?"

"Oh! Call me Jir!" he enthused and turned to the vulcanoid male next to him. "Mig, why do we have this line? I just wanted to leave a message for SpockDeVulCheq and suddenly I'm a priority." He smiled devastatingly.

"The Chancellor of Carsrellina was so impressed with your performance there he gave you a priority channel so you can reach him immediately. If you call. This channel seeks the apex of any communication center you contact," Mig relayed.

"Huh. Lucky me," Jir mused.

"Excuse me," Kirk cut in, annoyed, "but what do you want ... Jir?"

"I want," Jir enunciated slowly, sexily, "a word with your First Mate."

"Mr. Spock?"

"Tall, ugly, stupid, half-caste Vulcan - would be him, yes."

A palpable freeze reached Jir from the silent humans on the bridge.

"We have," Kirk enunciated, icily, "no such person as you describe, Jir, but if a word with our First Officer, Commander Spock, will get you off my screen, you may have it." He turned to have Uhura page Spock to the bridge.

'These folk love that little fool, Spock,' Jir thought, rather pleased. 'Perhaps he's grown up and turned out to be worthy of love,' he mused, 'or perhaps these are just really stupid people, I'll soon find out, hey?'

Spock stepped onto the bridge, glanced at Kirk and formed his hand into the Vulcan salute: "Live long and prosper, Jir Talljet."

Jir theatrically whipped his hand into a mirror of Spock's: "Peace and long life, SpockDeVulCheq."

They regarded each other, Jir spoke first: "So. Spock. How's your mother?"

"Well, thank you. How are you, Jir."

"Well, thank you."

"And your brothers?"

There was a pause. "They are well."

"All of them?"

There was a longer pause. "Yes, all of them."

Kirk fidgeted; he'd never heard Spock make small talk before, the rest of the bridge was fascinated.

"So, Spock," Jir said, "about your note: I would like to see you if you're gonna be here when you say. My show will open that night so you may as well come see it and we'll chat afterwards. I'll get you a box, bring some friends. Attractive ones." Jir glanced wolfishly around the bridge and continued, "Perhaps you'd like some Orchestra section seats, too, for your pals."

"I do not think ..." Spock began but hearing Uhura clear her throat meaningfully, he changed his tack, "Yes, thank you, Jir."

Jir studied him thoughtfully and smiled: "See ya, Spock," he looked at Kirk, "Captain." He nodded suavely and closed the channel. After a moment of thought, Jir opened a channel into non-aligned space and was greeted in Klingonese.

* * *

end of part 5

This story also lives at http://members.tripod.com/karmen_ghia